Flash Fiction Friday 187: Blind Insight by Teresa Edmond-Sargeant

February 3, 2017Leave a comment

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and eighty-seventh piece in this series. This week’s is a 481-worder by Teresa Edmond-Sargeant.

Blind Insight

A man who had been wealthy and blind from birth saw the world much more clearly than how some people with sight could see, for he sought only people’s inner beauty, heart, and mind. He sought out beauty beyond the physical aesthetic. He sought out the godly spirit in humans wherever he went.

And he found it.

Through his compassion, his spirit and his love, this blind man gave to all. Whenever there was an organization soliciting donations (and there was never a lack of those entities), the man gave much more than a few dollars. More often than not, he pulled out wads of cash in large denominations from his jacket pocket and plopped down the bills in front of the person accepting the donations.

“I don’t need a tax receipt,” he told the organizations many times.

Whenever a volunteer opportunity arose at a local homeless shelter, a school or at a house of worship, the blind man was there. Whenever he spoke with a lonely homeless man, a child having difficulties in school, or a person of faith in despair, he listened to them, bringing himself in tune with their emotions and offering kind words and advice when asked for it.

The wealthy blind man resolved to take his compassion and empathy for others one step further. He decided to give up more than a few hundred dollars in donations here and there.

Being that he never married nor had been a father when he made his decision, first he went to a sporting goods store to purchase a tent and other camping supplies. Then he went to his bank to arrange the sale of his mansion and all of his possessions in it, a home that was willed to him upon his parents’ deaths.

The blind man was met with gasps, bewilderment and a shower of such questions as “Are you out of your mind?” when he informed others of his plans, but their reactions never deterred him. He made up his mind.

Then, he informed his bank that sales from his house and possessions should be turned over to the organizations where he donated money and volunteered.

After some time of working out the business details including legalities, the bank finally owned the house and possessions inside it.

With his new camping gear, the blind man went out to live in the forest dozens of miles from his former residence, set up camp, and he settled there. Sincere where he lives has consistently warm weather – no outside cold could bother him.

As the man settled into his tent the first night, he looked up at the stars populating the sky and recalled this bit of wisdom from Him: though animals have holes and birds have nests, whatever is next for the man and where he should be — comfortable or not — depends on what He says.

I asked Teresa what prompted this piece and she said…

This story is the result of a writing prompt I received in an email. Nevertheless, I saw that, to me, what I wrote had potential to be an inspirational flash fiction piece.

Thank you, Teresa. It was charming and very thought provoking.

Teresa Edmond-Sargeant is a journalist, author, poet and editor who lives in Orlando, Fla. Once a staff writer for newspapers in the New York City area, she is now a reporter for a community newspaper in the Central Florida region.

She is the author of her poetry collection “How Fate’s Confusion Connects” and many short story ebooks on Kindle.

Her work was published in The Waywayanda Review by the Warwick Poetry College in Warwick, NY, and the online literary journals The Social Poet, Contraposition and, most recently, Short Fiction Break. Her poetry was exhibited at art and literary exhibitions in New Jersey, and she has done literary readings throughout Central Florida.

Teresa is a member of the Florida Writers Association. Check out her blog at www.teresa-edmond-sargeant.com.

Social media links

Blog: teresa-edmond-sargeant.com
Facebook: facebook.com/teresaedmondsargeant
Twitter: twitter.com/teresaesargeant
Tumblr: teresaesargeant.tumblr.com
Amazon author page (where readers can find my Kindle ebooks): amazon.com/author/teresaedmondsargeant

If you’d like to submit your 6-word or 500-word max. stories for consideration for Flash Fiction Friday take a look here. Related articles:

BREAKING NEWS!!!

I wrote a crime lad lit novella (48,000 words) called Hitman Sam in 2008 and over the years, edited it, left it to marinate, re-edited it, put it back, then finally this year (2016), I edited it again and sent it to my beta readers who were kind enough to give me their feedback which led to more alterations and finally, on November 2nd, it was published!

It is available for 99c / 99p (or the equivalent in your country) via http://mybook.to/HitmanSam (links to Amazon in your country) or directly via Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.com etc. but before you rush over to purchase this quirky novella, do read on to find out more about it…

Blurb: Newly-redundant software designer Sam Simpson is looking for a new adventure – a cryptic advert in his local paper gives him that, and more. With two women vying for his affection, going behind their backs isn’t the smartest things he’s ever done.

