Tag Archives: creative writing

A thief’s comfort

In response to photo-fiction #3

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If you were sitting on a beach or overlooking a cove the sound I was hearing would be peaceful. It would be a great therapy to hear what sounds like waves breaking on a rocky shore. To think of the permanence of land against the formless brutality of the sea is a great comfort. That the sea must subside when faced with the rugged surface of the land. Or if you are a bit of an anarchist you would think of how ironic that something so soft and soothing could erode such a mighty medium.

In any case, one would be at peace. One would be comforted by the ebb and flow of the sound. Of the crest and fall of octave after octave of raw energy. You would be comforted, so would I, but for the fact that I am breathless and sweaty. That my legs burn and my chest is tight all while threatening to explode.

It would be a comfort except for the fact that when I slow and the sound begins to vibrate my bones, I know that it is because my executioners are at my heal. It would be a comfort except that I know that the ebb of the roar is only short-lived until the next obstacle slows me down. Only as short-lived as the tiny reserve of energy I have left.

I would be comforted if I wasn’t a poor man who had bested a whole lot of rich ones, making a fortune no one ever intended to be mine. If I wasn’t a more cunning thing that the ones who rob the poor and call it taxes. It will be comfort if I can make it to the port, and the real sea embraces my good fortune.

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Photo-Fiction #11

Presenting this week’s Photo prompt.

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Can you tell this story as a work of Flash Fiction? Write a fictional piece of no more than 300 words. You pick your poison, poetry or story. Please don’t forget to link back here i.e. include a link to this post in your post on your blog, so we can check out your work. Happy writing guys, have fun, I look forward to reading what you all come up with.

Don’t have a blog but still want to submit a story? Do you have an interesting picture you would like to see our participants write on? Contact me at randomauthormich@gmail.com and submit. I look forward to hearing from you.

Stories or pieces submitted in the way much contain the Authors Name and a short bio in the body of the email.

Challenge Accepted!!!!! Stop by and show some love to all the great participants of this challenge.

Cherrytales: Bang Bang, my baby shot me down.

Worstwriterever:  November 9, 2015

In Medias Res: Blood and Secrets

Psychologistmimi: 75 lightning strikes

Random_Michelle: SHHHHHH

Photo-fiction #10

Presenting this week’s Photo prompt.

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Can you tell this story as a work of Flash Fiction? Write a fictional piece of no more than 500 words. You pick your poison, poetry or story. Please don’t forget to link back here i.e. include a link to this post in your post on your blog, so we can check out your work. Happy writing guys, have fun, I look forward to reading what you all come up with.

Don’t have a blog but still want to submit a story? Do you have an interesting picture you would like to see our participants write on? Contact me at randomauthormich@gmail.com and submit. I look forward to hearing from you.

Stories or pieces submitted in the way much contain the Authors Name and a short bio in the body of the email.

Challenge Accepted !!!!! Check out the responses to this Challenge. Pass by, give a like, a comment and even a share. Show these amazing folks some love.

In Medias Res: Photo-Fiction #10 – When Words Fail 

Kim Or Lisa: Who am I?

WorstWritingEver: November 3 2015

Gypsy Hostage

In response to the Blog Event Finish It, a short story writing blog event – presented by Author S B Mazing.

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She looked stunning. Her long, mahogany hair was softly running along the sides of her face, framing it, making her features stand out. Her skin seemed flawless, her lips soft. He wanted her. Here and now. But he knew he had to wait. It was not the time nor the place. He could tell that she longed for him too. He could see it in her eyes. If only… Why was it so complicated?

Why couldn’t she have stayed? Now there she stood, a gypsy princess, or maybe a siren, waiting for him to crash again for her.

Mark remembered the morning she had left. She had thrown that half carat diamond ring her had given her right at his head. her voice still rang in his ear, all bitterness and rhetoric broken by sobs. Ranting on about how she was being used, about how she had been warned and how she deserved better. He remembered the way his heart had sunk. He remembered showing her the letter in his pocket, the reason he had rushed in all excited. His first competition invite. But she only cried harder, packed faster. Hastening the moment she disappeared on the busy city street and just left him there.

Later that night a man had come, his dusky skin and exotic features marking him as a relative of hers. He had beat him senseless, in his little beach from apartment. He had heard his bones breaking to the song of the gulls and the surf. All the while demanding the location of his sister. His sister who was betrothed. His sister who had run away. His sister who had run out on her lover to protect him from this calamity. Or at least that’s what he had hoped.

