Tag Archives: flash fiction

Things You Should Tell a Ten- Year- Old

Posted on by under The Stories

Rochelle hosts a group of some 100 writers weekly to tell tales from a picture she posts. The stories have to float around that magic number 100. So they don’t take too long to read. If you will click on the picture below it will take you right to Rochelle’s site and you can read all 100 or so stories there.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Photo by: Roger Bultot

Before you go here is my 100-word story.

Things You Should Tell a Ten -Year- Old

by JE Lillie

My mother was one of them helicopter moms.

I didn’t mind her cutting the crust off my sandwiches or ironing my underpants. I guess I didn’t even mind her brushing my teeth but she never even let me play outside. She said it was too dangerous.

Here’s a heads-up hover moms, boys need to play. She may have locked up her gun, but the bullets she kept in her top drawer.

How was I to know you shouldn’t bake gun powder? The explosion was epic!

The Something In the Nothing

Posted on by under Pastor Wrinkles, The Stories

In Other Words

Take a gander at Patricia’s Place and tell us your story IN OTHER WORDS

Our quote for the week, from which we are to concoct a itsy bitsy story, is

” Abundance is, in large part, an attitude.”
Sue Patten Thoele

The Something In the Nothing ( A dramatization of 2 Kings Chapter 4:1-7)

by JE Lillie

She bent to her task without a word. What was there to say? Everyone thought she was crazy.

 Miriam had called her a fool.

Havah had all but thrown her out of the house.

The widow had pleaded, “But the prophet said…”

“Prophet Smophet! You dim beggar take the bowls and go. What use have I for them when my husband and sons are dead at the hands of those Moabite pigs? But don’t you dare talk to me about a God who treats people like this.”

She could hear Havah’s words echoing in the back of her mind as she unpacked the sack full of bowls.

She could hardly blame them. Everyone had lost someone in the raids, including her.

She pushed the thought of Azariah from her mind. The exorcism of his image took conscious effort every day but it was the only way she held on to the few strands of faith she had left.

The widow plunked the bowls and vials onto her table. She lined the window sills and edges of the room with all the containers she had collected from her doubting neighbors. At last, when she was finished arranging the hodge podge collection of vessels, the prophet stepped into the room.

She thought he would wave his walking stick or utter some magic words.

Instead he nodded almost imperceptibly, smiled and said, “That’s a lot of pots.”

The widow began to pour from her tiny decanter. By sunset every bowl, vessel, pot and vial was full of oil.

In Other Words: The Heart-Hole

Posted on by under The Stories

In Other Words

Well here we are for another week of “In Other Words” the flash fiction writing challenge where Patricia gives us a quote and we have to write a story on it. You can find other contributions to the challenge at

http://patriciasplace.me/2015/03/25/celebrate-the-journey/

This week’s quote is…

“Stop worrying about the potholes in the road
and celebrate the journey”
Barbara Hoffman

Ireland 517

I found him sitting in his living room with the curtains drawn. The floor was littered with empty bottles. He hadn’t changed his clothes in days.

“What are you doing to yourself son?” I held my hand to my nose trying to block out the stench of  stale sweat and booze which assailed my nostrils.

“She’s gone dad. She took the kids. What am I going to do?”

Tear stains streaked dirty lines down his cheeks etching age and weariness in every corner.

“You are going to open the curtains and start living.” I said sternly.

I threw back the thick velvet drapes she had chosen and thought to myself they would be the first things to go. The sunlight glinted off the photos of my grandchildren. He squinted in the brightness. I felt a lump of pity rise in my throat.

“Go shower.” I ordered.

Once I heard the water running I cleaned up the empties and tossed the wrappers of too many nights of take out into the trash.

My son had fallen down a  hole in his heart. It was deep but then I had climbed out of similar pits. We could do this together.

I went to the radio and turned up the music.

In Other Words…A Total Misunderstanding!

Posted on by under The Stories

In Other WordsIt’s time once again for Patrcia’s weekly flash fiction challenge. You can read the rules and follow along by clicking the link below.

http://patriciasplace.me/2015/03/04/the-problem-is/

This week the quote we are working from is

“Lots of people talk to animals. Not many listen, though. That’s the problem.”
Benjamin Hoff

A Total Misunderstanding

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by JE Lillie

“Tell me Verle, How is it we always end up holding the bag?”

“We are beasts of burden Malcolm. Surely you don’t expect your human to carry it.”

“He could help a little.”

“What are you two talking about Strider?”

“My name is Verle and we were talking about this heavy bag you just put on me.”

“Oh you want a carrot, do you?”

