Flower PowerPink roses, white lilies, lilac freesias and cream stocks.Flower Power1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Now, how would you describe this beautiful bunch of flowers? Yes—how about you?
A ‘stunning bouquet’. Yes, that’s absolutely right—well remembered! When thrown directly at the head, this kind of bouquet can stun an attacker for up to 30 seconds.
I shall demonstrate a few throwing techniques for you.
You can throw… underarm!
Or, if it’s possible for you to turn your back on your assailant, there is always… ‘The Bride’!
Oh. Oops. Is he… OK? Is he breathing? Oh, lovely. Just pop him into the recovery position then and we’ll crack on.
Next we have the glancing-blow posies. These are used simply to distract the assailant so that someone more heavily armed has time to get into position—maybe with a stunning bouquet, or perhaps even a wreath. But wreaths are only used in extreme circumstances. They don’t call them funeral flow
It's a Wonderful Spoof“Goodbye, cruel world!” Greg prepared to take a long jump off edge of the bridge—he didn’t want to bump into the side on the way down.It's a Wonderful Spoof2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light. Barely managing to stop himself falling off in surprise, Greg looked to his right. A glowing, winged figure was perched on the railing. “No, stop, don’t do it,” he said, not particularly enthusiastically. He took his cigarette out of his mouth for a moment to have a swig from a three-litre bottle of cheap cider.
“Who are you!?”
“I’m your guardian angel.”
Greg just stared.
“I’m not being sarcastic. I literally am.” He put the cigarette back in his mouth, freeing up a hand to offer to Greg. “The name’s Lawrence.”
Greg shook his hand. “Greg.”
Lawrence screwed his face up, as if talking to an idiot. “Yeah, mate. I think I picked that up at some point over the last forty or fifty years. N
Ashen“Four, five, six. Six? You said you could do fifteen!”Ashen2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
“My arms are getting tired!”
“You just can’t do them,” Emily insisted, crossing her arms. She narrowed her brown eyes at Grady and shook her head. “I bet Sven can do twice that!”
“I probably could,” Sven replied, standing to the side. He surveyed his two friends and debated on proving his strength.
Emily ran her fingers through her auburn hair, glowering at Grady. “You get one more try. You’ll be a liar and a wimp if you can’t do fifteen pull-ups.”
“I can do them! Watch and learn!” Grady reached for the ash branch and braced himself for the fifteen reps. After five, his arms burned from the repetition of the movement. He doubted Emily could complete one with her scrawny build, and Sven always barked with no bite. Taking heavy breaths, he passed the ten mark and felt his weight shift. With a loud crack, the limb suddenly gave way.
FFM 4: VillainyI read the note on the door twice to make sure I wasn’t missing a joke or something, and stormed into the apartment on numb legs.FFM 4: Villainy1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“What the fuck is this?!” I stammered, holding up the paper in a clenched fist. Morton just peered over the top of his laptop. “Where’s Alma?” He shrugged. “There was a ransom note hung on our door!”
“Oh yeah,” he murmured. “I thought I heard some rustling around this morning, but I figured it’d be better not to investigate too much, y’know?”
“What?!” I could feel my voice reaching a cracking point.
“What? If I’d checked, I would be just as fucked as her. Do we have enough to pay the ransom?”
I double-counted the zeroes. “Fuck no, we don’t!”
“Man. That sucks, I’m gonna miss her a lot.”
“Are you shitting me!” I couldn’t eve
CursedWhen I was five I told my teacher that my mother magically appeared whenever I was doing something wrong.Cursed1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Miss Jones laughed. “All mothers do that, Jill.”
So it wasn’t until I was about thirteen that I realised that my mother was unusual in this respect. Picking my nose, yelling at a friend, trying to copy someone else’s homework—no matter how far apart we were, if I did something bad my mother would abruptly appear at my side glaring at me.
And she still does.
Mum doesn’t talk that much about my curse. I only know that it came from my father. Well, he was Mum’s husband—he wasn’t actually my father. Hence the curse, I suppose. I’ve never met him but he’s some kind of natural magician. Very rare.
The situation felt bearable as a child. I didn’t know any different and I was reassured by it, to be honest. But as a teenager going through a rebellious phase… Smoking, bit of graffiti, kissing boys. And more. My mot
Condiments are *always* useful.She gently brushed the dying spiders off of her jacket, then set the body on fire.Condiments are *always* useful.1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"And that's 11." Agent L straightened up and took yet another look around the train car, exasperation with the situation showing in the extreme volume of her sigh.
"Arnichidaeans. What piece of shit is stupid enough to try and illegally import Arnichidaeans..?"
They were an alien race, possibly sapient but nobody cared to have them around and alive long enough to find out for sure, for they had numerous issues:
Armored pseudocrystalline hide.
