Showing posts with label Flash Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flash Fiction. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 1, 2021

IWSG - Success


Insecure Writer's Support Group


Purpose of the IWSG: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds! Join us HERE!

The Question:

How do you define success as a writer? Is it holding your book in your hand? Having a short story published? Making a certain amount of income from your writing?

My Answer


All the above. Success is typing 'The End' at the finish of that first draft and then highlighting it bold after the final edit. It's also hitting publish button on Amazon or signing that contract for publication. Signing your first copy to a reader. Getting a five-star review. Winning a place in a popular anthology or placing in a writing contest.

This year, for me, it's finishing a series, and starting a new one.

Each incident has its own feeling of satisfaction, and they should all be celebrated!

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DON'T FORGET TO JOIN US

FOR THE wep'S NEXT

 CHALLENGE

October's scream





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 Remember to say hi to the co-hosts Rebecca Douglass, T. Powell Coltrin @Journaling Woman, Natalie Aguirre, Karen Lynn, and C. Lee McKenzie!




KEEP WRITING!
KEEP READING!
and thanks for stopping by!

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Monday, October 19, 2020

Sheila's Last Chapter

 It's been a while since Sheila has appeared on this blog. But I wanted to end her story. 

Here is that ending...

Photo by Andre Tan on Unsplash

Karma Comes Killing

 

After Jerry’s death, Sheila trudged quickly down the mountain in a light rainfall. She walked to Jerry’s car in the parking lot and wiped it down. She didn’t want her fingerprints to give her away. When she finished, she locked the extra set of keys in the glove compartment, careful not to allow herself to be seen by anyone. Exhausted, she started for home. By then, the rain was coming down in buckets. “Gosh, I’m horny,” she said and pulled up her collar against the rain. “Time to get back to town and find an able-bodied man to make me whole.”

Those thoughts filled her mind as she arrived at the main road and stuck out her thumb. The man that picked her up looked scruffy and smelled worse, but the inside of his truck was warm and dry.

He offered her a swig of whiskey from a new bottle, and she accepted. “Enjoy,” he said to her. “That’s some top of the shelf stuff. Just won me the lottery and spent my first thousand on several cases of God’s nectar.”

“Thanks. I’ve been walking for hours. Went for a short hike and got lost.”

“It’s easy to do. Been lost a few times myself. You didn’t say where you were going.”

“The first motel you see will be fine. I’m homeless at the moment. But I have enough for a decent night’s sleep and a hot shower!”

He looked her over, his striking blue eyes looked so much younger than his body belied. Almost familiar. Before she could find him in her memory, he dropped his gaze.

“You’re welcome to stay the night at my cabin. I wouldn’t mind a drinking partner.”

Sheila laughed. “You lookin to get laid, old man?”

He snorted. “Wish I could say yes, but the Vietnam War took my mojo. It’s why I love the drink. So what do you say? My turn off is just ahead. Or I can take you closer to town.”

“Your place sounds nice. I could use the company too,” Sheila said, pretending not to notice his lottery comment.

He turned off the road and headed back up the mountain. By the time he arrived at the cabin, Sheila felt a little car sick from all the twists and turns, but the fresh air quickly dispelled that feeling once she climbed out of the cab and took a few deep breaths.

He limped to the door and opened it for her. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to carry in a case or two to get us started. If you start the fire, I’ll bring in the wood. That way, you can warm yourself and dry out a little.”

She entered the dark cabin and looked for a light switch. There was none, but she found a lantern and a box of matches on the small kitchen table and lit the lamp. She gazed around the large room. A ratty sofa sat in one corner, a wooden counter with shelves above it sat in the other. The shelves were filled with dishes and boxed and canned food items. An old-fashioned cookstove fed with wood and stacked with iron skillets, and a coffee pot sat near the back door. In the far corner was a bed just as ratty as the couch. One wall held the fireplace, and in the middle of the room sat a rickety table with two chairs. It was rough but looked lived in. She lit the fire that had been prepared in the fireplace.

“A little too rustic, isn’t it?” she said when the stranger joined her.

He grumbled. “Never said it was a fancy bed and breakfast.”

