Tag: Flash Fiction

Valentine’s Day Getaway

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Flash Fiction: Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge #359

Photo by Birgith Roosipuu. In the photos, there is a bouquet of pink roses laid on a white surface. Gathered around the roses are five pink heart-shaped macarons and a mug of coffee with steamed milk.

He doesn’t like to celebrate Valentine’s Day; says it’s too commercialized and filled with people gunning to purchase items they’ll never buy again until next year. I agree and don’t agree at the same time. I am not into the capitalist side of the holiday; I am into the romance side of it. I planned a trip away from home — just the two of us (he often likes to do group activities with our boys and a few of our lady friends, but not this time), at one of the most luxurious AirBnBs you’ll find on this side of Maine. We live in Auburn, and this place is in Sanford — not even a two-hour drive for us.

In Auburn, Gray enjoys fishing, attending the balloon festivals, and visiting various farmers’ markets, but I want to try something different. I’ve booked a lovely two-bedroom cottage, not too far from Mousam View Place (where I’ve made reservations for dinner and wine tasting). We’ll also dive into a pottery session, play golf at the Sanford Country Club (shout out to my Godbrother Chance for the day pass), and explore the nightlife Sanford has to offer during the final throes of Winter.

If I didn’t take matters into my own hands, we’d be basking in one another’s presence in front of the 55-inch Roku SmartTV yet again on Valentine’s night. And while I love looking at my honey, I yearn for more. Ooh, here he comes now.

“Hey, love. How was work?”

Gray looks defeated from a day that pummeled him simultaneously, yet as soon as he lays eyes on Terrence, his entire mood changes, and his body relaxes.

“You know, same shit, different day. Dan hit us with yet another project that’s due early next week, and I am over his need to impress the upper echelon. Dude has such a comfy position and has no earthly idea how hard it is to cram project after project into a timeline of completion. It’s like talking to a deer in headlights — he’s clueless.”

Terrence shifts his body and raises himself from their boneless, tan-colored couch to meet Gray’s gaze.

“Love… I am not making light of your current situation, but it’s Valentine’s Day weekend, and you’re off tomorrow, so I’ve booked a day trip to Sanford. Now, before you say ‘No,’ don’t. I am not trying to hear it. I have a list of things planned, and I know you will love at least three of them, so… pack a bag, baby. We are getting out of Auburn for four days.

“What do you mean? What have you gone and done, Terrence? Shiiiit, I need a getaway. And you know I don’t rock with Valentine’s Day like that, but this sounds more like a mini vacation than anything else, so… I’ll let it slide… This time.

Terrence squeals with excitement and claps his hands together enthusiastically. He glues his body against Gray’s and showers him with tiny kisses. As soon as he turns to dash to their bedroom to grab his bags, Gray speaks again.

“I don’t know, though, Ter. I got this project that I really need to focus on. If I don’t have the numbers crunched and a gameplan for launching a compatible AI platform for our company, this luxurious lifestyle we have grown accustomed to may take a nosedive.”

“Says who?! Gray, I make more than enough at the gallery to cover us until you find another job, which you would in absolutely no time. So… again, there will not be a ‘No’ to this. It’s already done.”

Silence coats the room, and the two of them busy themselves with last-minute packing, eager for the romantic getaway. Terrence is getting his way.

I knew that he would try to weasel out of this before we could even get into it, but I was not having it! We work too hard, he especially, to not enjoy the fruits of our labor. And I can’t wait to snuggle up next to him tonight after we are settled into the comforts of the cottage.

This Valentine’s Day weekend, I will give the love of my life, the love of his life.

This is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #359. How creative can you be with this week’s theme?

Scattered Words: Hardcover $26.00 USD|Scattered Words: eBook $11.00 USD|Scattered Words: Amazon

Jade’s Arcade: Video Games at the Mall

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Flash Fiction: A Wayne Donald & Kinley Chris Adventure

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels. The image depicts a glowing, lit sign that reads “Arcade” hung above the entrance to a hallway. At the other end of the hall, we see a doorway leading to a room with different arcade games.

“I gots $5.75″ to spend at the arcade, Kinely Chris. That ain’t enough for four hours’ worth of playing video games. What you got?”

Wayne Donald yells to her big sister as she’s scraping change from her piggy bank for their impending trip to the mall to explore Jade’s Arcade. The girls do not get out often. With their grandmother being the town’s declared homebody, their Uncle Henry has access to them every few weeks and allows them a trip or two upon those visits.

