Flash Fiction – Judgement

Rose lineup Flash Fiction

Every once in a while – I’ll start a short fiction piece with a direction kinda in mind.  I’ve got maybe one or two phrases that I like, and the rest of the piece needs to flow toward (or away from) those initial statements.

Then there’s pieces like this one.  I had a shot of a guy standing in a barren parking lot holding an umbrella.  The blacktop was highly reflective with the water on it.  The additional dragon’s bidding was to incorporate a fleeting moment.

The initial ‘key phrase’ that I liked and had to keep was ‘One winked at me.”  I loved the idea that a reflection in the water could suddenly come to life.

I was adding and subtracting ideas from this, when the narrator’s voice thundered in my head…a mix of the Bronx and sardonic, nasally sneering superiority.  Think gangster movies set in the 20’s.

Not the first time a ‘voice’ has emerged from my subconscious and taken over the way a story is written – won’t be the last.  There are times I swear my muse is Rich Little.

Anyway – enjoy the flash piece – featured on Flash! Friday.


202 words

They say God works in mysterious ways. I say, his touch wallops ya like getting hit by a bus…

There I was, see, out for a walk. The air was damp, soggy, full o’ water. The kinda morning you carry that umbrella, knowin’ it’s gonna pour if ya don’t. Everything was wet, the blacktop deserted, but full of shiny, oil-slick reflections.

One winked at me.

Oh, sure, you’re thinking: “Bit early to be nipping the sauce, here,” but I swear to God…there was an eyeball reflected in that pavement, and it winked at me!

In that second, I could feel…everything. Every drip o’ water in the clouds, every speck o’ dirt in the wind. I could feel my blood racin’ inside, and every cell o’ my heart squeezin’ madly to pump that stuff through me.

And everything could feel me, too. I don’t know how…but I got judged, hard, by everything what makes up the Earth.

That eye in the pavement crinkled, narrowed, like one does when they’re pissed.

I knew then…I KNEW! Give up the dames, the booze, the smokes – stop living on the edges, and get back to the straight and narrow.

Then it was gone, like fog in the sunshine.


Flash Fiction – Superhero Blues

Rose lineup Flash Fiction

Flash! Friday has given us another day to express our creative impulses, with a warm-up for the big weekly event!  CEWL!

So today – the picture was of a guy hanging on the side of a building with mirrored windows.  We had to incorporate a superhero into our piece.

No judging on the mid-week warmup – just fun and flash.  Here’s my piece:

Superhero Blues

100 words

You think you’ve got a rough life? Let me tell you…

I fight crime. I’m good at it. Phenomenal, if I do say so myself. It’s a gift from something mysterious…I’d tell you more, but I’d compromise my secret identity. You understand, don’t you?

Sooooo – I’m scaling this wall.

Why? Do you ask the chicken why he crosses the road?

So, up this wall I go…and out of nowhere, this kid comes slinging a hard rubber ball. Smack! Hits me right in the small of the back.

My chiropractor isn’t covered by insurance. It’s no joy havin’ the Superhero blues.

Taco Quiche


Moments before the fork hit…

Yet another first for me…a blog post about food.

Not that I’ve anything against food.  I enjoy food.  Sometimes, I enjoy it rather too much.  Occasionally, I’ll knock about in the kitchen and put together a bunch of ingredients I hadn’t thought to stick in a pan before.

Sometimes, the results are good.  Sometimes, not so much.

The kids and I were wandering about the grocery store for our weekly run of stuff.  We’d been on a Creole kick lately, and it was getting tiresome – so we were kinda browsing for a new idea.  In the freezer section by the breakfast stuff – we saw pre-made quiches.

“Mmmmmmm – egg pie,” muttered my son.

OK.  I’ve done quiche before – there’s really not much to it.  Just decide what fillings you want in the crust, which cheese will be complementary, and whip up an egg custard to fill all the little nooks and crannies.

Soooo  –  we grabbed a couple of pie shells, some half & half, and an extra carton of eggs.  We discussed what we wanted over by the cheese isle.

