Category: Fiction

The Other Fantastic Four

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Flash Fiction: Fandango’s One Word Challenge (#FOWC)

AI-Generated Image: The Other Fantastic Four.

Zeyla snuck out on a blistery cold night–escaping the sheltered lifestyle her parents invented for her. Her best friends Catarina, Shiloh, and Bree awaited her arrival. Even in the darkness of the forest, her hair greeted others before she could make an appearance. It was as wild as the woods, and long, like weeds that hadn’t been tended for weeks. Yet, there was something so incredibly demure about her–something inviting.

She floated into the heat of their embrace. Each one took a turn laying their hands on her, examining Zeyla for signs of tampering or further parental distress. She leaned into their powerful, enveloping arms. The plan was to evade checkpoints, hop on the next ship chartered for Aruba, and blend in–in a new country.

Everyone who knew them wanted the women banned from public spaces and fought the town’s authoritarians for years to make it so. Superpowers had been labeled passé, yet Zeyla and her best friends flaunted theirs as if the new rules did not apply to them.

Zeyla, within seconds, could morph into two different versions of anyone standing in front of her. Catarina blew coal ash from her mouth–up to 500 feet. Shiloh could enter the body of her opponent, puff into a gigantic ball, and telepathically order them to spontaneously combust. And, Bree?! Well, Bree’s superpower was the most unsuspecting of them all…she could shape-shift into her opponents’ grandparents, and use this when it was most necessary. After all, what person of sound mind is going to kill their grandparent?

The four of them knew they were no longer wanted in their home country. They had heard the whispers–saw the evil looks on their neighbors’ faces. It was only a matter of time before a riot ensued. Orchestrated by the mastermind of the group, Zeyla, this plan was a surefire one.

All they had to do was survive for five days away from home–away from their power source, and if they did… their superpowers would remain forever.

Aruba doesn’t know what’s headed its way.

**Musical Selection for this story:

Bishop Briggs, White Flag

This flash fiction piece is in response to Fandango’s One Word Challenge, and the word is “demure.”

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Wayne Donald

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Flash Fiction: Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge

The image depicts the corner of a room with bright green walls and ornate stacked moulding in white and gold. We see part of a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A sofa with green and gold striped fabric and gold trim sits against one wall. Various artworks of different sizes adorn the walls, some framed in gold and some black. Photo by Elif Gulgac on Unsplash.

“Where the hell is Wayne Donald?!”

Kinley Chris yells from across the salty shore. Her younger sister shot like lightning from their grandmother’s front porch to the mouth of the beach when she heard the fireworks.

To try and coax her home, Kinley runs at full speed with a bag of gummy bears dangling from her back pocket–her sister’s favorite snack.

“Wayne Donald! Wayne Donald! I’ve got your favorite snack! Come on out here. I ain’t got all day!”

The girls are the two most oddly named children at their school–in their neighborhood. Wayne Donald, the youngest, at age 7, is a blonde-haired, green-eyed turbo train of unbridled anxiety. Kinley Chris, 13, is cinnamon sunshine with a pinch of “Don’t waste my time”, and their personalities speak before they do.

Plainly put, they don’t need an introduction.

The girls’ grandmother sits in her art room, rocking back and forth to the sound of the island’s fireworks.

No one is allowed in this room, not even her husband (not the girls’ biological grandfather). The room is both peaceful and creepy. It’s a vibrant green with a cream and gold ceiling, and has Art Deco-like furniture. It smells like a scene from a Foghorn Leghorn cartoon married to last night’s dinner. The girls gladly stay out of it.

“Wayne Donald! Wayne!!! Girl, where are you?! It’s getting dark, and I’m cold as the teats on a mama polar bear!”

On the pier, directly behind the viewers, Wayne Donald appears. She is wearing a snaggletoothed smile and sea-soaked clothes.

“I’m right here, Kinley Chris! If I was a snake, woulda bit ya!”

The little girl races to her older sister, slaps five with her, and snatches the gummy bears from her back pocket.

“If that was all I had to do to get these here gummy bears outta ya, Kinley, I woulda did it long ago.”

She leans into the tight embrace of her big sister, and they plop their tired bodies on the muddied sand.

“If all you wanted was some candy, Wayne Donald, all you had to do was ask.”

The girls’ grandmother lifts the window in the art room and calls them home. Her wretched voice echoes along the beach. They race each other back to the long-winding porch and float through the front door.

Tomorrow’s adventures await.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. The name, “Wayne Donald,” came to me first, then the image of the little girls, and the story wrote itself from there. I love these challenges, and I am grateful for them as kickstarters for buried creativity.

