Here’s another of my favorites revisited. 😉 originally posted August 16, 2012
Genre: Literary Fiction
Word Count: 100
CASUALTY OF WAR
In the woods on the outskirts of town is the Tree of Life. Not to be confused with the original, this one earned its name from a century of discarded oddities which have grown into its branches.
Jason and I carved our names into the bark the day before he left for Viet Nam. We’d marry when he returned.
When the final letter came my heart cratered to my stomach.
He’d met Trinh-Lee, his true love.
Today you can still read the crude print that says, “Jason loves Karen.”
Just below it, imbedded in the trunk, is my disengagement ring.
REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
Determined to keep his promise to Joseph’s orphans and give him a proper burial, Paul searched the grave where dozens were buried. Flies buzzed. Maggots burrowed into the eye-sockets of the nine months’ fallen patriots. Mouldering flesh and matted hair cleaved tenuously to shattered skulls. His gorge rose. He covered his nose and mouth. How would he ever recognise his friend amongst so many?
His thoughts wandered to a day long-past.
****
“Remarkable, Master Revere.” Joseph studied his smiling reflection.
****
Sunlight glinted off a bit of copper in a corpse’s mouth. Paul gasped.
Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
***SPAM FOLDER ALERT***
THERE SEEMS TO BE A TREND WITH WORDPRESS OF COMMENTS BEING SENT TO THE SPAM OR TRASH FOLDERS. I MAKE IT A POINT TO CHECK THOSE DAILY. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT KIND WORDS YOU COULD BE MISSING!!!
“We’re graduated,” said Diane cradling her diploma. “Let’s go celebrate.”
“Not tonight, Miss Valedictorian,” I said. “I’m bushed.”
“Aw, Mike, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Now.”
A sucker for her sweet pout, I gave in. Four other kids piled into my jalopy. I hung my tassel on the rearview mirror and stepped on the gas. With youthful abandon we laughed at nothing and everything. We owned the future.
“It wasn’t your fault, son,” said the police after the inquest. “The guy who t-boned you was three sheets to the wind.”
Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
My seventh-grade social studies teacher strode the aisles like a stalking tiger.
“If Seventeen Magazine told you to, you kids would hang beach balls around your necks and dangle pop cans from your ears.”
I squirmed in my striped mini dress that varied only in color from seven others in the room.
“What’s wrong with wanting to fit in?” I asked.
“You know anything about lemmings?”
“Good in pie topped with meringue,” whispered the boy behind me.
My teacher extended his arm, hand straight, palm down and shouted, “Turn in your textbooks to page 245, ‘The Indoctrination of Hitler Youth.’”
.
.
My story this week is dedicated to my 7th and 8th grade social studies teacher, Kevin McShane. Thank you, Mr. McShane for words of wisdom that have guided me through life.
Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
Through hours of research I’d found the perfect subject for my weekly flash fiction—a family’s battle over wealth with a tragic end.
I posted it to good reviews. But months later, a venomous barrage of remarks sent shockwaves through my world.
“I hate your writing, you ignorant slut. It’s all lies. My father was murdered.”
“I’d take down the post,” said a friend. “But don’t let her anger rent space in your head.”
I learned that day about the power of friendship. I also learned when fictionalizing recent events, it’s best to change real names to protect the guilty.
REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
THE CHALLENGE:
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)
THE KEY:
MAKE. EVERY. WORD. COUNT.
THE RULES:
Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH.
While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
**IT’S NOT A RACE TO SEE WHO CAN POST FIRST. TAKE YOUR TIME. EDIT. POLISH. THEN POST.**
😉
***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***
REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
🙂
😉
Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
“‘A sunrise doesn’t last all morning,’” I sing and strum the chords that take me back to a New York television studio thirty years ago.
There to meet a friend, I loaned my Martin to an aging musician for his last live performance.
“You don’t happen to have a capo, do you, Miss Guitar Lady?” he asked.
Something in his serene eyes and genuine smile reached to the depths of my soul.
My fingers move on the fretboard where his once did. I never changed those strings.
And as VH1’s cameras recorded history, George Harrison made my guitar gently weep.
******
It’s not the best quality but here’s the clip that inspired my story. If you’re in a hurry and would rather not commit to 14 minutes the impetus for my story really starts at the 10:00 mark on the bar.
Seize the opportunity to free your muse and allow her take you on a magic carpet ride.
Henry David Thoreau said it best.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
THE CHALLENGE:
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)
THE KEY:
MAKE. EVERY. WORD. COUNT.
THE RULES:
Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH.
While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***
REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
🙂
😉
Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 