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I came across this flash fiction (Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner) challenge by happenstance and I’m always up for a challenge.

Winnie opened the letterbox to find a card advising there was a letter she needed to sign for at the post office. She was perplexed because she wasn’t expecting anything. Then she thought maybe it’s the paperwork from the lawyer settling her father’s estate. She resolved to stop by the post office on her way to work.

Upon arriving at Read More…

Stream of Conscious Saturday

socs-badge-2015What can an SoCS newbie like me write about? Good question and I haven’t a clue. So, I guess the best thing is for me to embrace stream of consciousness. I wanted to write a stream of consciousness short story, but drew a blank. Like brain fart blank.

I have a lot on my mind, not bad stuff, just stuff and I’m nursing a headache; which is one reason why Read More…

Sunday Dinner

Mandy loved Sunday’s. That’s the day the family got together. This was the one day in which traditional gender roles were accepted. The women in the kitchen and the men in the living room. The house was full of love,  laughter and stories. Mandy’s grandmother was the best storyteller. Every Sunday she would tell the story of how she and Mandy’s grandfather met. Everyone knew the story by heart, but it was still funny. And every Sunday someone would inevitable Read More…

Harvest Time

This week’s Flash! Friday prompt. Enjoy and as always feedback is always welcome and greatly appreciated.

St Kilda, Scotland. CC photo by Neil Wilkie.

Hirta knew the stone hut with its mossy grass roof was the perfect place to raise the children, until they reached maturity.

Anders matured first and Stella was sent to fetch the warden. When they returned Stella was perched on his back, as she was too weak to walk.

“Anders,” Hirta yelled. “Come get this child!”

Hirta chided Stella as Anders lifted her from the warden’s back. “The warden is never to carry you.”

“She ran out of the life tea,” the warden advised calmly.

“She had enough for a week,” Hirta bellowed. “Go! Prepare the tea,” She commanded Stella.

As the warden was inspecting Anders, Stella emerged with the life tea.

“Anders is strong and well built. He’ll make a good worker,” he said sipping the tea. ” However this one will never mature. What shall we to do?”

“Send her to be harvested for the hungry and make sure I get two fresh eggs by weeks end.”

Word Count: 158 


Kevin could feel the cold cutting through his clothes. He and the other soldiers huddled together trying to keep each other warm. Winter came early.

Kevin had only recently fallen off to sleep when Captain Torres roused him. “They’re on the move,” he said. If there is one thing Kevin has learned from Torres is that you must always be battle-ready. He scramble to his feet and roused the rest of his troop. They quickly lined the top of the trench with barely the tops of their heads showing.

The only thing they had time to think about was making sure the bullets in the chamber hit the designated targets. They could not concern themselves with the melted snow in their boots or the smell of frying bacon.

They called Kevin ‘Eagle Eye’ because he could see anything a football field away without binoculars. Scanning the field, Kevin spotted movement behind the tree line. He grabbed the binoculars to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him, but before he had a chance to focus them he spotted a muzzle flash and was barely out-of-the-way before he felt the heat of the bullet whiz by. He ordered return fire and as quickly as it started it was over.

He assessed his men. No casualties or rather none dead. There are always casualties of war. The mind is the first and the biggest. A piece of it falls in every battle. He learned that when he saw his bunkmate lying twisted and bloodied on the ground beside him. He puked and peed himself all at once. He remembered Captain Torres telling him, “It won’t get any easier.” He was right.

Your mind kicks into survival mode and when it’s not it reveals the hidden scars and wounds that have yet to heal. It weakens you and you’re left like a pile of human rubble.

As his men sat talking and laughing about the early morning events over their coffee, burnt toast, bacon and runny eggs, he wondered how deep their wounds are and which soldier wouldn’t return from his mind’s moment of weakness.

The Savior

My take on this weeks Friday Fictioneers.

There it sat amongest the cobwebs and boxes, a painful but joyful reminder of years gone by.

Sarah didn’t understand why I kept it. I told her, “it’s a reminder that this ram gave its life to save Isaac’s.”

“Abraham,” she’d always say shaking her head and with a chuckle. “You don’t really believe this ram saved Isaacs life on that mountain, do you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” One thing is certain, if it hadn’t been there Isaac and I would have starved to death and Sarah never would have forgiven me for killing her only son.

PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Adam Ickes

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