“I have ten dollars. Now, lemme just say this… You know as well as I do that Uncle Henry ain’t gon’ give us more than $5.00 a piece when he comes, so I’ll go on and give you two of my ten dollars, so you’ll have $12.75 once he’s done handin’ out money. I’ll have ’bout a dollar more’n ya, so we can split that last dollar later, before we leave. That sound all right t’ya, Wayne Donald?”

Wayne Donald is shaking up her piggy bank, trying to see if any more coins are dangling from side to side. The empty echo of nothingness signals to her that she has nothing left to spare. She looks in Kinley Chris’s direction and nods her approval before speaking.

“Thanks, Kinley. I sure do appreciate that. I know which games I’m gon’ play, too! Mrs. Pac-Man, Frogger, Skee-Ball, and Air Hockey. And if Uncle Henry’ll put me on his shoulders, I’ll play basketball, too!”

“Ya ain’t skilled enough to play Frogger, and you always bouncin’ the balls into other lanes with Skee-Ball. Stick to what ya’know, and that’s Mrs. Pac-Man and Air Hockey.”

Silence fills the room, and the younger sister nods her head in agreement, and tilts it to the left—she’s trying to gauge whether or not she should just stick to what she knows. More than likely, she’s going to do what she wants anyway. She coughs into her cupped hands and rebuts.

“Kinley Chris, I do believe I’m gon’ play what I said I’m gon’ play. If I don’t try, how will I learn?”

“Y’know what, Wayne Donald?! Ya got me there. Ya got me.”

Uncle Henry pulls up to their grandmother’s castle-like home, parks his truck in the driveway, and honks the horn twice. The girls skate down the stairs, yell their goodbyes to their grandmother, and bolt through the front door.

“HEY, UNCLE HENRY!” They shout in unison.

“Hey, girls. So, Jade’s Arcade, right? Should be just a few tykes there by the time we get to town. Y’all buckle up for safety. And here’s ya money.”

He leans slightly over the front seat of his truck and hands the girls a $5.00 bill apiece—crispy bills, too. The girls look at each other with huge smiles, slapping their faces.

“THANKS, UNCLE HENRY!” The hum of the truck presses into the cool air of the late morning. Uncle Henry turns his radio to 94.5, and the lovely sounds of electric jazz fill the truck. A smile slaps his face, too, and before the girls can say anything else, he says tenderly…

“Y’all welcome.”

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, and Part V.

This concludes the adventures of Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris. Thank you for joining me on their memorable journey!

This flash fiction piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. It is week #357. When I saw the image, the girls sprang into action, and the story above is what came to me.

Perhaps, you’ve got a story brewing within you, too, for this week’s image offering?

Scattered Words: Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt is available now! Have you gotten your copy? Hardcover|eBook

Helen, Lucy, and Quack

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Flash Fiction: A Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris Adventure

The image above is by Erwin Bosman on Pexels. It depicts three chickens perched on a branch. The chickens appear to ascend in height from left to right; the leftmost chicken being mostly brown, the one at center being mostly white, and the rightmost being mostly black.

Wayne Donald stares outside their upstairs bedroom window. She is scratching the curly, messy knot of hair on her head while she huffs and breathes outwardly in exasperation.

“You gon’ tell Charlie ’bout them chickens of theirs cluckin’ about in the yard again, Kinley Chris, or do I have to put on my knickers and go on over there and do it myself?”

Wayne Donald is in rare form this morning. It is a raging hot Sunday in the depths of the South, and wandering chickens are the last things she wants to deal with the day before going back to school. The girls had been out for Christmas break, enjoying every moment of freedom their grandmother would allow, and now… the countdown to back-to-school has begun.

“Who out there?! Which ones? Some, I don’t mind. I put some chicken feed out near the fence yesterday morning—might be sopping that up.”

“Looks like Helen, Lucy, and Quack.” She squints her eyes to look closer outside of their upstairs bedroom window—zooming in with imaginary binoculars. “Yeah… that’s definitely Helen, Lucy, and Quack.”

Kinley Chris looks up from an adventurous book she had been reading, keenly stares at her younger sister, and nods in approval.

“Long as it’s not those other demon birds, I say, let them be. Charlie Rhett and ‘nem are at church anyway at this hour. It ain’t no need bangin’ on their door about some harmless chickens just cuz you don’t like the way they cluck.”

