Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Over Troubled Waters #amwriting #paranormal #flashfiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW:

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Credit: Joy Pixley

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“When you’re down and out / When you’re on the street / When evening falls so hard /I will comfort you (ooo) / I’ll take your part, oh, when darkness comes / And pain is all around / Like a bridge over troubled water / I will lay me down / Like a bridge over troubled water / I will lay me down.” – “Bridge Over Troubled Water” – Simon and Garfunkel 

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Wes called up to a young woman sitting on the bridge ledge. 

He gulped and climbed up beside her, assessing her. She shook her head, “I’m not here to jump, it’s only peaceful up here.” 

He settled beside the woman on edge. “I’m Wes,” he said, “I’m not a fan of heights. I don’t understand how you can sit here and find it tranquil.” 

She laughed, “I’m Becca, Wes. Scoot back and look at everything from this gorgeous view.” 

“See, the moon’s a giant light in the sky illuminating everything so the bridge doesn’t feel eerie at night. Now, look at the water below you.” 

He peered down: “I see darkness, turbulence, and fear. I see a river where too many people have jumped and drowned in.”

“You see this bridge as dangerous Wes. But without the bridge, no one would get across to the otherside. Without people in our life–our friends, loved ones, God, helpful strangers –we wouldn’t make it through troubled waters.

“Yeah, I know Becca,” he said.”It’s like the song by Simon and Garfunkel.” 

“Sometimes, we help ourselves, with a little effort.” 

“What?” 

“You stopped yourself, having every intention of jumping before you saw me,” Becca said gently. 

You saved me Becca,”  Wes admitted. 

She shook her head and smiled, disintegrating. He gasped, carefully, moving off the ledge onto the bridge’s walkway. 

Wes ran home; he had hope.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

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Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: A Hideous Bench


“Oh what a tacky bench,” Violet complained to her husband Wes. “Who would put such an outrageously coloured bench in Hewitt Park. We have to walk by it when we take Snuggles for his walk.”

“Meow,” Snuggles said, struggling in his harness and leash.

Wes sighed as his wife continued to moan about the red bench. The bench was in an ideal spot for him to seat his aching bones and red was his favourite colour.

“Oh my, Wes! Why are you sitting on that hideous bench. I was just saying what an eye-sore it is.” 

“I’m eighty-four-years old Violet and the red bench is a perfect place to rest.” Snuggles meowed and sat on the bench in agreement.

Violet was starting to complain when she noticed Snuggles sitting on a plaque on the bench seat.

Wes moved Snuggles and both he and Violet read the plaque which said: ” In honour of our Grandson, Corperal Jonathan Crest, who died under enemy fire in Afhganistan. Lest We Not Forget.” 

 Violet sniffed and her eyes went wide as she read the plaque. 

“Pretty good reason to have a red bench here, don’t you think Violet?” Wes said.

Violet was speechless.

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Ady
 

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Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.