Great Things Are Ahead for The Conversation

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A Book Review

The Setup for reading and relaxing. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I have been reading books for an extremely long time; I started when I was at least three or four years old. Dr. Seuss’ books lined my childhood bookshelf.

But I have only been reviewing books that I have read for maybe twenty years?

I have learned that constructive criticism and your honest opinion aren’t always welcome by certain writers/creatives. With a few that I have encountered, ego gets in the way, and they feel as though everything they put into the ether will shit gold and piss silver.

But it will not. If an unedited book has a great core, a grounded foundation, a plot that readers can follow, and versatility, that book can be salvaged, edited, and reintroduced to the world to get the flowers it deserves.

And I know this can and will happen for “The Conversation” by J. R. Floyd. Below is the review I shared for it on both Amazon and Goodreads:

“The Strength Is There But It Deserves Editing

I appreciated the fact that the author is versatile. In this book, you will find a play, fiction, spoken word/poetry, and simple dialogue between a mother and daughter.

The development of each piece is sound and vividly expressed with poignant details, however, grammar, syntax, punctuation, etc., takes away from the full enjoyment of the book.

The author’s voice cannot be denied or buried. It comes out swinging and demands a listening ear and attentive eyes. I thoroughly enjoyed the first half of the book and sunk deeply into the plots and storylines.

With an overhaul and some solid editing, this could be a remarkable project. The strength is there, and one does benefit from reading it in its form, but I believe this is a rough draft that could shine with two or more digs into its bones.

The core is alive–bringing it to the surface in a more pristine form can happen, and I hope it does. The talent is unshackled, it simply needs to be formed, ironed out, and polished.

I hope to see a revised, edited version. I would purchase it as well.”

I reached out to J. R. to share the review with her first, and to let her know that I will be ready for the book’s golden return to the reading world.

She was receptive to the review and admitted she appreciated my honesty and that she knows the potential this book manifested in her head and heart, but it does need more care and attention.

I asked her if I could share it here just as I do with my other reviews, and she said that I could. Trust me, if I were not granted permission, you would not be reading this. This is a community of writers and readers. We deserve to grow amongst one another.

As a writer, I want openness and honesty about my work. As an author, I want reviews that are going to help me grow and keep me aware of my potential to get better, not just “Yes People” gassing my head up for the sake of ratings and approvals.

I am hopeful The Conversation returns when it is time, wearing a new dress, sassy heels, and a mink coat that would make its counterparts jealous.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

Weird Dan

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Sunday Microfiction #10

Pictured Microfiction. Weird Dan: Sunday Microfiction #10 Created with Canva.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

Damien’s Last Call

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Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge

The image depicts a close-up of a payphone on a wall. There are stickers on the phone that read “4 MINUTES FOR $1.00,” “LOCAL CALLS 50¢,” and others. Photo by Nellie Adamyan on Unsplash

He stood at the pay phone, short on change and on love, and waited for the last seconds to tick by.

“Please insert $0.50 to continue.” The automated voice chimed in before Lacy could complete her sentence.

The two of them were like peas in a pod. Damien, with his wild antics, and Lacy, with her calm demeanor. Opposites attract, and they were inseparable.

Who would have ever thought Lacy would be on the other end of what would have been a collect call, but Damien had $0.50 on him to spare. His last bit of change for a woman who changed him.

“I should have stayed outta that store, Dame. Ain’t no changing it now. I did what I did.”

“It’s supposed to be me! I’m supposed to be in there! Not you! Not you, Lace!”

The automated voice chimed in once again to remind Damien of the pressing need for more money for the call. Please insert $0.50 to continue. Please insert $0.50 to continue. Please insert $0.50 to continue.

“I AIN’T GOT NO DAMN $0.50, OKAY!”

Damien banged the receiver’s cradle with the handset three times to match the automated voice’s demand. The last words he heard from Lacy before the call was cut short were, “I’ve done time for both of us.”

He dropped to his knees, held his head in his hands, and sobbed for the love of his life.

The execution was scheduled for 10:00 AM sharp. He had forty-five minutes to save her. The spare change he had to make the call to her was his last.

David T. Pulman, Jr., Esq., sat in his oversized office chair, his hands folded perfectly in his lap, his hair slicked back in a greasy ponytail, and waited for the phone to ring.

It didn’t.

Time of death: 10:05 AM.

This flash fiction piece is in response to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. I couldn’t let this one pass when I saw the pay phone as the image from which to create. If you want to try your hand at it, go for it!

A Day To Bloom

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Sunday Microfiction #9

Sunday Microfiction #9: A Day To Bloom. Created with Canva.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.