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Category Archives: FLASH FICTION

Na My Choice 1 – Flash Fiction

**Retrieved this from our old blog.**


Belinda was restless.

She wanted to leave; was sorely tempted to walk through the open door where the curtain was billowing back and forward in tune with the cool, evening breeze. But she didn’t, couldn’t.

Stephen was once again in the kitchen. Why he thought that preparing her homemade meals made up for hardly ever taking her out like every good boyfriend did was beyond her imagination. She twisted her lips and hissed under her breath, stingy man.

The frown already creasing her forehead deepened. Well, he wasn’t stingy per se. No, he wasn’t stingy; he was just too poor for her comfort. She was a young woman for heaven’s sake. She adjusted her body on the polyester covered couch and grimaced, everyone had leather covered sofa sets in their sitting room these days, but Stephen still used these cheap coverings… and it wasn’t even a sofa set, just a miserable couch in his one bedroom apartment.

Unfaithful 2 – Flash Fiction

“How long have you been seeing him?” Again. My head reminded my battered heart to add again, but I could not muster the effort.

“A month or so.” Ama didn’t look at me.

She’s been avoiding my gaze since this conversation started. Well, longer really. She hasn’t quite been able to hold my gaze for a month or so.

“Why?”

This One Night – Micro Fiction

So yesterday Toykathy made a teasing remark on the Writers’ Guide 101 post about me writing an Erotica. Not a genre I have particular talent for but I once had my trial moment whilst I belonged to this Writers’ Group and we were asked to write an Erotica Flash Fiction (or Micro Fiction) of no more than 500 words that will begin with “Let’s go crazy” and sort of finish with “I love you”. Below was my submission.

Remember, it’s just fiction oh… don’t get carried away *wink*


“Let’s go crazy.”

That was what he whispered into my ear as he leaned across the bar table.

It wasn’t my first time seeing him. He was a regular at the bar. He came in every Friday night, never week days. His name was Kane. Always wore same thing, a jeans and T-shirt. Only the colours changed. Tonight was all blue.

UNFAITHFUL – Flash Fiction

He did it first. He was first unfaithful.

We’d been married just three months when he had his affair. It wasn’t a one-time thing. I don’t know if that would have made a difference.

If it had been just once, just one single sex with her, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I would have felt different. Maybe I would have felt less cheated, less wounded, less insulted… less heartbroken.

Maybe.

Bella

She came through the swing door and his heart skidded to a stop, literally. He had to inhale to kick if off again. It was always this way, since the very first day he walked through the double doors of the restaurant where she worked as a waitress.

She was a waitress, but her mother owned the classy a little over a dozen tables eatery. It was a small place but the food was good and highly affordable. Both facts didn’t really matter to him, but he knew they were attractive factors for other patrons.

Pin-striped grey skirt and a cheerful yellow lace frill top. That was her outfit today. The skirt stopped three or four inches off her knees and then her fair-skinned flawless, faintly-bowed legs flowed through it to end in pretty, girly faux-leather slippers.

 Bella. That was her name. And like its Italian meaning, she was beautiful. She wasn’t too tall, but she wasn’t short or smallish either. Maybe she hit average at five-five, or close to it. She was slim built, slender without being thin, curvy without being overly voluptuous. She was rightly proportioned, that was how he thought of her. And she was beautiful. Beautiful with her glowing, unblemished fair complexion. Beautiful with her long, pitch-black natural hair that was always glossy and free-flowing. Beautiful with her quick smile and her dimples.

Beautiful—simply because she was.

The Coin

He had many things on his mind. Too many that he could not even isolate and clarify even one of them. His mind swarm with them and his head ached with the bristling noise of it. He kept his eyes down; did not look at the scenery he was sweeping past with his steady, brisk-paced steps. And he did not speak to the very few people whom he streamed past on the near deserted street.

The sun had gone west on the evening sky, and was slowly sinking beneath it. Shadows of it remained, but not enough to cast light on the broken-tar street. He couldn’t tell the time, but he figured it was closer to seven pm than sixty-thirty at the moment. His stomach rumbled now.

AT HIS FUNERAL

Today for our relationship and life session, I want us to reflect on how we treat the people in our lives, on the shortness of this mortal life and on the burdens we place on others in the name of rights and tradition with this flash story below.


 

He died twenty-three days ago, today was his funeral.

So many people had come. He had been that popular and that well-loved. His mother was wailing, I could hear the loud, piteous cries from outside the window of my room. He had been her only son, her most priced jewel.

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