“They irritate me, Kinley Chris, and I just can’t take it. Why you gotta put that chicken feed out on Sunday mornings when I wanna sleep in?”

“Who are you to tell me where and when to put chicken feed, Wayne Donald? It’s late morning, and you shoulda been up about an hour ago anyway. Don’t get on my bad side before noon.”

Wayne Donald shuffles off to her bed, plops her flimsy body back down, tucks her face underneath the sheets, and fake-sobs. Through the sheets, she continues her argument with her big sister.

“I’m just sayin’… they cluck and squawk and make so much noise while they’re eatin’, Kinley Chris. How can you even read with all that racket walkin’ in through the window?”

“You were just up, Wayne Donald. You could’ve closed the window, silly. They aren’t that loud, and it’s too early to be complainin’. Get yourself a few more winks in, and I’ll go downstairs in a bit and fetch us some breakfast. If Helen, Lucy, or Quack laid some eggs, we’ll have us a mighty fine batch of eatin’.”

To this, Wayne Donald does not debate. She turns over, snuggles up into a ball, and closes her eyes. “Fifteen more minutes,” she says. “Fifteen more minutes.”

Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #353. I love it when these two sisters start speaking to me. When I saw the prompt roll out this past Monday, and those chickens staring back at me, I said, “Ha! Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris,” so here we are. Thank you so much for reading.

Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?

I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing, as I discuss recent events related to my previous place of employment, including racism and discrimination, the growth I experienced after resigning from that company, and the foibles and overall experiences of life. I welcome your visit.

Ivy Tower

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Flash Fiction: A Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris Adventure

The image above is from Jon Tyson. The image depicts the window of a brick building that is overgrown with ivy; some of the leaves are still green, but many are a beautiful red color. We see some, but not all, of the window frame.

“Wayne Donald! Get out here! We needa clear somma this ivy!”

Kinley Chris shouts up toward the huge window of their grandmother’s home. Wayne Donald is in their bedroom watching Gremlins, avoiding all Saturday chores. She huffs, kicks her feet up from the bed, jumps down from the top bunk, and lands with a vicious thud over their grandmother’s art room.

Kinley is standing outside in front of their grandmother’s home, under the first window. She is dressed in a medium Uline Deluxe Coverall, ski mask, gardening gloves, and goggles for protection. She is holding a mini rake in one hand and a standard rake in the other.

“Kinley Chris, why we gotta do this? Why we can’t wait ’til Uncle Henry gets here to clear this ivy? I hate it. It makes my stomach turn.” The younger sister whines and tries to plead her case, but Kinely Chris stands firm on what needs to get done as a part of their Saturday chores.

“Every Saturday you moan’n groan, like I wanna hear it. I don’t. Uncle Henry won’t be over here ’til later on this evening for dinner, and by that time, he ain’t gon’ wanna do nothin’ but plop down and fill his belly with steak, potatoes, and gravy. So… please go get your gear on and get back out here so we can do what we need to do.”

Wayne Donald stirs up a fuss with her feet as she rattles the leaves awake beneath them. She races upstairs to gather her gear, puts it all on in haste, and rushes back outside to help her big sister.

“Get yo rakes and make sure your goggles are on good. We don’t need you rashin’ up ’round the eyes like you did two weeks ago. I got a swift slap to my cheek from grandma for not checkin’ on ya before we started, and I ain’t aimin’ for that to happen today.” Wayne Donald straightens up her goggles and pulls her ski mask down to meet the edges.

“And if you do a good job today, I’ve got some gummy bears with yo name on’em.”

Wayne Donald looks over at Kinley, shakes her head happily, and gets to work.

AI-Generated Image: Two sisters; one teenager, one seven-year-old, dressed in gardening gear and goggles, frowning.

A rare shout from up above meets the girls’ ears. It’s their grandmother giving precise orders for the proper trimming of the ivy.

“Girls, I likes them red leaves… how they’re comin’ in beautifully. Keep as many of them as you can, leave some green leaves to mingle with it, and trim from the top to the bottom. Y’all got your hedge clippers out there?”

The girls look up, both surprised to hear from their grandmother at this time of day. Typically, she’s asleep until noon, it’s only 09:30 AM. Kinley is the first to respond, then Wayne Donald.

“Sure thing, Grandma. We’ll get it right.”

“Okay, Grandma, will do!”