“Malcolm did I say anything about carrots?”

“No Verle you didn’t. Oh, he’s offering me one too! Yum I love carrots.”

” Malcolm don’t eat that. It’ll only encourage him!”

” There you go Strider. Now for the next bag.”

“Do you see what you’ve done Malcolm? Now I have to carry two bags!”

“Beast of burden, Verle. What do you not get about that?”

“That’s it I’ve had it. I’m breaking free of this life! Out of my way human!”

“Strider stop!” Down boy! Down!”

“Ouch!”

“You should have known better, Verle. They always use the whips when we get uppity.”

“Sergeant what’s the matter with that horse?”

“I’m sorry Captain, something spooked him. There might be enemy in the bush. We’d better send out a patrol. This horse is really smart.”

“Oh Malcolm my human is so stupid!”

In Other Words…Get Acquainted

Posted on by under The Stories

In Other Words

This week Patricia has asked us to write a piece of flash fiction off of a quote from  Lucy Maud Montgomery.

“I do know my own mind. The trouble is my mind changes and then
I have to get acquainted with it all over again.”

Check out how others have written it at

http://patriciasplace.me/2015/02/25/13182/

Here are my thoughts…

The Window To My Soul

by JE Lillie

“Shut up.” I said

“No. If you don’t like it just walk away.” He spat. Little droplets of moisture dotted the glass between us.

“Why do you always have to make things so hard on me? I just wanted to have some fun. I’ve earned it.”

“That’s your idea of fun?” He managed to choke out.

His face was getting redder by the minute. My blood pressure was rising just looking at him. But this is how it always was between us. I would do something I thought nothing of and he had to make a major production out of it.

The guy thought he knew me because of the length of our acquaintance. The truth was he never really empathized with me for one moment. He never gave me a break, never understood what my life was like. He was just always there doling out the advice for the price of his right to castigate me.

“Yes I thought that was fun and I am sick of your constant harping on me.” I shouted back in his face.

“Fine!” He shrieked.

“Fine!” I bellowed.

I walked away from the mirror confident I had put the jerk in his place.
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Courage To Be

Posted on by under The Stories

I am way behind this week with the story writing….But in my defense last week was one bussssssssssy week! Patricia’s prompt was from ee cummings and you can find the link to her blog along with the rules of the game at:

http://patriciasplace.me/2015/02/23/courage-to-be-in-other-words/

Our story prompt was

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.“
ee cummings

The Girl Who Never Came Out Of the Barn

by JE Lillie

She remembered cold winter mornings spent filling the manger for the scrawny milk cow her parents kept. She recalled sweeping the seat of the outhouse on hot summer nights to make sure there were no spiders before she sat down. She never tasted soda until she was teen-ager but drank only water from the hand pumped well all her childhood. In her girlhood angst she grew to hate the farm. She grew to hate the poverty that clung to it even more.

In high school she would steal magazines from the local drug store: McCall’s, Harper’s Bazaar and even Forbes. She would dream of life in the big city, being a business woman or an actress. But it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

She married the farm boy down the street when she was seventeen when he promised to give her indoor plumbing. He built her a house on a hundred acres five miles from her parents. She had four children. She milked her own cow, Their artesian well spilt better water than any other well in the county. The girl  who had hated the farm, never came out of the barn, but one day when she was dandling her grandson on her knee in the parlor of her country home she realized it was because she had never really wanted to.

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Friday Fictioneers:Escape

Posted on by under The Stories

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Rochelle has given us this prompt to create from this week. You can see how others created stories from this photo at

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/02/11/13-february-2015/

Escape

By JE Lillie

The heat of Florida was unbearable. I was a week in hospital recovering from heat stroke. The tornado in Texas blew my home to pieces. My place in California was gorgeous. That is it was gorgeous until it tumbled down the canyon in a mudslide. In Wyoming I was trapped in my house for two days running by Grizzlies.

I really thought that I had hit the jackpot when I bought the Colonial in Massachusetts. This winter we have had  seven feet of snow in four weeks. Snow seemed so harmless compared to those other things. I died of frostbite after I slipped in my drive. At least I don’t have to  move to Europe.

In Other Words: Finishing The Island Lady

Posted on by under The Stories

In Other Words

Here is a new challenge I am taking over at Patricia’s Place. You can participate by going to…

http://patriciasplace.me/2015/02/11/13074/

Patricia has given us a quote and has asked us to write a new piece between 250 and 500 words.

