Tag Archives: flash fiction

Friday Fictioneers 4-22-16: The Snare

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It is time once again for Friday Fictioneers. This is the challenge where about 100 authors share 100 stories in 100 words all concerning 1 picture chosen by our hostess Rochelle.

Please click the underlined link above to find all the stories written  from this picture.

PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods

Photo by Madison Woods

The Snare

By JE Lillie

I tried to warn him.

But hearing succumbs to the louder beating of the heart.

I saw her thorns from a long way off.

All he saw was curves.

I caught the essence of bitterness that is sure and certain poison for men.

All he smelled was her breath on his neck.

She took my hand and there was a betrayal in the gentle grip.

“Her hands are smooth as silk.” He said bedazzled.

My tongue tingled with the flavor of his destruction  that day.

He tasted her lips as the parson said “You may kiss your bride.”

I am not entirely sure why but as soon as I saw the picture my mind flashed to this passage in the Old Testament.

“This is the way of an adulterous woman:
    She eats and wipes her mouth
    and says, ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

21 “Under three things the earth trembles,
    under four it cannot bear up:
22 a servant who becomes king,
    a godless fool who gets plenty to eat,
23 a contemptible woman who gets married,
    and a servant who displaces her mistress. Proverbs 30:20-23

 

Friday Fictioneers: The Codex

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It is time once again for Friday Fictioneers. That is the place where about 100 authors gather to share about 100 stories containing about 100 words all from 1 picture shared by our hostess Rochelle.

Here is this week’s photo prompt:

PHOTO PROMPT © Kent Bonham

Photo by Kent Bonham

The Codex

by JE Lillie

Sinna’s  every nerve vibrated with a desire to run, but he had to see the Codex. He clung to the shadows of the holy chamber, listening for any sign that the Eldaar were coming. When he was certain he was safe he moved into the flickering torchlight. The altar was reached in less than a breath’s space.

As he looked at the Codex’s intricate symbols Sinna realized with dismay he could not read the runes.

Dismay turned to despair as the Eldaar stepped  from the shadows. Sinna heard the blade hiss before the darkness engulfed him.

 

 

Now please take some time to read the other stories at Friday Fictioneers by clicking the underlined link above and following the little blue frog.

 

Friday Fictioneers: My Playground

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It is time once again for Friday Fictioneers. That is the place where about 100 authors gather to share about 100 stories containing about 100 words all from 1 picture shared by our hostess Rochelle.

Here is this week’s photo prompt:

Jhardy

photo by J. Hardy Carroll

My Playground

by JE Lillie

Everyone in town called it the WPA project. Then they’d sneer. I didn’t know what WPA was or why those letters made people so unhappy. It was just an old cellar hole but to me it was a magical place, a fairy vale, where I could escape from the violence of my father, the impotence of my mother, and the bullying which had become the norm for the smallest kid in school.

I made friends with the trees growing from the basement floor, and carved my initials in the walls. 

I cried for weeks after the bulldozers took my world away.

Info on the WPA can be found HERE.

In my home town there was an abandoned cellar hole that was part of an unfinished WPA project. The police were forever chasing kids out of that cellar hole.

Read the other stories in the FF collection by clicking the underlined link at the top of this post.

Friday Fictioneers April 1, 2016

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It’s time once again for another episode of Friday Fictioneers. This is the place where 100 or so authors hang their hats on Fridays to tell 100 or so stories in 100 or so words  all from 1 picture. Join the forum and read the stories by clicking HERE.

Here is the photo we are working from this week

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

And here is my story:

From Behind Glass Walls

By JE Lillie

“From here  it seems like you can see the world,” She said.

“And I’m the Lord of all I survey,” I said.

She laughed her little laugh. 

“Careful. Pride goes before the fall.”

We had known each other too long for me to take her seriously.

Leaving she kissed my cheek .

It was then I noticed the papers on my desk.

“Petition For Divorce.” read the heading.

Just below that was a yellow post-it in her perfect cursive.

“It’s time for me to find a place out in the world we’ve been looking at for so long.”

First Flower: Friday Fictioneers

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PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman

First Flower

By JE Lillie

He was invisible. The third of seven children. His two elder brothers were soldiers in the war. His sisters were startling beauties. Then of course there was Bobby, the baby, the favorite. It was a miracle he didn’t forget his own name in the shadow of his siblings.

“Sam, Sam! that’s it.” the girl at the register exclaimed.

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“Your name. Your name is Samuel right? I see you at school everyday. ” Her smile blinded him.

Just like that buying a loaf of bread turned into falling in love.

fUSCIA

Happy Valentines! This is my response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers Challenge.

Every week about 100 authors share 100-word stories regarding a photo prompt chosen by Rochelle.

This week Another of Rochelle’s regular contributors has won an award for her short story. Congratulations to Margaret Leggatt! Her award winning story “COMING UP ROSES”, CAN BE FOUND BY CLICKING HERE.