“No, you didn’t. It’s nice enough, but I was expecting electricity. No bathroom either, I assume?”

“Of course, there is,” he said proudly. “Outback. Just picked up a new roll too. Help yourself.” He handed her a new roll of toilet paper that he takes from a grocery bag. If you take that pitcher,” he pointed to one sitting on a shelf by the door. “You can fill it with water from the barrel outside to wash with. Be sure to bring the roll back with you. If you leave it out there, the critters will get to it, or the dampness will!”

With a shrug, she walked out the back door to the outhouse. She set the pitcher on the porch near the water barrel and moved toward the doorless outhouse. When you’ve got to go, you go. After all, I just spent a night in the woods with Jerry. This is a mite better, she thought as she sat down on the cold, wooden seat. She watched the cabin, just waiting for the old guy to take a peek. She was surprised when he didn’t.

Back in the cabin, she found the old man lighting another lantern. He had the kitchen table set with bottles of Jack Daniels, a plate of cheddar cheese and a package of Ritz Crackers.

“Thought you might be hungry. If this won’t do, I’ve got eggs and bacon, but I was saving that for breakfast.”

“This is fine,” she said as she poured some water into a large bowl and washed her hands. She took off her jacket and sat down near the fire. She opened a new bottle, poured a glass, and took a big gulp. “This is so smooth.”

The old man smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

She poured another glass, ate a chunk of cheese, and finished off that glass too. “You never told me your name—I’m Sheila.”

“I know, Sheila. I know. And you know me. Remember?” the old man said, then began to remove his facial hair and the gray wig on his face. He pulled off the prosthetics that made him look years older.

“Hank. Sheila. My name is Hank. And I’m here to make sure you pay for all the crimes you’ve committed.”

By now, the drug he’d coated her glass with had taken hold. Sheila could not fight him. She could barely stay in her seat, but she was still conscious enough to know she’d been had.

“How? How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t difficult. I almost had you, but then you disappeared up here. While I waited for you to reappear, I perfected my disguise and rented this place. I’ve been searching for you for days. What I don’t understand is why you were hitchhiking.”

“I couldn’t very well get caught in my last victim’s car, now could I?”

“So, you killed Jerry too? You work fast, girl. Too fast. Damn!” he shook his head. “You are one evil bitch, but I knew the minute I mentioned a winning lottery ticket that you couldn’t resist another opportunity.”

“You’re a bastard. But don’t worry, I’ll escape again,” she said before the world went dark, and her head hit the table.

*****

But Hank wasn’t about to leave escape to chance. Sheila awoke to find herself in a sleeping bag on the porch of a very rustic cabin. As she stretched herself awake, she saw that several large, brown bears stood nearby. She immediately hurried inside but found that the place had no door. The door had already been torn off by the bears. It lay at her feet, and the smell of blood and meat assaulted her nostrils.

Realizing her error, she turned around and came face to face with a bear. The beast swatted her with his massive paw, and she went down in a heap. Blood poured from open wounds as the bear began dragging her outside where three smaller bears attacked.

Sheila was eaten alive. Her bones were found that next summer, and ID was found in the pocket of her jacket. The papers in Alaska carried the story of how an escaped murderer met her match in Alaska's wilderness. When the AP picked up the story, Hank read it and smiled. “Justice has finally been achieved!”

The End of Sheila

*****

Want to know more about Sheila
Follow the links for her story:

Remember folks - this is all fiction -

an exercise of the imagination!

Happy Halloween!

Photo by Sašo Tušar on Unsplash




Wednesday, April 15, 2020

WEP - Vessel of Evil



Vessel of Evil

Carole put the last book into the box, closed, then sealed it with packing tape. “Done, done, and done,” she said proudly. “Just in time for lunch too. All that's left to do is load the truck, drive to Goodwill and drop some of this off, then take the rest home. I bet we make several hundred dollars on eBay for these items.”

“I’m glad your uncle kept the good stuff in the original boxes. I say we’ll do as good as a thousand dollars," Jerry said as he kicked at a pile of crumpled newspapers on the floor. “Ouch!” He groaned and rubbed his toe then knelt to pick up the item he kicked. “What in the world?” He held up a large, iridescent vase with silver veining.