Ability to eat almost anything.
High reproductive rates.
And so per the Tycho Treaty they were banned from Earth. Hell, they were banned from the entire galaxy. But their hides were worth a pretty penny for everything from alien art to effective body armor, so idiots would keep trying to ship them in to raise as incredibly irascible cattle.
Fortunately they had a..severe allergic reaction to powdered mustard seed,
blackout (FFM 3)At some point, I start to become aware of what's going on around me. Not all at once; it's a flash here, a voice there, a touch on my shoulder. But gradually, I'm waking up. I open my eyes, blinking at the bright light. I'm on a couch. There's a girl standing with her back to me, holding a cellphone. I know her, I think.blackout (FFM 3)1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
All at once, I'm panicking, terrified. There was danger. I had to hide. No-one was supposed to find me. I fell. I couldn't get up. Why? How did I get here? She turns at the sound of my quickened breath.
"Sarah, you're awake! How are you feeling?"
I can't respond, I feel sick, I don't know what's happening. I'm hyperventilating.
"You must be freezing. I'll grab you another blanket."
She leaves. I doubt she even realised how awful I felt. Or maybe she didn't care. Confused, bewildered, I tried to remember.
* * *
It's dark, and I'm running, but I've never been very good at walking in high heeled shoes, so I stumble. A lot. I'm running, and it's dark a
Sicklefox Once upon a time there was a naughty boy. He was about your age, if I’m not mistaken. This naughty boy loved to run and jump and play with his friends, but more than anything he loved sweet things. So when he spied the baker coming down the street with two trays of iced buns, he wasted no time in running over to him.Sicklefox1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“Aren’t you afraid carrying all those buns?” asked the naughty little boy.
“Afraid?” asked the baker. “Of course not—why would I be?”
“Why,” lied the naughty boy, “because Sicklefox likes nothing better than iced buns, and I hear he is nearby. If he finds you, he’ll cut out your tongue and eat it.”
The baker stopped. This was new to him, but all had heard tales of Sicklefox and all knew them to be true.
“Perhaps I should take half,” said
BrevityThere was an explosion.Brevity2 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“That's it?! I've been working on these pyrotechnics for months, and all I get is 'there was an explosion'?!”
“Sorry. This is flash fiction, not an action movie.”
Space BlanketsPurple cloudsSpace Blankets2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
draped over crescent hips--
bashful twin moons.
EllipticalHe talks to CometsElliptical1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
tells them Secrets and Tales
they listen with rapt attention
sometimes crashing and burning
sometimes passing innocuously
through the Universe
Sometimes, the Comets tell their own tales
streaking tails of tales across the night sky
passing sleeping cities, flying over pastures
we watch with rapt attention
sometimes crashing, sometimes burning
but never innocuously
We wish, we hope, we dream
of catching Comets in a jar,
keeping them like wildflower jam
and spreading them on brainy toast
and savoring every Cosmic bite
But, He talks to Comets
tells them they belong among the stars
to sail away and find a new lover
Far away and return when they feel free
Musical ChairsThree women.Musical Chairs3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
behind, and to the righti.behind, and to the right1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you were a series
of battles won--
of your strength
litter the kitchen bench,
something to hold on to
when the need's
wasting you away
twelve months sober
undone by one hour
the vodka bullet
dismantled a persona
in jagged pageturns,
like tomorrow was
already a memory,
and one day, tomorrow
you died on valentine's day;
symbolism gifted in the form
of a flowing red bouquet
and desperate hopelessness
at least, that's what
they didn't say,
once the war
helium balloon lungsi. You write me notes scribbled on sandpaperhelium balloon lungs3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and I run them across my face,
scraping away layers of saccharine skin,
ii. Your eyes, made of cookie crumbs,
I'd like to dip them in milk
and watch them melt,
smoking like dry ice,
iii. You churn my childish heart
in circles and in circles
till I slip into cardiac arrest,
iv. I just remembered that time you
wrapped your arms around me like vines
and held me until you couldn't,
v. Oh what I'd give for a pair of
fortune cookie lungs,
exhaling self-fulfilling prophecy,
vi. I've been fishing for horoscopes,
pasting them onto my bedroom walls
and on the backside of my skin,
hoping that they tell me that
today is the day you will be mine,
vii. But your soul is made up of sins
and I do believe in forgiveness,
but forgive me, for I cannot forget.
Come With Me if You Want to Live“Are you Sally Connal?”Come With Me if You Want to Live2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“Do I know you?”
The musclebound gentleman stared through his sunglasses. “That is improbable.”
“Because you look kind of familiar. Aren’t you the Governor of somewhere?”
“This is not a productive area of discussion. Are you Sally Connal?”