This follows on just a month after my crime mystery novella, After Jessica, was published. Yay! Details below…

The second book I wrote, back in 2009, was After Jessica, a crime mystery novella published in October 2016. You can download this novella for just 99c / 99p via http://mybook.to/AfterJessica (which links to the Amazon page in your country) or directly from Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com etc.

Tagline: Wind up his late sister’s affairs, Simon gets more than he bargains for.

Blurb: Jessica is an ordinary girl who comes across extraordinary circumstances and pays for them with her life. As well as identifying her body, her brother Simon then has to wind up her affairs but gets more than he bargains for. Who is Alexis, and why are Veronica and Daniel searching for her? Why is there a roll of cash in Jessica’s house, and what’s the connection between Simon’s sister and Alexis?

Flash Fiction Friday 184: The Height of the Storm by Stephen Lodge

December 23, 2016Leave a comment

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and eighty-fourth piece in this series. This week’s is a 492-worder by Stephen Lodge.

The Height of the Storm

They stood in the study of the great house, looking out of the large window towards the back patio and the deep woodland beyond. Susan and her brother, Tony, were piecing together the events of the previous night.

The moon had been full, the storm at its height, lightning, thunder, torrential rain. Mother aged ninety but well built, had been in bed, heavily sedated and restrained. She must have awoken and persuaded the maid to release her from the restraints, despite Susan’s strict instructions.

Mother drew strength from these storms. Once free from the ties that bound her, she strangled the maid, threw open the French windows and proceeded out onto the rain-lashed patio, then wandered off into the woods.

Susan’s husband, Gary, found Mother lying like a crumpled tissue near the cabin in the woods, sound asleep with a peaceful smile on her face, as he set off to bury the maid. This was the third maid Mother had strangled.

“I don’t know how long we can keep a lid on Mother’s behaviour, Tony. The maid agency are getting suspicious for a start and now this.” She passed him an envelope. “It came in the mail.”

“Blackmail?” Tony wailed. “No, wait! This is Uncle Lionel’s writing.”

Inadvertently, they looked at the uppermost window on this side of the house, where Uncle Lionel lived with that dreadful wife of his, whose name they couldn’t remember. They’d stayed there since his last scheme had failed, when the train he had hired to shift diamonds across some border plunged down a ravine, sabotaged by Lost Omelette Tribesmen.

Tony could tell Susan was at the edge of her temper, her legendary composure gone. “This is Lionel trying to finance another dopey scheme. Ooh, I want to just march up there and kick him and his ghastly wife Jazziebel, Jobetta… Jonoria.”

Tony shook his head. “I thought her name began with a vowel.”

Gary made his way up the patio towards the house. He was covered in mud and used the shovel as a walking stick. He was after all nearly seventy.

“I’m too old for this, Susan,” he told her, when in earshot. “Your mother has got to stop killing the staff.” Tony gave Gary the letter.

“This is Lionel’s writing.” Gary said, confirming Tony’s thoughts. “See it often enough on those stupid yellow notes he leaves everywhere.” He read it aloud, laughing. “Leave 50,000 cash inside the cabin. Tell no one. I saw what you did the other night in those woods.”

“Of course the idiot saw what happened in the woods the other night. I asked him to help me with the body. The second maid was a heavy lass. Let barking dogs lie, darling. I took a precautionary photo on my hand phone of him and Lily helping with the body.”

“Lily?” Susan asked. “Who’s Lily?”

“Lionel’s wife.” replied Gary.

Susan and Tony both shook their heads. “No, that’s not her name.”

I asked Stephen what prompted this piece and he said…

Drawn from the desire to build a story around a sprawling British mansion, from a bygone age, peopled by family members who appear to be totally out of their depth coping with a dominant matriarch within the grounds and little idea what goes on in the outside world.

Christmas is one of the times of year that I miss the UK the most. My thoughts are with family and friends there, so a good time for a story set there.

Thank you, Stephen.

Stephen Lodge is a wandering minstrel from London, now based in Singapore. He is responsible for a number of published short stories, plays and skits, poems/lyrics and has co-written a film screenplay.

Steve spends most of his time writing, acting on TV, theatre and in independent films, playing in a band and doing comedy improv.

If you’d like to submit your 6-word or 500-word max. stories for consideration for Flash Fiction Friday take a look here.

