Thousands Are Sailing

OK Friday Fictioneers. I know that by the mere fact that I’m “mashing” these two prompts together, I’m foregoing any publishing possibilities. But still I felt strongly enough that you should all know of Red’s “Flash In The Pan” series, as I see this as a worthwhile endeavor, deserving of your unbridled talent. That being said, here’s my response to both Flash In The Pan‘s “Regress” prompt, as well as this week’s Fictioneer photo:

Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

Disdain.

He couldn’t quite explain it, but disdain was exactly what his mouth tasted at that very moment.

The dull roar of clamoring footsteps, in slow regress through the main hall, made him simply want to scream while listening inattentively to the thick accent standing before him. It muttered under muddy breath, “Von Stoffen.”

“Von-wha?”

“Von STOW-FENN.”

What in the hell sort of name was that? Stupid krauts. Every last one ‘em would be looking for a handout. He knew it.

Scribbling hurriedly on the form, he barked dismissively, “Well now you’re ‘Stover.’ NEXT!”

Disdain. Yep, he could taste it.

•••

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

∞

PS: My thanks to you both, Red and Rochelle, as any excuse to use The Pogues for my song of the day, is a worthy excuse indeed ;)

Asleep.

To say I’m becoming obsessed with the Flash In The Pan word prompts is just a touch of an understatement. In addition to the word limit placed upon us by Red, I am also enjoying – well, “enjoying” is most likely not the right word to be used here – the mandate I placed upon myself with these prompts; that being to address topics that I would normally not feel comfortable in doing so with. Crawling much deeper down the well than intended with the prompt of “Come,” as always, I welcome your feedback and constructive criticism…

Anyway, it’ll be good seeing dad again.

At least I hope too.

Pretty painless, these pills. Still… Didn’t realize they’d make my hand melt like that.

They just sorta walked off, ya know? All of ‘em. Abandoned me. Didn’t need me anymore.

I don’t need me anymore.

I don’t need…

So tired. Tired of being alone, a postscript,

a lie.

Time to go home.

Nice to go home… Or’s it “come home?”

What’s home?

Crap… Slidin’ outta view, everything. Blurring. Coming soon, “The End.” Hehe…

Christ.

Why did I?

Oh damn. Now my whole arm’s melting…

You there dad?

Daddy?

•••

“Flash in the Pan”

To those of you who read Friday’s post, this is an unintentional “book end” to the daddy motif I started there. As ma is still alive, I was concerned that by using a parent of the “fairer” sex as my character’s sought out post-life guide, I might miss out on some of the emotion I was hoping to evoke with this piece. Then again, should I have failed at even that, I suppose I could always just wrap this whole thing up with a depressing Smiths song as well…

Same Love

In keeping with what I started last time, I will continue to push personal envelopes in regards to my FTP responses, including this 50 Word “Hot Flash,” which gave us “Embark” for the word prompt.

As always, I would invite you to click the link above – both to see the other entries, and to consider please providing one yourself.

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

•

After spying my name-tag, he looked on radiantly, calling me by name. And even if blind, I still would’ve “seen” the smile through his tone.

He was cute… soooo damned cute. And trying so hard.

Realizing it time to embark upon my life anew, sheepishly I handed him my number.

•••

Down So Long…

Recommended by Seablackwithink, I decided upon trying a new 100 Word-style challenge, hosted by Red and known as “Flash In The Pan” (FTP).

Since it’s a new exercise for me, I used the opportunity to go just a hair to the left of my normal comfort zone (the prompt is “Down,” and I opted for an emotional direction instead of a physical one). Please be advised, the following deals with a subject matter that some might find distasteful.

As always, please let me know your thoughts and critiques, and please visit the FTP link above to read more entries.

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

Defeated, the ropes dangled from the bedpost. Ignored by the wrists that could not be constrained by them alone.

The lotions, the collar, the paddle – all sat idly nearby, achingly unused. Desolate.

The body, naked and shivering, laid curled up fetal, dead center of the bed. In appearance much more deceased than alive, sans the singular tear, slowly jogging its way down the cheek, to the bridge of an unkissed lip.

Kept from contentment, this had given up on ever being touched in that way again.

Down for so long, the owner of this body hoped for it no more.

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