I saw the Mexican shred blend, and did an “Oooooooh,” of my own.  Taco Quiche.

Those two words were all it took.  Here’s how I did it.

Taco quiche

1-9 or 10″ deep dish frozen pie crust

4 – eggs

1c – half & half

8oz Mexican blend cheese shreds

3/4# ground beef

1package taco seasoning (the ones that season 1# of meat)

chopped onion

Chopped bell pepper (red or green or both)

sliced olives

Sliced roma tomatoes


Brown beef in skillet, drain fat, add taco seasoning according to package directions, simmer until quite thick.

in pie crust – spread thin layer of beef in bottom

add a thin layer of cheese

layer in the veggies

top with another thin layer of meat.

Top with a thick layer of cheese.

You want the fillings to fill the crust, but not over-fill it by too much.

Beat the 4 eggs together with the half & half in a separate bowl.

pour egg mixture into the filled crust.  Depending on how tightly you packed your fillings, you may have egg left over – you want the crust completely full of egg, and all the cheese on top at least damp with egg (if the fillings are higher than the crust).


fresh out of the oven – and yup…it boiled over.

Put the quiche on a cookie sheet – this usually has a bit of boil-over, so you want something to catch it instead of dribbling all over the bottom of your oven.

Bake the quiche at 400 for an hour.

Let rest for 10 minutes – slice, and devour.

Flash Fiction

Kinderspiel. CC2.0 photo by Hartwig HKD.

Flash! Friday once again set all us flashheads up with an irresistible photo to write about.  The muse and I were well rested from our nothing-weekend, and had 2 stories blaze into being… One a rather dark and twisted decent into insanity, and the other a quirky and casual nod to our favorite madman in a blue box.

Into Madness

202 words

The Tree.

Concealed within leafy camouflage, sharp twiggy fingers reach, slashing gaping fissures across the sky. Skeletal talons elongate to grasp, clawing the clouds, rending the firmament, sundering the heavens, fragmenting my mind.

The Shadow.

Digging, crawling, scrabbling across hardpan, dry land, seeking moisture, fluid, the cool kiss of sensibility. Only dead desiccated Earth underfoot, thirsting for the water of sanity, the meaning of life.

The Sun.

It ignites the sky, the howling inferno a rage of confusion, flames of incandescence melting my vision in blinding radiance. Eyes without a face spiral: staring, accusing, dragging me to the depths of derangement.

The Figure.

Born of interplay between light and dark, it circles closer and closer. The form, the visage, the countenance, the bearing: all are mine in mirror image. He wears my face, my clothing, my hair and skin, eyes dark, empty, devoid of my soul.

I reach out, my shadow form, with hands my own yet not, feeling the touch of foreign flesh on my cheek even as I register stubble against my own fingertips.

I Falter. Drop. Accept defeat.

The last tear of resolve evaporates from my cheek.

The war within is ended. My personal demons drag me to madness.

That’s My Story

200 words

“I’m telling you – the tree was THIS big!”

This declaration received a spattering of hrump’s, hmmmm’s, and at least one lurid guffaw, which decayed into the general background noise in the bar.

“And these two fighting fellas,” the storyteller continued, gesticulating wildly in an attempt to set the sheer scale of his story in the proper perspective “Were giants!  HUGE!  I barely came up to their bootstraps.”

A glass slid down the gleaming wooden bartop toward the speaker.  He sipped, smacked his lips in appreciation, smiled widely around the room as thanks for the purchaser.

“The ground, see, was cracked from their fighting,” he continued.  “Every move they made was followed by more rocks bouncing down them holes.  I was afraid the box I came in was gonna get sucked inna one.”

Silence grabbed hold of the bar, as all conversations ceased abruptly.

“The box, you say,” said the barkeep, “The one that’s bigger on the inside?”

The storyteller nodded so vigorously, he threatened to topple off his stool.  “Yea – the little blue box with the tour guy inside,” he confirmed.

The bar erupted in laughter.

“See if I ever use Doc’s Vacation Services again,” he grumbled into his drink.

Rose lineup Flash Fiction