The sun rose higher to greet the two of them just as they were making headway under the third window. With seven more windows to go, the girls know they will not finish the task today, but at least most of the trimming and clearing of the ivy will be done for next Saturday.

“Whew! Five windows down, five more to go. It’s time for lunch, Wayne Donald. We can end here and finish up next Saturday. I think I smell Grandma’s fried spam and eggs, and I sure do want a belly full of that on some buttered toast.”

“Lawd, I do too, Kinley Chris! I been waitin’ for you to say we can stop since we started. Let’s get inside!”

What will the two of them get into next?

Part I, Part II, and Part III.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #349. I love these two sisters. They remind me of my friend, E’s two youngest girls. When the series is complete, I will share it with her. I am long overdue for a trip up to the mountains of Western North Carolina to visit all of them, and I am looking forward to it at the beginning of next year.

Saving Bruce Dennis

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Introducing Charlie Rhett Baylor

The image above is from Getty Images. It is a vintage photo of a young boy sitting at a table and looking mischievously at a whole turkey on a platter garnished with lettuce and tomatoes. The boy wears a suit jacket, dress shirt and tie, and his hands are folded and placed on the table. An empty dinner plate, a smaller plate with a dinner roll on it, and a full glass of milk are in front of him.

Bruce Dennis is getting so far up that the girls wail out to her, pleading for her to get back down to safety. The poor cat sits unbothered, still attached to ten red heart-shaped balloons, drifting by a will not of her own. They stomp their feet and cry out with impatience. Kinley Chris shouts downstairs to their grandmother—screaming for her help—begging her with plump tears in her eyes for her to do something.

“Grandma! Bruce Dennis is flyin’ up more and more. We need to get her down! Grandma, please!”

But their grandmother was in the very place she was before all the commotion began. The girls have no idea she is the one who hitched Bruce Dennis to the balloons—swatting the cat away for breaking her favorite vase. She had said so many times before her art room was off limits. She is going to show them better than she can tell them. But before she would wiggle her overgrown self from the vintage loveseat perfectly placed next to the only window in the art room, their young ginger-haired neighbor, Charlie Rhett Baylor, raps at their door.

“Kinley and Wayne!!! I see Brucie up in the sky. What is goin’ on, y’all?!” In between his yelling, there were frantic knocks at the door. Charlie is also thinking of a way to get the fat cat down while he continues to knock and yell. His father, Hank Baylor, is the Deputy Sheriff in town, so Charlie has a few tricks up his sleeve that will surely secure the fat cat soundly.

Wayne Donald shoots down the stairs quicker than an incoming evening tide and swings the door open. She notices Charlie’s Sunday Best attire, then waves for him to enter their home. Kinley Chris strips the bedding off the guest room’s twin mattress and tosses it out the window. She is thinking they can shoot the balloons one by one with her slingshot or BB gun, and get Bruce Dennis to land on the mattress, but they have to be quick. When Charlie meets her in the guest room, she rattles off her plan to him, and he throws his suit jacket on the box spring, kicks off his loafers, and races back downstairs so he can place the mattress in the spot where Bruce Dennis would land.

Kinley Chris loads the BB gun with .177 caliber pellets, flings the gun over her shoulder, and sets up shop right in front of the old window. Like a focused sniper, the eldest sibling tilts her head to find the subject, braces her legs for shifting, and kneels down in an experienced shooter’s position. She yells down to Charlie, who is in a frenzied state, trying to track Bruce Dennis’ landing position.

“Charlie Rhett Baylor, you gotta good eye on Brucie? I ain’t aimin’ to kill my cat when she falls, so you besta be movin’ that mattress in the right direction!”

“Yeah, I’m watchin’! I’m watichin’ ya, Kinley. You just let those bbs rip, and my eyes will be on the fat cat prize.”

Kinley Chris launches the first three pellets with vigor and swift calculation. Two more pellets follow, and Charlie is monitoring every hit and is maneuvering the mattress as if his life depends on it. Kinley Chris launches two more pellets, and Wayne Donald wails in exclamation—deathly afraid of a negative outcome.

Just before Kinley lets the last three pellets fly, Bruce Dennis is falling down at a pace none of them expects, and Charlie has his eyes on her—keenly assessing the situation as every second passes.

“I’m lettin’ these last three rip, Charlie! Make sure that mattress is placed right. Looks like Bruce Dennis is comin’ right at ya!” Each pellet hits its respective target, and the fat cat meows loud enough for the whole block to hear. She lands with a pounding thud on the mattress on her eight-lives-left paws and quickly runs toward the shed behind the house.