In Other Words: I Could Not Couldn’t Do It

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In Other Words

It is time once again to write a piece for Patricia’s In Other Words Challenge. The challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction from a quote she offers.

Here is the quote:

“Whether you think you can or think you can’t, you’re right.” 
Henry Ford

My offering is below and you can find Patricia’s other contributors at the underlined link above.

I Could Not Couldn’t Do It

By JE Lillie

I have known moments in this journey when I was certain I couldn’t do it. I have wanted to pack my bags and leave so many times. I suppose no one would blame me if I did.

When I was about ten we had this wealthy neighbor. Her name was Anna. At the time, I thought she was about two hundred years old but she was only about sixty. My difficulty with telling her age wasn’t that I was afflicted with the “old person ceiling”, which makes young people think everyone over twenty-five is ancient. Anna’s life made her old before her time. Somewhere along the way she had begun to medicate  the pains of her heart with whiskey, but it didn’t work to heal what was broken on the inside. Each year found Anna a bit older and a lot meaner.

Anna needed a maid having lost the will to clean for herself. My mother took the job. I was young but not so young that I couldn’t see the toll it took on Mom. Many times she came home from Anna’s in tears.

I suppose had my father been alive he would have told my mother to quit the job and that would have been it. But life had a lesson to teach me in Dad’s absence so Mom kept working at Anna’s, if for no other reason than to teach me that you cannot give up on people.

Mom never complained about the work. She never missed a day. Anna never got better but that wasn’t because Mom didn’t try. When Anna had her first stroke Mom began working more to make sure Anna ate like she was supposed to. I don’t know exactly when I realized it but at some point I came to the knowledge that Mom was not working for Anna because of the paycheck. Mom worked for Anna because she loved her.

After Anna died people met Mom at the funeral and called her a saint for “putting up with Anna”. Many told her that for years they had been concerned because they felt Mom was trapped in the job. Invariably they asked her why she had stayed and reminded her that she could have at any point just said that she couldn’t do it anymore.

To this day I can still remember Mom’s response. “Anna needed help whether she wanted it or not. I thought about quitting once and that week Father Sweeney preached a message I shall never forget from Philippians 4:13 called,”I Could Not Couldn’t Do it.” After hearing that sermon I just couldn’t say I couldn’t help, because really I could.”

I think about this story everyday as I am helping Mom out of bed, as I am getting her dressed and brushing her teeth, as I am helping her on the toilet or helping her in the shower. Alzheimer’s is a devastating disease. It feels like it is beyond me, but I could not couldn’t do this. Thank you Father Sweeney.

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Purposeful Practitioner: The Careless Prince!

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I am joining in on a new challenge today hosted by Roger Shipp. His blog can be found HERE ALONG WITH THE STORIES OF HIS OTHER CONTRIBUTORS.

The photo prompt for this week is…

public-domain-images-free-stock-photos-high-quality-resolution-downloads-around-the-house-8-1000x666

And our opening line is, “You lookin’ at me?”

The Careless Prince

By JE Lillie

“You lookin’ at me?” The mirror said in its best Brooklyn accent.

” Hey you wit da horns stop ya starin’.”

If it had spoken in an English accent, even French, I probably would have tumbled to the fact that I was in the house of Brunhilde. But everyone knows magic mirrors don’t come from New York and well witches are supposed to be all bumpy and scaly not super- modelesque.

Then again Charmings are not supposed to be plumbers. But after the glamour wars the royal family fell on hard times and hiding out as day labor seemed to be the thing to do.

Cindy had called us not three weeks ago and told us that the witch was hunting heads again, but I didn’t take it seriously. I should have listened. I wasn’t under the sink five minutes before Brunny was waving that wand of hers, turning me into a deer.

Cindy wasn’t kidding. Brunhilde was hunting heads. She cut mine off and stuck it to the wall. Now I can only stare into my reflection and listen to the mirror practice his shtick for the next prince who walks through the door.

Friday Fictioneers: Beyond the Lilys

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It is time for another sharing of flash fiction with FRIDAY FICTIONEERS.

This is the place where 100 authors come to share 100 words regarding a photo which Rochelle our hostess chooses and posts 0n Wednesday.

This week we are honoring Sandra Crook who is one of Rochelle’s regular contributors. Sandra has won First Place in Flash 500. You can find Sandra’s work at her blog HERE.

Congrats Sandra!!!

And now on with the show!

PHOTO PROMPT © Erin Leary

Photo by: Erin Leary

Beyond the Lilys

By JE Lillie

Elon looked out across the lake to the village from which he had been exiled. The lights from each hearth were just coming to life. He glowered in jealousy as he wrapped himself in the rags that were his only clothes, while warming his hands  by the smoky peat fire.

