Four times each month, Friday finds me just fine. And so, I’d like to play on Fridays by serving up a bit of hot pressed Flash expressly written by me to be expressly consumed by you. (A photograph will accompany these whims in efforts to readdress the material presented.) My intention is to explore various genres, willed from pen to blog in hopes of inspiring you, dear reader, to think, to write, to love.
The only rule is that there are no rules to know in which to break, meaning this Flash will not be constricted by category, genre, length, diameter, what she says, what he thinks.
Take a sip or dive straight in–it’s always been your choice, you lovely readers.
On this Friday I present a diddy (not a tale, not a poem, not specifically flash fiction) written as vaguely as possible, and yet with all of the heart palps I can muster. It is my intention that you will find something relevant, something that reaches out to you and you alone within the lines.
Lace Flashes Friday: “Answers for Him”
The way she squawked down/up the living walls.
The way she yelped/stomped her foot when aroused from deep thoughts.
These things he could not stand.
Would never be able to stand, he assumed.
So he told her to change, to stop acting so foolish.
And with time, she did.
- Put black round her left shoulder blade and tiptoed through the vapid jungle that is home
her place of residence,
like a soldier hidden in green shadows
awaiting uncertain deaths—all fire and metal.
2. Try leaving his walls alone,
had tried not to love him without condition,
for conditions she’d hid inside various antechambers—
complete with kin, all succumbing to divorce, insolence, both.
Pungent with poison, she left. Seeking
a warm place to coil and counteract the cold
she felt on bare floors. Amidst travels, she couldn’t
claim a bed generous enough for two.
Lying on the floor presented trust which
- Down Feathers
- Memory Foam
- Wiry Springs
- Hay, Cloth, Rope
could not give.
So as not to feel the fall(ing)—you know—
dizzying up her skirts as eyes shut out Eve’s night.
All of those lovely god-forsaken things, he dreamt and she dreamt.
He missed them. Surely he did.