“Wayne Donald!” Kinley Chris turns to her sister to give the final instructions. “You go on to that shed and make sure she ain’t got no bruises or nothin’ like that, and take her a fresh bowl of milk and open a can of that good tuna for her, too.”

Charlie waits until he sees Wayne Donald, then hurries up the stairs to grab his suit jacket and loafers. His day of helping the neighbors is over, and now he has a story to tell his highly decorated Deputy Sheriff of a father.

Bruce Dennis won’t even look in the art room’s direction. She will never trust the girls’ grandmother again.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #348. We had to save Bruce Dennis; we simply had to.

Part I and Part II

The Fat Cat and the Red Balloons

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A Wayne Donald & Kinley Chris Adventure

Photo by  Reba Spike on Unsplash. The image depicts a fluffy tabby cat floating through the air. It appears the cat is suspended in midair by ten red heart-shaped foil helium balloons, the strings of which can be seen near his midsection. The sky in the background is a deep blue, with clouds scattered throughout.

“Kinley Chris, you see that fat cat anywhere down there? Grandma said it rushed outta the art room after knockin’ over her famous vase, and now I can’t find it nowheres!”

Wayne Donald shouts from the top of their ancient staircase down to her sister near the basement. She is standing on her tiptoes with her right hand on her hip, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Wayne Donald, girl, you better stop that yellin’ at the top of them stairs like that before Grandma come huntin’ for ya. I don’t see that fat cat down here, and it shouldn’t come this far anyway. Check the bedrooms and then the two guest bathrooms. It’ll probably pop up again when it’s supper time.

Wayne Donald searches each guest bathroom, bedroom, and then circles back around to the staircase, wandering down the hall toward their grandmother’s bedroom. With each step, she grows curiously curiouser as to where their tabby could be.

“Bruce Dennis! You fat cat, where are ya? BRUCE D-E-N-N-I-S!!! Where are ya, Bruce Dennis?”

Just like the girls, their fluffy and pleasantly plump tabby cat is double-named with what most people would consider a name fit for a man; however, the cat is female. On a somber and stormy night, the cat, who was then a kitten, found its way to their front door. The girls heard something scratching at it lightly. They begged their grandmother to walk to the door with them to see who it could be. When they peeled back the squeaky door, to their surprise, the kitten sat there with the most pitiful look on its face. The girls pleaded to keep it, and their grandmother approved.

They screamed names back and forth until finally, Kinley Chris chose the name Bruce, and Wayne Donald selected Dennis. Their grandmother nodded and tutted them with her hand to get the girls out of her hair. Bruce Dennis had become a part of their family.

“Bruce Dennis! Brucie! Where is that cat?”

Wayne Donald walked deeper into the bowels of her grandmother’s bedroom and slowly approached the old window. Upon looking outside, she gasped. Hanging at least 450 feet in the air was Bruce Dennis, tied to a bundle of red balloons. Wayne Donald almost fainted.

“Kinley Chris! Get up here right now! I say, get on up here!” She took a moment to breathe and then scolded Bruce Dennis for being outside. “Bruce Dennis! Now, how in God’s holy name did you get out there? Where’d you get them balloons?! KINLEY CHRIS!!! I SAY, GET UP HERE NOW!”

Kinely Chris raced up the stairs, taking them by two, and ran to their grandmother’s bedroom. If she had been any faster, smoke would be at her heels.

“Wayne Donald, I declare, you’d better have somethin’ serious for me callin’ my name like you The Law.” Wayne Donald looked at her big sister, her big come-hither eyes stretching wide as the Nile River. She huffed and pointed to the window.

“Kinley Chris, you just go on and look out that there window. You just look. Bruce Dennis is floatin’ up toward heaven.”

“Bruce Dennis is doing WHAT?!”

The girls stood at the window, both of them flabbergasted by the scene before them, and shocked at just how peaceful their fat cat appeared. They looked at each other and within seconds knew exactly what to do…

“GRANDMA, BRUCE DENNIS IS ALL RED BALLOONED OUT AND IS ON HER WAY UP TO HEAVEN!”

Their grandmother sat peacefully in her art room, playing her jazz records and tapping her feet. She tutted the girls silently to herself and shooed their summoning with her hand.

She would not be moved.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #347. As soon as I saw the image, I knew I wanted the girls to make another appearance. You can read their debut here.