To Sally’s surprise, the man slowly drew a large handgun from his coat pocket. To her even greater surprise, a motorcycle crashed through the café window next to her, knocking him through a similar window on the opposite side of the building. The rider of the motorcycle did a tight lap of the room, brought the vehicle to a dramatic halt and stretched out an arm.
“Come with me if you want to live!”
Sally glanced over at the first guy who had spoken to her. He was already standing, the glass under his feet crunching dramatically, as it would under the feet of an implacable bad guy in an action movie.
Sally set do
Nightmares and AnchorsI jumped awake at the sound of his groggy shouting. He was sitting up in bed, the covers twisted around his arms and legs, breathing heavily. I sat up with him and gently wrapped an arm around his trembling shoulder. He jerked away at my touch, still wrapped in whatever dream world he'd been dragged into, but I kept a firm grip on his shoulder. Reilly slowly blinked, pushing away the last cloying tendrils of his nightmare and relaxed into my arm. He rolled over and rested his head against my chest, still trying to catch his breath.Nightmares and Anchors1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I knew how it worked now; he would listen to my breath and my heart beat until his slowed. I would whisper to him through the dark and tell him that everything would be alright. I would straighten the covers and wrap them over us and we would fall asleep in each other’s arms. Some nights we didn't perform the routine, some nights he slept through until the alarm beeped or someone knocked on the door. But some nights his past would come for him in his s
How fragile we all are.You have died a hero,How fragile we all are.1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
much too young.
No time to see your body worn,
so youthful ,so strong.
No old age aches and pains,
no wrinkles or false teeth,
still handsome and so full of life,
even jokes upon your lips.
You have died a hero,
a place in all our hearts,
shocked and saddened at your passing,
How fragile we all are.
Now as the time passes,
your memory will remain
and as we reminisce your life
your image stays the same
You have died my hero
and although I'd like to scold,
one sad thought's just occurred to me,
you'll never see me old.
by Suzanne Karbach June 2014
build yourself a palace. never leave.a string is tied around my neckbuild yourself a palace. never leave.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
at least i know where i belong
pile up on the floor
i'll dust them off later
please do not sweep away the shards
they're my mind
singing like seagulls
out in the real world
i die every day
but we are rich kids and don't know pain.
The Ritual of CrossingI.The Ritual of Crossing11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
The ritual of passing through
your heart and into the void
is stuck in the sudden emptiness,
and the scattering of an estranged wind
that whistles so loudly into my ears.
I'm on my own, frozen
inside the longing for
the old breeze that holds
your scent, laughter and
the little taps you left along my neck.
The ritual of passing through
my skeleton and back into your heart
is probably a kite of bright blue
that's born out of the scorching pain in my ribs.
It'd bend its wings a little and soar
right into the hand you use to protect
your eyes from a sun that
doesn't shine as bright for me.
I left you the light, instead
I sipped water out of your hands
and decided to live, even a little.
I still have tears waiting for me,
echoing in the distance, chanting
the tones of a broken heart
You never said my blood would burn
the minute I find rest in another's arms.
You never told me I'd suffer
three hundred and sixty five days
of blazing flames.
I always thought th
Don't Scream It's late. You're tired from a long day and decide to sleep; rest your mind. You change into something comfortable and slip into your bed. Of course, you don't check under the bed or in your closet. Monsters aren't real; they haven't been since you were younger.Don't Scream2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Your eyes begin to close, slowly but surely, as you drift to sleep. Every internal guard you may have built around your mind is retracting; everything you want kept out is silently creeping in as well as anything you want kept in is gradually oozing out. Your wonders, fears, hopes, despairs, displayed. You're vulnerable. Subconsciously realizing this, you wrap yourself in the blanket, hoping for some kind of protection. It won't help though.
Your breathing continues at a steady pace, slightly faster than your breathing when awake. You shift in preparation of the long hours ahead. Silence.
Your mind, still slightly aware, registers the light tapping at the window as a branch blown by the wind. The qui
FrostHe looked timidly down the street. It was, like the ten previous times he’d checked, empty. Devoid of any and all human life.Frost1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
But not empty, no. There were the bodies remaining still. No one had come to clean them up- or more likely, those who came had perished too, contributing generously to the rising pile.
He kept walking, stepping over silent faces, over mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters. Over all the faces of the innocents smited in the greens and yellows of life.
The City had died, that much was visible from a glance. Bodies were strewn over streets, park benches, in libraries and coffee shops, in cars and buses and skyscrapers and apartments. But the decay hadn’t set in yet, oh no. The butchery had ended, but the processing hadn’t yet begun. The ungodly stench was only just starting to leak out into the crisp air.
And the frost was everywhere. The white frost, they had called it. The frost that didn’t melt. Come from the sky to punish you, free