Friday, February 1, 2013

Select a Scene

Here're some pictorial scenarios 
to spice your piece of flashy fiction today!!

(Via Photobucket: o0puppylvr0o)

(Via Photobucket: amyjayne10)

(Via Photobucket: amyjayne10)

Bring these images to life with words...

there're stories begging to be told. 

Happy writing Friday Flashy-Fiction writers!! :)'s




    Monique was at her wits end. They had taken everything of any value to her. All she was left, was her dignity, these four walls and the need to dance. The music played internally; a melody that has played there since her birth. From the squalor of her broken home to the lofty stages upon which she played, Monique was her own star. She shined brightly, no matter what Francois had to say.

    He tried to consume her; to control and demean her. But she was strong enough to not allow that to happen. She had it all. And now she had nothing. The spindly waif struggled with her demons. She leaned against the wall, arms extended and supporting her diminutive frame. The muscles in her back eased; her calf muscles tightened. Monique tossed her head back, whipping her abundant curls across her shoulders, falling back into place in tight ringlets of hope. Heels lifted and her body pulsed.

    The music inside was cacophonous. Dancing had commenced. Monique was free!



    Jacqueline reeked of purity.

    Her existence was of one purpose. She wanted to be looked upon as the fairest in the land. For in this sick and confused world, she knew that purity was a lost commodity. And thus it had great worth, but in a way which she had never imagined. From the shelter of her over-possessive upbringing, Jacqueline knew not of the deviance which plagued the "real" world.

    Her means were simple. And her beauty flowed from her naivete. A clear conscience and a pure heart could defeat the most destructive of beasts. Astride her bicycle, she had set out to offer her goodness to ease the pains of the darkness. Jacqueline had no idea.

    The lovely one had no inkling of what awaited her in her travels. She had never encountered ravenous wolves. She did not battle wicked witches. She was in for a rude awakening. But the world awaited Jacqueline. It was more than capable of encountering her kind. They would destroy her. Jacqueline could never distinguish between purity and fear. Either way, she reeked of it.



    Delphine found herself lost in her writings. She had wit and a clearly expressive soul. In her mind, she was a Bronte sister separated at birth and quite a few decades. But her imaginings were very visual; a feast for the eyes and soul. Delphine's diversion placated her sedentary heart.

    Adventure and situations played in her mind; a muse that was more blessing than curse. But at worst, she was merely a good writer. Those who read her worded magnificence knew otherwise. She carried her verbiage like a cache of gold. It was her intent that gave her words their worth and value.

    Delphine drew such great comfort from releasing her ramblings into the world. She soared in unforeseen stratospheres. She flew in the paths of many great authors before her. She became airborne through the spreading of her wings on her flights of fancy. She felt carefree and unencumbered. Delphine was lighter than Eyre!

    1. Walt!! Each of these were a truly a joy to read!! In exhibit one I love this: "The music played internally; a melody that has played there since her birth." I just started reading a book this's a memoir and it's about a woman who belly dances...there was a sentence that in essence stated the same! Cool coincidence.

      In exhibit Two I feel the urgency of retaining the naivete in the face of that increasingly-eagerly fearsome create the contrast effectively!

      The third exhibit is buoyant with the flavor of aspiring artist...budding writer and it's true that the worlds that writers can create are worlds that one can escape....freeing "sedentary heart!!"

      Excellently penned my friend! :)

    2. These are magic Walt - from the first one which is fraught with pain to the next, every line filled with anxiety - I'm glad we don't get to travel any further with Jacqueline (it's bad enough to imagine what's in store for her) - and the last one, the play on words just makes it! Great writing as always - even your prose is poetic.

    3. Greatly enjoyed Delphine - from beginning to terrific play on words:)))

  2. "Miss," he called, walking briskly toward the lady in white.

    "Yes," she replied, stopping and turning toward him. "Can I help you, sir?"

    "Yes, indeed, miss," he answered. "You can give it back without a fuss and we'll pretend it didn't happen."

    "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

    "I know it's not yours, miss. I saw you look around to see if anyone was looking, then quickly take it and start walking off. The owner obviously didn't see you, but I did. Leave it with me and go about your business. I will return it and no one will have to know what you've done."

    As he spoke, she moved her left arm, pulling her flowing dress up and forward while her right hand gently covered the end of the handle bar. Maybe she was getting ready to make a run for it. "Again, sir. I don't know what you are talking about. I've not taken anything." Or, maybe she just thought him blind or stupid.

    "Miss, you do realize that I can still see the bicycle."

    1. I agree with Walt! Humorous take on this...thanks so much for writing! :)

    2. Great take - I can so see this happening ...


    It was the final straw. First he stopped paying child support. Then he took away the children - she didn't even know where they were...When she was finally released from the hospital, they, and everything else from their tiny apartment, were gone. Or were they gone before she went crazy? Her memory was as unreliable as her no-good-nick husband, she knew it was true. As the sun insisted on diving from the sky, she used all her remaining strength to push back the walls, knew if she could keep them from crushing her, she would be fine, she would remember, she would be sane. But oh - the weariness caused by holding back the walls. She had no idea it would be this taxing. She wonders if she knows what she is doing or why. Sanity is a bee humming in a shell on her dresser, the one that has been repossessed.


