What’s in the Suitcase?

The Challenge:  Write a story about the suitcase sitting on the train tracks in exactly 99 words!

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“What’s in the suitcase, Ralph?”

“Well now, ain’t that the million dollar question?”  Ralph smirked.

Dopey was jumping up and down, anxious to find out.  “Uh…what’s in the suitcase, Ralph?”  

Ralph succinctly cut his eyes to Dopey.  Dopey noticed and hushed.

Ralph looked at the suitcase, thought of the deadline, “What the hell’s taking so long!?”

As if in answer, the train’s whistle blew. 

The suitcase was railroaded, it toppled in the air, and fell open beside the tracks. 

Access

Ralph, Chihuahua-In-Chief, looked inside. 

Dopey, Big-dog-sidekick, bounced up and down behind him…

“Uh…what’s in the suitcase, Ralph?”   (99 Words)

Photo from https://miragerry.livejournal.com/160945.html

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July 26 Flash Fiction Challenge

Word of the Day:  Succinct 

Daily AdditionWord of the Day:  Access

Fandango’s One Word Challenge:  Deadline

 

 

 

 

 

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Make America Great Again…?

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Photo by Ted Strutz

She always knew it would end this way.  

She had lived her life…so, what of it…?! 

They had been so gentle helping her cross the road.  Their faces kind and their touch kinder. 

Lies!   

They cared nothing for her and she knew it.  They wanted her gone.  Gone and forgotten. 

Inside the boat, she pulled the blanket they had given closer, but it did little to soothe her aching bones. 

Gone? 

Never. 

Her memory would live in all the hearts she had loved.  She smiled at the thought.   

The border patrol boat left the harbor.

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Friday Fictioneers:  100 Words

Fandango One Word Challenge:  Dreamer-DACA

The Challenge:  Look at the provided photo and create a story with beginning, middle, and end in only 100 words.

 

 

 

 

The Mark of the Beast

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers…each week we are given a photo and allotted only 175 words to construct a story.  Below is my response to this week’s “Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers” 

 

The Mark Of The Beast

She watched him from her place of containment.  Sure enough, he had “the mark” and so she fled her confines to mingle amongst the merry crowd.

She felt his stare.  Knowing this to be her cue, she covered the ten steps, separating them and asked with a timid voice, “Care to dance, handsome?”

As usual, the stranger’s eyes filled with suspicion, but once he saw her shy smile, he tossed doubt away, and  accepted her soft hand.  In an instant their bodies melded and he was consumed with unquenchable lust.  He wanted her, but the intense craving terrified him. Sensing his resolve, she crushed him closer and huskily growled, “My poor…poor beast..not used to being controlled…”

Slowly she pulled away…but only enough for him to look into her black eyes.  In them, he saw the innocents he had raped and they were coming for him. Terror squeezed his heart until it burst.

She dropped the corpse and then faded into the picture hanging on the wall.  The caption underneath read, “Angel of Death”

(Word count 175)

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Photo by Etol Bagam

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Possession

Writing 101 Day 5:  Write a response to the following tweet.

(Buckle your seat belts for this is going to be a horror ride!)

Possession

Ghost ChildI was quite the unusual child.  No one dared speak it out loud, but none-the-less, I knew it ate upon their brains like a canker sore.

“Different…,” they’d say.  “Just a wee-bit queer…for my like’n.”  Then they’d catch me looking at them and the old timer’s faces would blanch white as the cotton they were picking.

I enjoy making them uncomfortable.  I enjoy hearing the rhythm of their heartbeat quicken.  It makes me alive within this skin.

It’s a funny thing to feel so alive when scaring others to death.  I almost get giddy with the pleasure.  Once I almost smiled but  I never let them see me smile.

One day I’ll leave this backwater country, but not until I’m finished with them.  I never leave a job undone.  I stay until the end…and sometimes it takes oh so long for the end.

The end makes me sad.  After the end there is no fear and that’s what I miss most…the fear.  And so I stretch the means to defer the end.

I linger long, but alas the end is always inevitable.  So when the job is done I lay them to hell and spill dirt to cover the faces…and then I smile.

I wonder the woods, for beyond yonder hill, my new family awaits.  The cabin is bright and I knock at the door.  When it opens they invite me in and then my job begins again.

