FFfPP — Freak Accident

Eric was sweating. Drops of perspiration from his forehead were finding their way to his eyes. His palms were sweaty, too. These were not good signs. Not good at all.

Eric looked down at the long, angry scar on this left hand. His mind flashed back to the last competition, when he was on his way to a first place finish. For his final shot he pulled back on the bow and just as he let go of the bow string, the arrow splintered, sending a large shard of wood into the webbing of his left hand between his thumb and forefinger.

They called it a freak accident. There was a lot of blood and it hurt like hell. Eric was rushed to the hospital and got about 20 stitches. He was assured that, with physical therapy and lots of practice, he could eventually return to competitive archery.

After months of therapy and practice, he was back competing in a tournament. Eric knew the odds of another arrow splintering were infinitesimal, but he couldn’t help but flashback to that day last year. When it was his turn, Eric took a deep breath, pulled the bowstring to the anchor point and let the arrow fly.

Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner from Roger Shipp. Photo credit. GaborfromHungary at Morguefile.

FFfPP/Music Challenge — The One-Night Stand

Scott found himself walking along a wide, fallen leaf-covered path under a canopy of trees as the sun was starting to set. He knew it would be dark soon, but his mind was preoccupied. His longtime girlfriend, Adele, had just dumped him when she found him in the arms of another woman. He would never forget her words. “We could’ve had it all, you asshole. You had my heart inside your hand, but you played it with a beating. I promise that you will reap the pain you have sown,” she added.

Scott tried to defend himself to Adele, explaining that the woman he had that one-night-stand with meant nothing to him. But she told him that he had scarred her heart and left her breathless. She said that now that it was crystal clear the kind of man he was, she was going to make him burn.

The sun began to disappear and the path was darkening quickly. Scott collapsed down onto the ground and started sobbing and rolling around in the deep leaf bed. As night fell and an eerie darkness enveloped the woods, Scott began to fall into a deep despair, just as Adele had said he would.

Written for Roger Shipp’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Photo credit: Morguefile. Also written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Music Challenge from Jim Adams, where he featured Adele’s song, “Rolling in the Deep.” Here’s his prompt’s brand new logo.

FFfPP — The Necklace

Running into the kitchen, Sharon called out to her mother. Holding it out for her mother to see what she had just completed, Sharon said, “It’s a beaded necklace I just finished making for my teacher, Miss Robertson.”

Sharon’s mother picked up the necklace that her seven year old daughter had been diligently working on for the past two weeks. “It’s very special, sweetie. I’m sure Miss Robertson will love it.”

“Do you see what it says, Mommy?” Sharon asked. “Look, it spells out ‘Merry Christmas Miss Robertson.’ Isn’t that neat?”

“It really is good, sweetie,” Sharon’s mother said. “But honey, you spelled the word ‘merry’ with only one ‘R.’ It’s supposed to have two. And ‘Christmas’ is missing the letter ‘T’ in it.”

Sharon’s little face turned red and tears started welling up in her eyes. She grabbed the necklace out of her mother’s hand and as she did, the thin elastic thread that Sharon had painstakingly threaded through the small hole in each individual letter bead broke, scattering all of the small beads onto the kitchen floor.

For a moment, neither Sharon nor her mother said a word as they both silently stared in disbelief at the scattered beads. Then the seven year old stomped her right foot down hard on the floor and screamed, “Fuck this shit,” as she stormed out of the kitchen.

Written for Roger Shipp’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Photo credit: Morguefile.

FFfPP — It’s Not Going to Happen

Isaac took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He stood up and walked into the kitchen where Hillary was preparing dinner. He knew what he was about to tell her would upset her, but he also knew that he couldn’t do what she had asked of him.

“How’s it going, sweetie?” Hillary asked as Isaac entered the kitchen.

“Listen, Hil,” Isaac said. “It’s not gonna happen.”

Hillary stopped what she was doing. “What’s not going to happen? What are you talking about?”

“I know how important your religion is to you, Hil,” Isaac said, “and I’ve spent the last four days locked away carefully reading the Bible.”

Hillary raised one eyebrow and said, “Yes, so?”

“So,” Isaac said, “it’s like reading a mashup of a fairytale and a soap opera.”

Hillary started to cry. “It’s God’s word. How can you say such a cruel thing?”

“I’m so sorry, Hil,” Isaac said. “I know you want me to embrace your religion and to share your beliefs, but I just can’t. It’s mythology and superstition and fantasy and I can’t take any of it seriously.”

“Then I can’t marry you, Isaac,” Hillary said.

“I know, Hil, I know.”

Written for Roger Shipp’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Photo credit: Morguefile.

FFfPP — Splash

You said it would be wonderful
You said it would be tranquil, serene
You said the scenery would be stunning
You begged me to come with you
You said there’s nothing better
You said I would love it

I didn’t want to go
I don’t like to fish
I’m tired and soaked
I’m chilled to the bone
I can’t see a damn thing
I hate this

You said we could leave if I wasn’t thrilled
Well, I’m not thrilled
I’m feeling seasick
So let’s leave now

What do you mean “man overboard”?
I’m not a man
I’m your wife
What are you doing?
Take your hands off of me
You know I can’t swim


Written for Roger Shipp’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Photo credit: Morguefile April 2020.