The baby cried softly at his mother’s breast and Elon passed a gentle hand over his son’s brow. He looked lovingly into his wife’s eyes.

“Kathleen I promise ye we will not starve and I will make ye a new home here beyond the lilys.”

In my imagination this is one way in which my family could have obtained its name.

tomb

The Cliff Walk: Writing Prompt #22

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The SECRET KEEPER has issued our next writing challenge. Our buzz words for the week are:SENSE | SECURE | WALK | TIME | ALONE |

This week I am choosing to put out a flash fiction piece.

The Cliff Walk

Craggy Coast.jpg

By JE Lillie

She has been gone seven years. Still I often come to this place alone to walk along the craggy shore line. I can sense her in the salty wind that whispers through the air with all the poignancy of a lost love, taste her briny kiss across time like some backhanded rejection. It hurts like the shutting of the casket, but I long for it if only to keep her memory alive.

This place, our place, where we first held hands. I remember her smooth fingers slipping against my calloused palm as I helped her over the sea-smoothed rocks to the ocean’s edge so she could wade in the surf. I can still see her holding the legs of her jeans up, trying and failing to keep the ocean from anointing her with the holy water of reminiscence.  She laughed. I laughed in those days before, when the Cliff Walk along the ocean’s edge was not a knife to the heart. Still, a knife to the heart is better than feeling nothing and so I have chosen to return year after year to conjure, if only through tears, the time forever lost.

This time is different.

I climb to the pine-encrusted knoll where we last stood together. I think of that day. Her thin frame was already a ghost held together by bones and tumors, almost gone but not quite. She held my hand like always that day.

“Find someone new.” She whispered.

“Stop.” I said.

We both cried. Her head scarf was lost in the breeze as we kissed for what was to be the final time.

Wiping away a tear I remove the urn from its satchel. I tilt it ever so slightly and let the wind take her ashes.

“Good bye.” I say again, but this time I mean it.

A gentle hand caresses my back. I feel her lips touch my shoulder. As she puts her arm through mine I can see, in the moonlight, she is weeping with me, grieving alongside me. I am secure in the knowledge, my wife would have liked her.

In Other Words: When the Pillars Shook

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In Other Words

This post is in response to Patricia’s Quote Challenge/ In Other Words.

Patricia’s contributors are asked to take a quote and from it create a post of our own.

This week’s quote is:

“When they discover the center of the universe, 
a lot of people will be disappointed to discover they are not it.”
Bernard Bailey

When the Pillars Shook

by JE Lillie

Uzziah was gone! He may have been a leper. He may have been a fool. But he was my king and more than that he was my friend. I wept for days until the tears would come no more and then I sealed myself in my chamber.

I tried to pray. I arose every morning to the Shema. It had never been just words before but now words were all I had left, vain repetitions, little more than the chanting the pagans did in their temples. I  felt guilt. I felt anger. I felt abandoned.

For months I struggled on like this. The Great King was silent. I snivelled my prayers day by day growing weaker in faith stronger in blame. Grimly I thought to myself, “And so ends the great prophet.”

It was a morning like every other. We were nearing Sukkot. I arose feeling no great joy in the upcoming celebration. I began to mumble the words of the prayer as I had every morning since my bar mitzvah.

“Sh’ma Yis’ra’eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Achad.”

Something stirred beneath my feet. I looked down to see what I had stepped on that had unsteadied my stance.

” Barukh Sheim k’vod malkhu…”

And the world as I knew it was suddenly gone. It was as if a curtain had been pulled back tearing away the darkness of my room. I was in the temple or a place that looked like the temple. The air was filled with the thick smoke of incense. A fire burned on the altar of incense and behind that stood the Great Ark unveiled

I grasped my chest and inhaled violently in fear as I realized I was looking on the forbidden place. I covered my eyes but the smoke came alive and ripped my hands from before my face even as the pillars of the temple began to convulse.

The doors to the Holy place flung open and Adonai entered. His train was the smoke and the smoke was his train. It encircled Him like a shield and His eyes were the fire. Every step of His was an earthquake and every movement the explosion of a thousand suns. I was blind but could see more clearly than ever before. I stood at attention before him quivering and at the same time was prostrate on the floor shrieking.

“V’ahav’ta eit Adonai Elohekah b’khol…”

My words were drowned out by the shuddering of the walls about me as The Nameless One gathered himself to His throne atop the mercy seat. The golden cherubim came to life and spread their wings as four creatures more alive than anything on Earth cried with the voices of a thousand waterfalls, “HOLY!”

All my dry dust prayers blew away in the sound and the fury that was Heaven and I cried,

“Woe is me! I am undone!”

Of course I wasn’t really. The angel came and burned away my wickedness with fire from the altar and instead of dying I was commissioned.

One thing I have learned is that life will last as long as we shake in time with the pillars of that temple rather than trying to walk to our own rhythm.