Over the centuries families come and families go and yet I’m here…still the same girl of seven.  This one thing remains I’m never alone for this body I possess is always my home.

A Day In The Life of Bagsby Jones: Bull Dog P.I.

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Bagsby Jones, Bull Dog Private Investigator, was on the case!

He wrinkled his brow, sniffed the air, and vigorously kicked his hind legs.  He rarely took the time to relieve himself while on the job, but, this particular deposit had been necessary.  Call it an emergency that couldn’t wait, or, an accident waiting to happen; either would be true.  Feeling his tummy rumble, he grimaced, and vowed to pass by the next road kill.  Bagsby surmised it must have lain in the sun for too long.  He vowed the next time he came by such a find, he’d take it home to the cat.  He snickered at the thought.

Bagsby scanned the busy street, and was relieved to find that his target had yet to round the corner of Big Bills Butcher Shop.  He was so thankful the poop stop had not hindered the mission at hand, that he sent up a silent “thank you” to Pooch Heaven.

All four of Bagsby’s short, but muscular legs, carried his stocky, body towards the perfect hideout.  He had spent weeks watching and calculating the moves of the big guy, and Bagsby was confident this was the perfect place for the ambush.

Stifling a bark of laughter, Bagsby began back into a small space between two large trash cans.  This maneuver proved difficult, as the space was quite small.  He grunted a cuss word, or two, and wiggled his booty back and forth, until he finally squeezed into the tiny opening.  Had it only been yesterday that he had been able to back in with ease?  Bagsby was baffled, until he remembered the road kill, and realized the tainted stuff must have given him given him gas.  A repetitious rumble, sneaked out his back door, giving credence to his assumption.  The confined space captured the ripe fragrance, and wafted it to his nose.  Bagsby curled his upper lip, scowled, and cursed the road kill, but then he thought about the cat, and smiled.

His mischievous day dream, of poisoning the cat, dissipated at the sound of a distant whistle.   Harmonious whistling had always preceded the big guy’s approach.  Bagsby, reigned in his thoughts to the task at hand.  He knew his target was close, so he tensed his body, and readied himself for the ambush.  Sure enough, the whistling grew louder as the target rounded the butcher shop.  After a moment he could hear the big guy’s footsteps, so he hunkered closer to the ground, in preparation for the attack.  Bagsby could barely contain his excitement.

“Wait for it…wait for it…not yet,” he chided….wait for it…wait… ”

Then it happened!  Shoe leather, and blue fabric entered his field of vision.  Without hesitation, Bagsby lunged his bull-dog frame forward, but his bloated body wedged to a halt.  The noise startled the big guy dressed in blue, and when he caught sight of Bagsby ricocheting between the two trash cans, he screamed, and ran down the busy sidewalk, dodging the passerby’s.

Bagsby feared his target would escape, but adrenalin and another slippage of gas propelled him forward, toppling over both trash cans.  He hit the ground running, booking it in the direction of the fleeing man.  When he was within striking distance he jumped with teeth bared and jowls flapping in the wind.

Bagsby came down on all fours, with a mouth full of leather.  Proud of his conquest, he vigorously shook the leather bag, spraying a cascade of stamped envelopes to the wind.  Bagsby dropped the satchel, sat on his haunches, and smiled.  He enjoyed watching the array of colors fall all around him.

After they had settled, Bagsby knew it was time for his finishing touch.  He waddled over to the leather bag, and for the first time, he noticed it had the big guy’s name stitched on the front.  Bagsby saddled up close, lifted his hind leg, and christened Mr. Newman’s mail bag.

Afterwards, he kicked his hind legs, and happily headed towards home, after all, he had a cat to feed.

 

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The Balloon Man

wpid-photo-20150816175959521It was the minion…always the minion, and there was only one.  One special little boy or girl would be the recipient of the lone minion balloon.

He pushed the cart of balloons and watched them all with a curious eye.  Children everywhere…the carnival proved to be a smorgasbord for his choosing.

“Eeny meeny miny mo…Mary, Susie or Jimmy Joe…  ”  He secretly snickered at the rhyme but was careful not to let his excitement show.  

He scanned his prey  searching for his Mary, Susie or Jimmy Joe.  Finally his eyes landed upon the redhead who had strayed from his mom, and he knew that this would be the one.