Here is the quote and my newest story

Where there is great love, there are always miracles.”
Willa Cather

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Finishing the Island Lady

By JE Lillie

Andre was determined to make his mark on the world. His parents were even more determined that their son would succeed in his ambition. The family moved out of the tenements in lower Cleghorn when Andre was five and  found a low rent apartment in a nearby suburb. It meant commuting in a beat up old truck for Andre’s father and working in the Dollar Store for his mother but they considered the sacrifice for their son worth it all.

Andre was no genius in the classroom but there was nothing the boy couldn’t create with a paintbrush. The word “prodigy” was tossed around throughout Andre’s high school career. That and a dozen blue ribbons from around the state and a full scholarship to the Boston School of the arts made him a shoe in as one of Massachusetts up and coming artists in gallery shows around the Commonwealth.

But Andre’s mark was bigger than a name on a canvas, bigger than money in the bank. When the boy started teaching art classes at the Boys and Girls club in Lower Cleghorn he knew he had come home. He trained a dozen young men and women in the art of painting.

For his Senior project he got permission from the City to begin painting murals over several of the graffitied walls in the center. Andre was warned of the danger of painting over gang tags. When he was interviewed he told the papers he was not challenging anyone’s authority, that his only goal was to revive a love for beauty in the downtrodden village called Cleghorn.

The gang’s did not see his work as beautiful. They shot and killed Andre on a Wednesday as he was finishing the outline of a mural he called, Island Lady.

Andre’s memorial service was held at the site of the outlined portrait. A hundred artists from around the state agreed to finish the Island Lady and to paint over every tag in the city as tribute to one of their own. The broken heart of love can breed anger. Used right that anger becomes resolve. When resolve meets hope and hope meets God that opens the way for many miracles.

C.cada & Granny Applegate

Posted on by under C.cada: Arts and Stuff

Our artist’s group met a few weeks ago. This month our group project was to create works of flash fiction based around photo prompts. I have already published Deb Maciorowski’s offering here…

http://debbestillandlisten.com/2015/01/23/c-cada-flash-fiction-exercise/

Here is Charlotte Dorais’ offering based on the photo prompt below

Granny Applegate

By Charlotte Dorais

The smile belies my true feelings. My character choice, spider-man was not an option so I became Granny Applegate’s baby. Being the butt of the joke was not new to me. I’ve never met a nerd who wasn’t thick skinned. This dream of a children’s theater was coming to fruition at last and Monica was great at seeing your true character.

Dress rehearsal was chaotic; the mixture of adult and child actors tends to be that way. Most of us were experienced and had practiced our lines and music, remembered our blocking and felt we were ready for the show. Jimmy and Sally were 7 year-old talented, yet inexperienced actors who were my partners in these skits. Tripping me seemed to be their goal in life. I wondered why Monica hadn’t stopped the rehearsal, and quickly realized she found humor in their antics and encouraged them to continue.

I had a choice, I could rebel and refuse to be the klutz they were making me, or grow and allow my character to become the laughable old lady who had no balance.

Granny Applegate stole the show.

If you would like to stop by one of our artist’s gatherings just shoot me a response here on Lillie-Put or you can check out our artists website at

artistdayapart.com

The Daily Prompt: Connecting the Dots & The Blood Of the Martyrs

Posted on by under The Stories

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Connect the Dots.”

The Daily post gave us this instruction today,

Open your nearest book to page 82. Take the third full sentence on the page, and work it into a post somehow.

Pg. 82 of the book nearest to me read, “As new tombs were needed the tunnel was lengthened and new chambers were excavated on both sides…

Here is a short story based on the book this was taken from, The Blood Of the Martyrs.

The House Of Worship

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by JE Lillie

It had been a month since I had seen daylight. The catacombs were not just the place we buried the dead. They had become our sanctuary in every sense of the word.

The number of martyrs grew by the day. Johanan had been fed to the lions a week ago and then his wife Cybele had been burned at the stake as her children watched just two nights later. Nicanor and Lavinia had been sold as slaves in the market, confirming my mother’s decision to stay below ground with the dead.

The dead or what pieces of them could be salvaged were brought to our little family sheltering in the catacombs and we saw to their Christian burial. The hidden cemetery was filling fast so  “As new tombs were needed the tunnel was lengthened and new chambers were excavated on both sides. My hands did some of the digging.

My fourteenth name day came and went while I dug away in the catacombs making a space for the newest family of martyrs. In the process we were told to make a chamber wide enough for the church to meet in.

I still remember the night we Christened that new section of tunnel. We, the soon to die, sang hymns among the dead and relished the thought of the Coliseum if only it would take us into the sun and out of the musty, dirty darkness that had become our house of worship.