That was five years ago. And in those three years she had become somewhat of a celebrity. Her and her husband. The man she had been dragged back to when she was eventually caught. The man who delighted in having Mark’s Gypsy princess on his arm, draped in diamonds with misery shining in her eyes. His Gypsy prisoner in a gilded cage. Mark had known she wasn’t happy, and the articles over the years had told him as much, as she was plagued by alcoholism and tales of relapse after one rehab program or another. But she was out of his reach, and eventually she slipped from his thoughts. Except on those nights. Those cool summer evenings when he could almost see her. Gliding through in her flowing skirts, dancing barefoot around his beach front apartment, singing those savage hymns she liked so much. Infusing him with her wild magick.

Now here she was, with this plan of hers. She wanted to escape, she wanted to run, she wanted her freedom. And she wanted it with him. Here in a crowded cafe in Bali, she bared her soul. She told her tail behind a veil of tears. Ripping him apart with her story. But could he do what she wanted? Could he abandon all of him, to lie in the arms of this renegade Princess?

Mark already knew he wanted her, now more than he could ever remember wanting her before. This beautiful creature that haunted him so long. But she was another man’s wife. A man who would not let her go, and Mark didn’t know where to start in freeing her form his clutches. He ran his fingers thought his sandy hair and blew out a heavy sigh. A plan already forming in his mind. He would have her. All of her. When all this was done…

How it ends?

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Her Side

Dylan had called maybe two hours ago, and she had really just sat there staring at the phone for a little while, hoping that time would flow backwards just this once and let her unhear his summon. But it hadn’t and now hear she was, trying to hold back the fourth wave of tears since she had answered that damn phone. She took one last gulp of the fresh sea air before pushing the door and entering.

Walking into that casino was like walking into death, the thick stale air, laden with disappointment and cigarette smoke felt like it was trying to choke her, the smooth  reggae sounded alien somehow, felt out of place in this place where desperate people bought their last hopes to die. Dylan was at her side suddenly, grinning sadly wiping his hands on his bar towel like he always was.

“He’s over there with Andy, in booth 6. I’m guessing he lost big again.” he squeezed her shoulder, sympathy and sadness, and returned to the bar. But just as it was told, there He was, passed out in that dingy booth, with Andy, who had always be the one to bring him back here, no matter how hard she tried, or cried or fought or didn’t talk, it was always Andy who found a way to drag him back to this, and He always followed. Tonight she wasn’t feeling like saving Andy, he would sit there, with the rum and vomit all over his shirt ’til the security threw him out.

He, on the other hand she would take home, she would wash and tuck into bed. He would get one final sweet kiss, not that he would stir at the feel of her lips and when he woke up, she would be gone. This was the last time, this was the last rescue mission. This was the end.

His Side

“How the hell you gonna leave a brotha like that?” it’s the first thing he sees when the phone comes into focus. He didn’t have and answer though, he barely remembers how he got here. “Jus cool man. I’m sorry” is all he can send back.

Her side of the bed, is cold and smooth, maybe she hadn’t slept there last night. She would be mad again, quiet again, it was going to be this all over again and he wasn’t in the mood. A man needed to blow off steam, a man could do with his money what he wanted, a man needed his time with his boys and a woman should know enough not to interfere.

His stomach growled, and he realized there was no smell of coffee or cooking. In fact she wasn’t in the kitchen, of the living room or the bathroom, her car was gone and so were her certificates. The bare spaces on the wall screamed at him and he ran. Her drawers were empty and her suitcase gone. She was gone.

What right had she, to leave him, to not be there for him, to not be with him. How could She turn her back on him when he had made sure that he was always available, when his boy didn’t need him, when he had only asked her to pick up his tab that one time, or pay those bills those few times, other than that he had been a model man….right? Its the sound of the vase breaking against the far wall that snaps him out of it.

He reaches for his phone, her mom would know where she is, or her sister Jan, or her friend Kim. He would get them, they knew and then he would make Her come back. And then he saw it.

A plain manila folder, and inside. A brochure for an addiction treatment center. He did not have a problem. A note.

“Baby I got to take care of me now, and the piece of you you gave me. Call me when it’s over, if now I’ll know we are. I love you.” …..and…..was that an ultrasound print out?