Carol laughed. “The old doorstop.”


Jerry inspected the fifteen-inch-tall, blue-green iridescent vase and repeated her words – "doorstop? It looks like a vase or an urn."

“Well, obviously it’s a vase. Urns have lids, but someone filled it with cement, and now it’s only good as a doorstop. At least that’s what Uncle Joe used it for. Although he did say it’d been in the family long before he came along.”

“Is it worth anything?”

“Sentimental value only. The appraiser said any value became moot when it was filled with cement.”

“What do you want to do with it?”

“I’d like to keep it. It’ll remind me of Uncle Joe and his crazy stories. He used to tell some doozies, and I swear that vase would get brighter the spookier they were. It’s funny that you mentioned an urn. Uncle told a story about that once.”

“Really, what was it?”

"Sorry, my mom called me out of the room that day. But like I said, he had all kinds of stories."

Jerry scrutinized the vessel. “Really odd, but it is attractive, in a macabre sort of way. My toe did some damage but only to the cement at the top. There’s a crack, or was that there before?”

“Nope, that’s new,” Carole said as she checked the top of the vase. Sure enough, a crack about a half an inch appeared in the center of the cement that was an inch from the top of the vase’s neck. “Come on, let’s get this stuff delivered to Goodwill and get some lunch.”

***

Jerry finished unloading the last of the boxes from Uncle Joe’s then retrieved the vase from the back seat. He rubbed his finger across the crack and decided to investigate further. He grabbed a large file off the workbench and got to work. In an hour, Jerry had created an opening of over an inch. It was long enough and wide enough to stick a half-dollar into. But the most exciting thing he found when filing into the cement was that the bottom of the bottle was hollow.

"I just turned our doorstop into a bank." Jerry pulled a John Kennedy half dollar from his pocket and dropped it in. The next odd thing was that it didn’t make a sound. The coin just disappeared into the slot. When he shook the vessel, it was still silent. “Must be something softer inside.” he decided, as he polished the exterior and made it shine, especially the silver inlay.

In the house, he handed it to Carole. “I’ve fixed it. Now it’s a bank.”

Carole took the vase from him and laughed. “If we put money in there, how do we get it out?”

“What if we put all our silver Kennedy half dollars in it. We have a small collection of them, and we always planned to hand them down to our kids. We’ll fill it up and leave it as an heirloom.”

“I like that,” Carole said and sat the vase in a special spot on the bookshelf. “In honor of Uncle Joe! Our first family heirloom.”

***
That night, a dark gray cloud of smoke rose from the blue-green iridescent vase, and with it, the silver dollar floated out and plopped to the floor. The darkness swirled and circled the room, floated down the hallway, and entered the master suite. As Jerry inhaled, the gray smoke entered his nostrils and disappeared.

At 6:00 A.M. Jerry awoke to find his wife, Carole, dead beside him. She’d been eviscerated, dismembered – murdered! He was covered in her blood and held her heart in his hand.

***

"Well Detective, what do you make of it?” the coroner asked.

Detective Martin shook his head. “The butcher knife was found under his pillow. No sign of a break-in. No blood anywhere else in the house. Yet, he claims he’s innocent."

“But how do you kill like that then just fall asleep in the middle of it?”

“Rage? Maybe he wore himself out? Someone with more knowledge than I have is going to have to answer that question,” the Detective acknowledged.

***

In prison, on death row, Jerry re-lived each moment of the murder. He saw every detail, recalled the thrill of each stroke, but especially the way his knife sliced through her body like a blade through butter. But mainly how satisfying the final cut to Carole’s throat had felt. Then as the blood flowed, how he celebrated and allowed himself to shower in the spray of it. He saw it clear as day, but he had no control over his own actions. The worst of his nightmares were of the other murders. All women from Whitechapel, London. He even knew their names, Mary Ann, Annie, Elizabeth, Catherine, and Mary Jane.

A defense of insanity didn't convince the jury.

Jerry gave over to the death that awaited, knowing that soon, Jack the Ripper, would strike again.

***

The vase went to the highest bidder and sold for twenty-five cents at an auction to help pay for Jerry’s attorney fees.

971 Words

Yolanda Renée © 2020

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