Flash Fiction Friday 182: latest 6-word stories

October 28, 2016Leave a comment

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and eighty-second piece in this series. This week’s is the thirty-eighth bunch of 6-word stories by a variety of authors, together with their 6-word biographies!

6-word stories

by Chong Teck SIM – aspiring Singaporean writer

with a single story written in ten 6-worders

He looks at her, smiling bright.
Holding a stem, he approaches her.
Puzzled, she stares into his eyes.
She asks: where’s the pretty flower?
You, says he, pointing to her.
She turns shy, blushes, scarlet cheeks.
Your beauty invigorates me, says he.
She feels light-headed, in a dream.
He takes her hand, kisses it.
Cheesy but love it, says she.

by Stephen Lodge, writer with coloured crayons

Armour is on. Let battle commence.
Canal water stew this wintry eve.
I’m so happy to know you.
You’re such fun to arm wrestle.
Don’t play those games with me.
I’m hoping she won’t show up.
It’s not easy, interviewing a giraffe.
Storm caused abandonment of farting competition.
There’s nothing stranger than his beard.
I’m Paul Savagely, gun for hire.

by storyteller Paul, United States, Unpublished author

Love is a four letter word.
America Voted. Who won? All Lost.
The envelope read: To occupant – Deceased
Mum always said…God never blinks.
Satan slept. Hatred ceased. Peace reigned.
Halloween night, no masks were found.
Donald trumpeted. Hillary lied. World wept.
I Do. Shortest sentence ever spoken.
I Do. Longest promise ever kept.

by Chad M. Horn: still (mostly) alive

Chickenhearted Story: (hen) pecked at typewriter
In search of yourself? Inquire within…
unzip, losing grip, slip, strip, {censorship}
“I DO!” became “WE DON’T”. Done.
Hi! (no reply). Why? (sigh). Bye…
Poem penned, hit ‘SEND’. Rejected. End.

by William Jackson — Theatre, India, Bohemia, Academia.

Freedom’s fluidity revealed our souls’ longings.

by Emily Vieweg, poet, educator, single mom.

Daughter’s costume trade: “Princess” for “President”

by Alicia Cole creates in Huntsville, Alabama.

Healing: a slow land of naps.
Dogs win. People are barking mad.

by Mark K – a writer? Trying hard.

Stupid things to say to a cage fighter: part 3

I honestly thought you were female.
You smell like a garbage truck.
So, I’m fighting a total dork?
My wife hits harder than that.
My, my you look awfully angry?
With those gums, you shouldn’t smile.
You could never choke me out!
Get off me you hairy ape!
Do your friends call you Nancy?

and then three from yours truly… Morgen Bailey, Morgen With an E

Watching ‘First Dates’, suddenly feeling unloved.
What a tart! Cat lying akimbo.
Having no expectations but pleasantly surprised.

Thank you, everyone.

If you’d like to submit your 6-worders (up to ten per blog post, although you can send as many as you like and I’ll either pick the best ones or if I like most / all of them, schedule ahead) and / or 500-word max. stories for consideration for Flash Fiction Friday take a look here.

Continue reading →

Flash Fiction Friday 181: batch 37 of 6-word stories

September 30, 2016September 28, 20161 Comment

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and eighty-first piece in this series. This week’s is the thirty-seventh bunch of 6-word stories by a variety of authors, together with their 6-word biographies!

6-word stories

by Chong Teck SIM – aspiring Singaporean writer

Swollen lips. Wheezing. Bad food allergy.
My fried egg: burnt. Speechless mother-in-law.
Night out with buddies. Unhappy wife.
The breakup scarred him for life.
His eyes; Her eyes: inter-locking embrace.
Huge waves. Frightened cruise passengers.
A loud crash. Screaming voices.
Dark alleyway. Growling dogs. Defensive snake.
Bad-tempered crab. Curious human: Ouch! Ouch!
Colourful birds. Playful cats. Hide-and-seek ensues.

by Mark K – a writer? Trying hard.

Awkward things that kids sometimes say (usually in front of other people):

Mummy, what does brazen hussy mean?
Daddy, are you really my daddy?
Grandma says Daddy drinks too much.
Mummy says Daddy needs some viagra.
Grandad, what is a reverse vasectomy?
Auntie Violet, what is a hooker?
I saw Uncle Morris kissing Mummy.
I found Mummy’s special toy yesterday.
Granny, when are you gonna die?

by Stephen Lodge – scribbler addicted to cheese (my kind of man!)

