This section is written in response to the photo prompt from Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Parts One, Two and Three. <—- Follow to find if you have not read yet. This is my third segment on the same story today. It is unusual for me to write so many flash-fics in the same day, let alone on a larger plot. I couldn’t seem to dislodge this one from my focus. I’ve been sitting here manically typing away despite exhaustion and seizure warnings because I felt compelled to get it out. Case of the story hijacking the Author.
Eric twirled the pill-jar, staring at half-drunk whiskey. He reached for it. No. Eric hesitated, then reached again. No. He felt restrained by another. Eric supposed it was wistful thinking. Eric hung his head into his hands. The image of the falls rose again. Unbidden; persistent. 25 of March. “Her anniversary. May as well spend it there.” His tone as bitter. Eric left home sober for the first time in years.
Even in winter the area was beautiful. Elendra stood, waiting. A realistic hallucination; the green robe edged in grey was a nice touch. Not something she had ever worn. The warmth of her hand in his grip; he had lost his mind. He felt well. “This time, you leap with me.”
“My turn to take a leap of faith.” Elandra smiled, free of anguish. Together they leapt, he would follow to oblivion. He felt electrified, then… Surprised. They stood on a path of autumnal beauty.
This photo prompt borrowed from Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.
We met again on court. Joe… Best friends once; we had been team-mates in junior high. Now we were strangers playing for different teams. The relic of my awkward teen years presented a unique challenge. Our ball volleyed back and forth; tossing my emotions with it.
Did he recognise me?
Our friendship was once a warm fire…
I drenched it.
Was he bitter?
Would he reject me as I rejected him?
Shit. The ball sailed into a blind spot. The Ref called it and the game was over. Each party approached the net and shook on a game fair played. “Your backhand’s still weak.” Joe gripped my hand. His eyes were warm; sins forgiven, if not forgotten. “Your grip’s still weak, Joseph.” That night we rekindled our fire.
The piece I’ve written based on the photo prompt for ‘Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers‘, a new writing challenge in it’s debut week. Join in if you like.
Susan fled to quiet of Café Moca, relaxed by the musty scent of books. Coffee, books, company; the perfect retreat from stress. Aiden, the barrister, waved as he spotted her. “Hey, Suz!”
“Hey, Sugar. You still working?”
“Aw, nice to see you too!” He replied, flashing a cheeky grin as he worked.
“You know you’re the highlight of my day,” Susan replied, leaning onto the counter. Aiden already had her double-strength latte, with home-made Victoria sponge, coming. Tuesday – sponge day, she smiled. “That’s the coffee,” Aiden replied.
“Absolutely! Aiden… When was the last day you had off?” She worried.
“Eh? Aah… The last part-timer quit last week. I’m holding out till Mick can hire someone.”
“No wonder you look wrecked. I’ll send Clara over; she needs a job.”
“Suzzie, you’re a lifesaver. I could finally see Mick! The cake’s on the house.” Sweet! She could kiss Aiden. But, she mused, Mick would be pissed.