Archive for the ‘Romance’ Category

It was by far the oddest setting she had ever experienced.  The room was full of Democrats and Republicans, energetic, idealistic youth, middle-aged mortgage holders with job woes and the calmer, slower elderly battling arthritis and other ailments. It was not her definition of an ideal party.

She watched from  her corner perch. People flowed through the kitchen, dropping off dishes full of treats as they exchanged hugs. Wine and conversation flourished. Music exploded from a nearby speaker as young cousins ran hand in hand. Doctors, Lawyers and Judges clinked glasses with waitresses, mechanics and store clerks. Drinks flowed, food disappeared and laughter grew. One by one the group migrated to the festive living room.

It was here people handed each other brightly wrapped packages. It was here they related stories of their past. It was here they passed out more hugs than gifts. It was here she realized that she was going to like the family she married into. It was here she discovered the values that shaped the man she loved. It was here that she realized she loved her new family.  It was here that her husband pulled her into the group for a hug. It was here that she realized the perfect gift didn’t have to come from a store. It was the ideal party.

Submit a story or poem, inspired by a weekly photo in this fun, flash fiction group. You can read submissions or add your work HERE.  Comments welcome, as long as they are respectful and helpful, not hateful.

i used this pix to show that emotion doesn’t change. War and reunions are as old as time.

Historic Fiction

Words: A bit over 99

Rating: PG

lvbydawne_3

 Copyright – Dawn M. Miller

She ran, her bustle slapping her ankles.

“When is the troop train due?” She yelled over the counter.

“What?” The elderly attendant yelled.

“The troop train!”

“That’s it now!” he shouted.

Rushing to the platform, she studied the car doors, taking in every face. Wives hugged husbands and mothers clung to sons. She had no idea if he was on this train, but hope ran high.

When he emerged, pale and weak, she cried. Would he be the same?

Submit a story or poem, inspired by a weekly photo in this fun, flash fiction group. You can read submissions or add your work HERE.  Comments welcome, as long as they are respectful and helpful, not hateful.

Category: Sci-fi/Romance

Words: 100

Rating: PG

Copyright-Renee Heath

Copyright-Renee Heath

She had been dancing on a balcony when the wall collapsed. Icy wind stung her limbs as she fell screaming, unwilling to die.  Her dress billowed around her hips and a warm sun caressed her face as her feet touched the pavement.

It was a different street, different town, different time, but it was familiar.  It was as if someone plucked her memories to create a new reality. Then she saw him, dead, gone from her life for three years, and she didn’t care if it was heaven, hell or a dream, she was where she wanted to be. With him.

 

Submit a poem or short story of 100 words or less, inspired by a weekly photo in this fun, flash fiction group. You can read submissions or add your work HERE, or click on the little blue guy at the bottom. Writing tips, typo alerts and comments welcome, as long as they are respectful and helpful, not hateful.

Category: Macbre

Words: 99

Rating: PG-13

Janet Webb

Janet Webb

Hang dress outside, check. Light sage and light candles, check. Now the incantation that would create his perfect woman. With trembling hands, Stu opened the brittle paper from the ancient, mysterious woman and began to read.

He read faster and faster as a blue light filled his balcony. The dress moved, slowly at first then it filled like a balloon as a tuft of auburn hair sprung from the neck. Then came the scream.

“Damn, I should have hung the dress closer to the ground!” He growled, peering at the broken body below.

 

 


What if today was my “This is my Done” day? What if today was the day I took my last breath? Fini, game over, you’re outta here day!

Did I do something to be proud of? Was I kind to someone? Did I take a moment to enjoy myself, or do something to enrich my life?

Or did I get up, grumble, snarl, procrastinate, complain and do nothing to better my day or the day of another?

I don’t know when I will go, I do know that today wasn’t my “done day,” so I am going to think about this when I rise. The last thing I want is for my last words being angry or critical. Kids need guidance and discipline, but I need to find a way to do both so they aren’t left with only the  criticism. I need to find a way for my mate to know I may have been angry over one of their actions, but I love them we would have worked through it.

If today was not your “done day,” you have time to rethink things and stack the deck in your favor.

The Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, is a group of writers that come together to share weekly stories based on a photo prompt. Go HERE to read or submit or your own story; or click on the little blue guy under my story.

copyright-claire-fuller Kira didn’t have an artistic bone in her body, yet each night she  found herself in a strange world where her hands skillfully coaxed marble into art.  Each morning she tried to convince herself it was a dream,  but she couldn’t deny the blisters or the marble dust under her nails and the unknown faces that clung to her day. Disturbed at first, she used caffeine to avoid sleep and the dreams, but now she welcomed them, knowing something wonderful was waiting for her when she finished, Nestling into the pillow, she smiled, eager to finish.

The Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, is a group of writers that come together to share weekly stories based on a photo prompt. Go HERE to read or submit or your own story; or click on the little blue guy under my story.

copyright-renee-homan-heath

Copyright-Renee Homan Heath

“Paradise my ass!” She growled, the jerk had already ruined the trip by booking coach, losing her shoes and reserving a crappy room. If that wasn’t bad enough, the climate was too damn humid with too many bugs. He was worse than useless.

He urged her to meet at the end of the pier to see the greatest gift ever, knowing she couldn’t resist. Stepping off the boardwalk she found him smiling in the sand.

“Hi baby, where’s my gift?”

“I never said it was for you,” He grinned, raising the gun to her head.