He was gassy throughout the day.
It’s not something I shall forget.
Hi there. Nice to be here.
Walking home singing a dirty song.
A chilly but quite beautiful morning.
You inspire me to play dominoes.
It’s nice to see such kindness.
That makes no sense at all.
Do you have a liquorice licence?
No, stranger. This isn’t Easy Street.

by asra choudhury – hungry for fiction stories

I run after you, unsullied soul.
“Come, sit,” says shadow of death.
Sullen, I search for you, soul.
Forgetting the fight I redial – wife.
The crinkled hand holding the rose.
Epilogue: she disappeared into the horizon.

by Ansuya – born to create and share

Writer lost the plot, needs inspiration!
Attractive lady sought to walk poodle.
Stopped for coffee, late again… fired!
Conman disappeared with girlfriend’s fake diamonds.
A quinquagenarian ballet dancer retires poor.
Skived off work, for sanity’s sake.
Lived to eat cakes, sweet joy.
Free food, bed, bad company – prison!

and then some from yours truly… Morgen Bailey, Morgen With an E

Mum-sitting for a week; limits pushed.
Glad to be home, cat too.
Stressful times, nails shorter than before.

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Flash Fiction Friday 180: batch 36 of 6-word stories

August 26, 2016August 26, 20162 Comments

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and eightieth piece in this series. This week’s is the thirty-sixth bunch of 6-word stories by a variety of authors, together with their 6-word biographies!

6-word stories

by Chong Teck SIM – aspiring Singaporean writer

Moonless night. Howling dogs. Quick footsteps.
No… no… I didn’t tell tales!
Foreign investor. Local businessman. Conflicting priorities.
Hidden talent: I’m a bathroom crooner.
Chocolate cake: for Pinkie, my Chihuahua.
In tears, he returned the ring.
Big appetite. Ten burgers. Still hungry.
Slippery floor. I fell, face down.
He follows her from a distance.
Heavy rain. Mother searching for child.

by Mark K – a writer? Trying hard.

Why I want to be a Cossack…

They remind me of Chelsea Pensioners.
They have old, wrinkly members too.
I’d look absolutely gorgeous in red!
Cossacks find love wherever they go.
Cossack women are drop dead gorgeous.
Cossack regiments have no height restrictions.
Ballet Dancers eat your heart out.
You often find them imitating Monty-Python.
Rasputin had a secret Cossack son.

by Stephen Lodge – writer ignored by progress

Over time, my caress became careless.
Owls and rabbits never wear shirts.
Amadeus made great music and cheese.
I don’t think she likes me.
Cheese fondling is my favourite hobby.
Don’t think I got that memo.
I look forward to your call.
Was it all a crazy dream?
I can’t imagine this ending well.
I’m still wandering the eastern dream.

by Lana Bella, skull-grinder bacon commander

Silence moves with ease between gossips.
I bowed my spine across nostalgia.
She peels coffee from my breaths.
Night gives gradient across the floorboard.
Innocence nests from pavement to street.
I down the hot Vienna black.
Wild hips walk this quiet room.
You spent a lifetime looking back.
I romanced your ghost with whisky.
He always volunteered, she reflected bitterly.

BAM has other works available online.

Forgot puppies surprises needed air holes.
The only word that matters, “Yes.”
Returned the ring after the funeral.
Deleted her messages; just need memories.
Shut off lights or thousands die.
To earn sunrises: Climb more mountains.
“You can do it, dude. Jump.”
Falling from ten stories looked painful.
“Sorry I was late. Another jumper.”
Alcohol and sliding doors don’t mix.

Debbie, who meant to start writing sooner

He always volunteered, she reflected bitterly.

by asra choudhury – nightbird on a roll

Guard your angels, summer moon swings.
Nervous lovers. First timers. Memory blues.
Our eyes locked, time lapsed eternity.
“Don’t go,” I said. He continued.
Submit, like sunflowers to the sun.

by Ansuya – tumbling curls hides indomitable spirit

‘Sorry no money’ said the atm.
Purse stolen, smashed iPhone, lost day!
No food, no drink, lousy diet.
Menopausal women seeks adventurous young man.
She walked in, her first stalker.
‘Hi I’m Sue.’ ‘Geoff. Let’s dance.’
No hanging around in Marble Arch.
Sugar free craze drives Cadburys meltdown.
Lost cat, take care of him.
‘Mum where’s Dad?’ ‘He’s disappeared darling.’

and then some from yours truly… Morgen Bailey, Morgen With an E

Crunch: recession? No. I’m eating carrots.
Annie, I’m not your daddy. Sex-change.
August becomes September, new 6-word submissions.