    It's just like riding a bicycle, they said. Who said, she wonders. And it isn't anyhow. If they meant it's easy... She fell twice coming down the hill. Ridiculous to wear the long dress for riding the bike - what was she thinking? Now she has two bleeding knees. She peeks at them under her flowing silk dress, is distressed to see blood on the inside of the multi-layered slip, but at least the bleeding seems staunched now - even if the hurt is throbbing. Who is she hoping to impress, she muses, laughing a little at herself, knowing there is no-one that comes to the piazza that's going to be astonished at a simple girl from the village riding a bike to the square. After all, didn't almost everyone do it at one time or another? Not in a flowing white gown, she chided herself. Not when they were a grown woman in love ... Oh, that's right - there was that, she reminded herself - giddy with the notion. As she put her bike in the rack, she glances up through thick lashes - where is Pablo, she wonders...did he come tonight? Did he?


    Deirdre fell asleep beneath the persimmon tree and fell into a wondrous dream. A bouquet of balloons was delivered by two beagles dressed like footmen, and she knew they were telling her to fly. But she couldn't seem to lift off the ground no matter how hard she tried, even in the dream. From very far off, the sound of dogs baying, awakened Deirdre, and she saw, she did have balloons after all and she so wanted to fly that she rose up on her tiptoes like a prima-ballerina, shut her eyes, whispered magical words and prayers also, and tried, tried, tried to fly. But when she opened her eyes - her beagles were yapping as if to say - "girls can't fly" and her homework waited, stacked in a pile. Still - the balloons looked a bit promising yet... Deirdre was not one to give up easily.

    1. I love this, "Sanity is a bee humming in a shell on her dresser," that's a rocking line!!

      The twist of consuming love in the second is well executed!

      I SO enjoy that the beagles are dressed as footmen!!

      All three of these are so entertaining, Sharon! I agree with Walt, on your poetry and flash fiction...wonderful, indeed!!

    2. The first is exceptional in a wonderful trilogy. Beautiful poetic prose - simply stunning.

  4. Rather humorous, Mr. Halpin! And very clever take!

    Sharon, love your flash fiction as much as your poetry. Clearly both are wonderful!

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    1. No paragraph spaces...I forgot that this happens here so...
      re-post: Image #1

      In Search for Self

      She knew that one couldn’t maintain ultimate balance on a diet subsisting of merely dark chocolate chips and sips of honey-sweetened green tea but she didn’t care anymore. It made her mouth happy and she loved the rush of endorphins that proved that it did. And she realized that her hair and body had begun to exude a natural smell. The scents of commercially promoted soaps and shampoos had long left her skin and the wild smell of her natural odors was coming to the surface but she enjoyed it.

      She did take to the mirror once and again to tend to her teeth and to peer into the windows of her deep-sea pupils but not long enough to get attached to this, her misleading outward appearance.

      This was her life now and the sounds of the plaster-chipped, hollow walls and splintered barren strips of wooden floors was her palette. Curtain less windows begged her to burst through them to be freed of this artistic detention that she’d allotted for herself.

      It wouldn’t be over until she’d found herself, she’d promised it. She believed she at least owed that much to herself…to the world, too. An unfiltered, undiluted version of her that no one could alter this that no one could mold and shape her into someone else or something she was not.

      She didn’t know it would take so long to truly learn who she really was.

      Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013

    2. This is crazy scary ... I found myself wanting to reach out and grab this girl, tell her to get out of there - find another way to do this ...

    3. Mhmmmm read this several times -enjoy the balance between the constrained yet hedonistic diet and its sweet effects - alongside a dedication that can, as Sharon implied have serious scary consequences - a really good read :)

  7. These will definitely spark the creative fires!!

  8. Scene 1.

    Finally morning

    Finally it was morning. Finally. She had met him at the BookStore, the on-campus bar that was the shared joke among the students. That night was no different, she supposed from others, although Becca had spent most of this first month away at the actual book-store or in the library. He had a nice smile and soft brown eyes and the music was loud, and the place smelled of what she supposed was beer, a warm yeasty, uriney odor. Over the music she heard a girl laughing "Yeah I told my parents I was at the bookstore too." Maybe it was just her, maybe she was just too serious, but the joke didn't seem all that funny, the music was too loud to enjoy and that smell. Well, she could tell herself that she had done it, she had gone to a bar and met a guy and so when the boy with the nice smile and soft brown eyes leaned over she smiled back at him. She had promised herself she was going to have this night - just so she could be able to say the next time she turned down going that "YES" she had actually gone. And when he asked, well actually yelled over the music and the general shouting "Do you want to get out of here?" well, she did. It was October and a little chilly - they walked through the campus toward her dorm and he asked her if she wanted to go somewhere and have some coffee, and the lights were shining on the lawn, and glowing on the cobble stones leading to her dorm and the Student Center was shining straight ahead and wasn't this all part of it? Going to a boy's place and having coffee. They had been talking about Contemporary Poetry, he was a TA for the same professor in a different section. It would be one of those memories that she would collect and pull out when she was much older from her college days section. "Yes" she had said, and he took her hand. It was going to be a great memory. She could almost taste the coffee feel, the heavy mug he would have in his apartment just on the edge of campus, and if the building when they got to it looked a little dark, that was the way a graduate student's apartment should look, wasn't it? It was going to be a great memory. She was still thinking this in some sort of stunned deluded shock as he opened a door to an empty room and pinned her against the wall - the only sound the ripping of her shirt. And for some reason, through most of all that followed through that long, long, cold, pain filled night, even when she curled on the floor and he in some sort of sudden rage kicked the wall leaving footprints - she kept thinking that she could smell coffee brewing - somewhere.

  9. Oh my - the foreshadowing in this is excellent and even tho' you just know no good is going to come of this, you so want a different outcome, you follow along as naive as the girl in the story, smelling the same damned coffee brewing right to the bitter end. Very good story Pearl.

  10. Aw thanks Sharon :) I see my comment on your did not post here . Will rectify