Posts tagged ‘fiction’

Smells Like Mom

Smells Like Mom

My knees smell like mom. I hug them tight, pretending my arms are wrapped around her neck. I breathe in her sweet fruity scent.
She left yesterday, saying goodbye to my sisters and me. Repeating that it was best for us all. I didn’t believe her, and I still don’t.
The woman with the flowery shirt came to get us last night. Supposedly my mom had the “decency” to call someone that could take care of us. That’s not how I see it. I’m not as naive as I look. I might be young, but I know she didn’t have to leave us.
Last night my sisters and I all stayed in different homes. I worry about Nikki and Sami. Unlike me, they aren’t able to care for themselves.
I didn’t talk to the people who let me stay at their house. I know I won’t be there long, it’s only temporary. Until my mom comes back to get me.
This morning the woman with the bright flower shirt was wearing ugly earrings that dangled down to her shoulders. She brought me to school. Like I want to be here? I used the bathroom pass, and have been sitting here for the past, I don’t know, forever it seems like. Crouching in the corner shadows, hoping they don’t come get me. I want to sit here and smell my mom.

—————

This flash fiction was created for Writer Unboxed “7 Days of Summer Flash Fiction Contest” Week 3. Write 250 words or less that are inspired by the visual prompt.

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July 17, 2012 at 11:37 am Leave a comment

Dusseldorf’s Secrets (flash fiction)

the Cologne - courtesy of http://www.sxc.hu

Dusseldorf’s Secrets

It was a rainy night in Dusseldorf, Germany; muted lighting played off the sidewalk,  making for a romantic stroll. Izaak’s fingers laced through Edy’s as peaceful feelings eased through her for the first time in weeks.
Izaak leaned over and spoke close to her ear. “Where would you like to go after dinner?”
Edy watched as a man in a long black coat stared at her from behind his glasses. She  recognized him by his gray hair and striped tie. No matter how much money he made, he always wore the same tie. It was Gerhard Richter. Edy hadn’t seen him in months, but she couldn’t forget he had made her life a living hell. A smirk crossed his usually solemn face, and he was gone.
“Edy? Did you hear me sweetheart?” Izaak wondered if she could hear him above the rains constant pattering. “I asked where you would like to go after Zum Schlussel?”
“Yeah… ummm.”
“Are you okay?” Izaak had stopped walking now, the awning above them kept the incessant deluge of water from pouring off the oversized umbrella.
Edy’s eyes avoided his, and she adjusted her coat. She thought she could keep this from him, but she thought of the day he might find out on his own. Possibly run into Gerhard Richter himself, and what then? Gerhard wouldn’t keep silent.
“Did you see Gerhard Richter pass us just moments ago?” Edy slumped back against the brick wall.
“No. Do you mean the artist, Gerhard?”
“Yes, the artist.”
“And what has your mind so preoccupied with his passing by on the street?” Izaak asked.
“He holds my family’s story in his hands.”
Izaak was amused. “You knew Gerhard?”
“All too well.”
“Zum Schlussel isn’t much farther.” Izaak gently pulled her forward, hoping Edy would tell him why the sight of that man had so upset her.

———–

The hum of voices in the pub was worse than the pattering rain. Izaak slid across the small booth, sitting close to Edy. “Tell me about Gerhard.”
“I told you my father owned a gallery until a few years ago.”
Izaak nodded, and took a drink beer.
“Gerhard is the reason it no longer exists.” Edy ran her fingers through her long wavy hair. “He blamed my father for turning the Cologne Cathedral to another artist for their stained glass window, when in fact he was the sole craftsman that the Cathedral had ever considered.” Edy banged her fist on the table. “My father did no such thing. Gerhard received the commission in the end. But before that, he destroyed my father’s business and our family.”
Izaak had met Edy just months after her father had lost his gallery. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“Gerhard is ruthless. He sees only himself, and this makes him blind.” Edy used the edge of her napkin to wipe the tear that slid down her cheek.

———

This prompt is from Write on Edge: Red Writing Hood

I challenge you with this opening line:

“It was a rainy night in Dusseldorf…”

You have 500 words.

March 2, 2012 at 8:37 am 10 comments

Guests of Waverly (flash fiction)

This piece was inspired by Write on Edge.

The prompt was as follows:

Pick four numbers, each between 1 and 10.
The first number will be for your character, the second your setting, the third the time and the fourth will be the situation. (They then had a corresponding list.)
Take the four elements and combine them into a short story.
All four you picked MUST be your main elements, but you can add in other characters, settings, times and situations.
Link up your response, which must contain the four story elements you chose, and come in at or under 500 words.
———-
Here is what I ended up with:
Character – a waitress
Time – during a thunderstorm
Setting – on a beach
Situation – someone has lost/found something
———-

photo courtesy of wikimedia.com

Guests of Waverly

Rain fell in sheets, blurring the beach that lay just yards away, and drenching the guests who remained despite the thunderous warnings the impending storm had brought.
Her yellow dress was visible through the deluge. She moved the sand, her hands sliding methodically back and forth.
Someone pushed me from behind, “Alice. Go help her.”
“But it’s…” I said, pointing to what had moments before been a dry, warm, inviting beach.
Mr. Stark implored me with his eyes, “What are you here for?”
“To serve the guests of Waverly with speed and sincerity.” I gave him my best attempt at a smile, and stepped out from under the sheltering portico.

The woman was drenched, water flowed off her long dark hair.
“Ma’am, can I help you with something?” My voice barely rose above the raging wind and rain.
The woman in the yellow dress looked up at me and glared. “Who are you?”
“Alice. I’m a waitress at Waverly.” I waved my hand in the direction of the restaurant.
The woman’s face contorted into a look of panic and sadness. “I’ve lost my ring.”
Although I wasn’t able to differentiate any tears from drops of rain running down the woman’s cheeks, her eyes were turning red. She swiped at her nose and sniffed. That’s when I noticed the man, who was also on his knees, frantically looking for something. He was wearing a tux, which seemed odd.
The woman sniffled and wailed, “He gave it to me only a few days ago. An engagement ring.” She cried, “Right honey? He could barely afford it. Saved… for months.”
The man looked to the woman, raised his thick eyebrows, and glancing at me, nodded. He immediately turned back to his search.
The woman in the yellow dress covered her face and continued with her breakdown.
Despite wearing crisp white capris, I fell onto the ground and began moving handfuls of the heavy white sand, looking for the ring. Most likely it was small, being that her fiancé had to save for so long to purchase it.
The woman had given up all efforts at searching, and was now sitting on a lounge chair under an expansive umbrella. Her fits of sorrow now abated, she was ringing the water from her hair.
I felt something sharp brush against my shin. Looking down, I was shocked by the excessively large diamond set on a band of smaller diamonds that lay in the sand.
Squealing with delight, the woman ran to me, her drenched yellow dress clinging to her thighs.
“Oh, thank God you found it.” She snatched it from my fingers, as if she were afraid I would slide it in my pocket.
“Henry! We must go. You were to drive me to meet my husband twenty minutes ago.” The woman in the yellow dress took off ahead of the man at a rapid pace.
“Yes Ma’am.”

————————

Okay, my husband thought the man in the story was her lover. Who do you think he is?

February 20, 2012 at 3:56 pm 2 comments


Tracy Dee Whitt - Author

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