*** Breaking news! My online creative writing courses are currently half price and one FREE! ***

I now run online courses – details on Courses – and for anyone looking for an editor, do take a look at Editing and Critique.

Flash Fiction Friday 178: The Butterfly Defect by Anne Kingsbury

August 5, 2016Leave a comment

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and seventy-eighth piece in this series. This week’s is a 460-worder by Anne Kingsbury.

The Butterfly Defect

Send.

Kirt Marse stretched and rose from his desk. His second novel, Effect, delivered to his publisher. He hadn’t meant to write a sequel to his first book, Cause, but one thing had led to another. Cause was a murder mystery based on Chaos Theory: “when the present determines the future, but the approximate present does not approximately determine the future”, as defined by mathematician and meteorologist Edward Lorenz.

In Cause, Kirt twisted the fates of five characters who all attempted to kill the same man for different reasons, by assorted methods, at separate times. Each character’s actions started a trajectory of events that eventually ensnared them. Their carefully planned approximations with room for error was the logical despoiler of the expected result, an intended untraceable death. The approximate actions of the present did not approximate the result in the future because wildly different tangents became initiated. The success of the book demanded that another follow, and Kirt had obliged within a year’s time.

Effect began with in-depth narratives surrounding the widely diverging outcomes seemingly spreading from the ‘five stones’ dropped in still water, the ripple effect, of the five murder attempts. The satisfying conclusion was the surprising eventual death of the original intended victim based on all he had done to deserve it, but by unpredictable means.

Kirt made his money as a pharmacist, though he boasted a scorned minor in English at River University in New Hampshire as well.

“There’s a reason for everything,” intoned Kirt to himself as he thought of the nay-sayers in his life. He resigned his position at SNH Pharmacy.

He arrived at home to find Lindsay, his wife, sitting on the floor surrounded by pricey housing development brochures in several states. She hurried over and threw her arms around him.

“Take a look at these beautiful homes! I thought we’d also need a bigger place to entertain family than the pied-a-terre in New York we were talking about.”

Kirt poured himself a glass of Gaja Langhe Conteisa and picked up a brochure for New Hampshire farms in mountain country. You reap what you sow after all.

Six months later, Kirt never could have envisioned the course of events that occurred. Lindsay left him for a former lover. His first book, Cause, was contested in court as a past colleague’s idea. The scandal caused its removal from Oprah’s book club list. The hefty down payment on the Chelsea brownstone almost purged his royalties, and legal fees would decimate the rest.

On his way to an interview at a rival pharmacy, Kirt focused on his next book with a working title of Crap Shoot. His life had indeed suffered from the wiles of chaos but he knew that all theories were defective. Life is random.

I asked Anne what prompted this piece and she said…

The inspiration for this flash piece is my interest in all things scientific, and my belief that theories are too quickly viewed as fact.

Thank you, Anne. I always enjoy reading stories about writers. And one of my editing clients is a pharmacist-cum-writer. J

Anne loves to write flash fiction. It’s what she usually produces for biweekly meetings of her writing group. She has created several children’s book stories – picture books and chapter books – and has had poems published.

Anne teaches poetry at the Walt Whitman Birthplace, as well as interprets his life, work, and times for visitors. The Huntington Historical Society has a subgroup called The Ladies in the Attic, which conserves historic clothing and creates exhibits. Anne’s been one of the ‘Ladies’ for a year.

If you’d like to submit your 6-word or 500-word max. stories for consideration for Flash Fiction Friday take a look here.

*** Breaking news! My online creative writing courses are currently half price and one FREE! ***

I now run online courses – details on Courses – and for anyone looking for an editor, do take a look at Editing and Critique.

Flash Fiction Friday 178: batch 35 of 6-word stories

July 29, 2016July 30, 20168 Comments

Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and seventy-eighth piece in this series. This week’s is the thirty-fifth bunch of 6-word stories by a variety of authors, together with their 6-word biographies!

6-word stories

by Chong Teck SIM – aspiring Singaporean writer