Tag: #FFFC

The Beauty of Voyeurism

trE

Flash Fiction response to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Prompt

Photo by Tetyana Kovyrina on Pexels. The image depicts a side view of a chipmunk with a tiny teacup. On the ground in front of the chipmunk is a tiny tea dish with a blueberry on it. The ground appears to be a stone-type walk, and there is a dark blue background.

Mr. Doyle lives across the street from us. He’s an older guy with wiry fire for hair in a golden rage. My mom hates him… says he’s on some sort of in-house arrest for his past following him all the way here. I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I like Mr. Doyle. He has this lisp that I bet could scale a ladder quicker than The Flash. I have tea and danishes with him twice per week. He paints nature–makes it pop.

Today’s piece is a chipmunk sipping from the tiniest teacup I’ve ever seen. He also has a rather fat blueberry on a plate in front of the chipmunk. “A proper breakfast”, I comment. Because who wouldn’t want tea and blueberries?!

He tells me he’s titling the painting The Beauty of Voyeurism, and I sit back on the green, crunchy cushions of his couch, swirl the name around in my mouth. I like it. But . . . “Why voyeurism? Isn’t this a more sexually derived term for being too nosy and too into what you’re snooping up on?”

Mr. Doyle rolls back and forth on the heels of his feet, nods his contemplative head, and shouts in my direction, “YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY CORRECT, SAM! If you notice, the chipmunk is focused, entirely too focused on the tea. The blueberry is lonely. It would like some of that attention, too. But the chipmunk has become enticed by, influenced by the deliciousness of the tea–so much so that its pleasure has been satiated by the tea alone.”

I know I ain’t the brightest crayon in the box, but I know at this point, exactly what Mom was talking about when she said Mr. Doyle has a past following him. I get up from the couch, grab my windbreaker, thank Mr. Doyle for the tea and danish, and high-tail it across the street.

Ain’t no way I’m telling Mom about this. NO WAY at all!

This flash fiction piece was written in response to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. Maybe you’d like to give it a go as well? Here’s hoping your mind doesn’t take you to where my mind took me. It was a fun write, nonetheless, though.

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.

Peace and Blessings!

Gossip Channels at the Sahara Desert

trE

Flash Fiction

The image is from Getty Images on Unsplash.

Stefan and Holly hadn’t left the community pond in two weeks. Their last outing found them chasing away a cackle of hyenas who were trying to attack the neighboring zebras. Stefan was no longer in his prime. At 37 years old, his body weight amassed to 6,200 lbs. Holly was his confidant – his forever feathered friend. She would fly to his nook of the pond every day, and the two of them would gossip about the goings-on of the Sahara.

Jeffery the Jackal was cheating on his wife Johnna. Callan the Cape Hare had been evicted by the burrow’s landlord. Murphy the Mongoose lost a finger to Alfred the Alligator (by accident) the night before last. And Cheyenne the Cheetah was in heat.

“Have you heard about Cheyenne, Holly?”

“No, what’s that old bitty up to now, Stefan?”

“Word about the Sahara is she’s in heat.”

“You don’t say!!! Will Clyde and Clifton be on the lookout then for her, you think?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of those two since the last desert rainstorm.”

“My word! I hope she doesn’t come prancing over here with that scent of hers. We’ve got enough problems on this side of the pond. You heard about Jeffery, right?”

“The Jackal or the Giraffe?”

“The Jackal. Berta the Barbary Sheep caught him stepping out on Johnna.”

Stefan gasped, and a pent-up ball of air escaped his wide and viciously tooth-filled mouth.

“You don’t say! Didn’t they just have a whole new litter of little ones?!”

“They sure did! Four of the little pups, if I’m not mistaken. The nerve of that over-aged pimp! She needs to leave him!”

“I doubt she will, though. Two of the older children came back home to help out. Jeffery is the breadwinner – Johnna’s stuck. He’s got her right where he wants her, and that ain’t no place I’d wanna see any of my friends.” Stefan sighs discontentedly as he says this.

The Saharan sun bows its reddened glow and hovers over Stefan and Holly before closing its eyes. Pitch black is the night sky as the two wander gingerly back to the base of the pond. A day of gossiping, galloping, and gloating has met its end.

“Same time, same place, tomorrow, Stefan?”

“I’ll be right here, Holly.”

This flash fiction piece is in response to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. This was my first go at it, and I truly enjoyed writing this story. Perhaps you’d like to try your hand at this challenge, too?