He reached for the minion, that was puffed with air, and handed the balloon to the lost little boy.  The boy saw the minion and reached in the air…

Then with  a flash of blue, the boy is whisked away and the balloon man is taken to the ground.

The officer called headquarters…”We Got him…balloon man will kidnap and hurt no more”!

Jessica’s Dream

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Below is my submission to Literary Lion’s weekly challenge.  Hope you enjoy!

The dream had been hers since a little girl.  She had always believed it would come true, but as Jessica surveyed the new model she was overcome with doubt.

Would it work?   The last four had been failures, and she worried this one would prove  the same.   Balling her hands into tight fists, Jessica bitterly whispered, “What choice do I have…”

Just for a moment, Jessica, let her mind wander backward to the first day she had awakened to the truth.  She allowed herself to relive, once again, all of the shock, anger and depression.

She did this without guilt.  After all, she had made a pact with herself, during those first days, to permit herself  a good fifteen minutes of feeling the emotions full force.  The deal had been to embrace all of its ugliness.  She allowed herself to scream, curse, hit and throw anything within reach, during that allotted time.  After the rage  she would, number one:  Accept the truth that had become her life; and number two:  Get her ass up and do something about it.

Keeping this oath is how Jessica had coped for the last six months.

At first it had been hard to let go of the rage in only fifteen minutes.  In the early days, every vase of flowers, within reach, was thrown against the wall.  Her language had been quite colorful.  Jessica smiled as she remembered how creative she had been with the string of profanities.  She totally lived up to the stereotype. The woman could cuss!

Slowly, as time progressed, the allotted fifteen dwindled.  Today, it had only been five minutes of rage with no flower causalities and few curse words.

Jessica felt a surge confidence, and said in a firm, even tone,  “I can do this”.

Without another thought, Jessica reached for the new model and fitted it to what remained of her left leg.  The fit was snug and minus the pain of the previous models; however, the true test was yet to come.

Jessica used her crutches to help her stand.  Once up and steady, she let the crutches fall to the floor.  Jessica grimaced, and carefully leaned her weight to the right.  Slowly the left leg extended with its new prosthesis.  Once again she shifted her weight but this time to lean on the prosthesis.  Jessica extended her right leg and successfully completed the first step, free of pain.

Jessica smiled.  She knew nothing, absolutely nothing would keep her from her dream.

Chief Petty Officer, Jessica Ann, decorated war hero would, indeed, dance at her wedding.

The Meeting

Photo Courtesy of The Storyteller's Abode
Photo Courtesy of The Storyteller’s Abode

Katie took another drag of her cigarette, and then thumped the remainder into the air like a paper football.  She stepped away from the rock she had leaned against for  hours, and wiped at the tears that drained down her dusty face.

The sun was low on the horizon.   It was time to go.

Had she really thought he would come?

She had never been one to believe that psychic mumbo-jumbo shit, but the woman…the woman caressing the glass ball… she had been so convincing.  She had even known “their place”.  No one knew of their place…no one.

Katie, disappointed in herself for believing, whispered, “He’s dead…you dumb bitch…dead…”

Turning her back to the twin stones, Katie began her descent back down the mountain. She had only taken a couple of steps when something  fluttered by her ear and fell to the ground.  Katie looked down.  There by her boots lay the cigarette she had tossed away.

Katie smiled…she knew he had come.

(Word Count 174)

The New Arrival

Photo Credits To TJ Paris
Photo Credits To TJ Paris

No one knows I’m here.

I creep through the halls and sneak into the bedroom.

Excitement ignites deep in the belly. I put a hand to my mouth to hold the laughter that threatens my presence.

I see the fear within her eyes and feel something…I think…akin to pity, and I am confused.  This fleeting moment of humanity vanishes when her screams begin.  No longer confused I am transfixed, no turning away.  I will look.  I have to look because it’s the rules…the rules of this castle of which I dwell.

When I was re-born, it was hard to watch.  Now my dread has turned to wonder. Giddiness came, but it was shy and hid in the shadows until the knife was held high.  Then with a cackle giddiness would scream, “This is the way!  The way you did die!”

The knife descends; the deed is done.  Her body bleeds, as her spirit ascends.

She looks at me.

I open my arms to welcome the new arrival.

Word Count-175