He stood, toes of his shoes on the edge of the skyscraper he’d worked in for years. He looked down at the ants scurrying around. The height of this particular building was extreme, and he knew what would happen when he jumped.
He went back in and quit instead.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged beauty, decisions, don't jump, fiction, flash fiction, life, live life, people, sad, skyscraper, suicide, suicide isn't worth it, unhappy, unhappy with life, work, writing
After a clear win by story number one, I figured I should do this again! It was fun! If you didn’t see yesterday’s post, you can still vote for a limited time, but let’s move on to the new one. Choose the story you think best fits with the photograph and I’ll type the winner onto the photograph.
You may also want to purchase some of my originals from my Etsy before this book makes me famous and I double my prices! 😉
So here is today’s picture.
And the stories:
1. You can just tell she was having a moment.
2. The fresh feel of grass between her fingers made Gertrude, a city girl, smile.
3. Always recognize the small, beautiful moments in life.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers, Typography
Tagged 1940s, 1950s, art, beauty, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, friendship, kitsch, life, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, sad, typewriter, typography, vintage, writing
Margaret and Isabel were both quickly sketching the scene as the boy stood at the bridge staring at his reflection.
“Looks like we figured out what our drawings were missing, huh Madge?”
Margaret agreed. The water churned a bit, making her wonder what the boy was really doing since the current was making reflections difficult.
“Ready for our lunch?” Margaret asked her. She nodded and pulled the wicker picnic basket over to their little folding stools. “Mind if I look at yours while you get lunch together?”
Belle was always agreeable and nodded as she pulled out the ham and cheese sandwiches, potato salad and some fruit. The final item, a jar of pickles, proved difficult. She strained against the lid as Margaret flipped through her rough sketches.
“These are beautiful, Belle. I still don’t know why you didn’t finish art school with me.”
She gave up on the jar and handed it to Margaret, who easily opened it. “Musta loosened it for me, doll.”
Belle took the jar back and pulled out a pickle. “You know I loved Mitch. He found a job so fast and wanted to get married and all, I couldn’t say no. And who says I can’t create art without that piece of paper? An artist doesn’t need it, necessarily. Did Van Gogh have a degree? Did Rembrandt?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Did they?”
“You’re the one who finished art school, you tell me!” Belle said with a laugh as she took a large bite of the pickle she’d been holding. “Now let me see yours, then we’ll dig into these sandwiches!”
Margaret handed over the sketchpad. “Now don’t go getting pickle juice on them!” A quick wipe of her hands on her long pleated skirt took care of the juice and she flipped through.
“These are just beautiful, Madge. A bit dark for a nice day, but lovely. Will you paint them?” Margaret nodded. “Watercolors?”
“No, I think oils, you know how I love to paint in oils.”
“Think the boys are having fun at the game?”
“Only if the Red Sox are winning, darling. Otherwise we’re going to have two grumpy gusses on the ride home.” The women giggled and ate their lunches. They both looked up at the boy, who was still standing on the wooden bridge.
“What do you think he’s doing?”
“Why looking at his reflection, silly!” Belle said.
“But look at the water, no way he could see his reflection! I’ve seen that look on a man before. That boy is deep in thought about something.”
“Probably a lovely girl he wants to ask out,” Belle said with a smile.
Margaret shook her head in disagreement. “I dunno…he doesn’t seem to happy to me.”
“Really? He seems downright amiable to me. Isn’t it funny how artists see things so differently, even from one another?” She smiled and pulled an apple out of the basket. “Apple or banana? We have one of each.”
“Apple, dear. Bananas are always bruising, and I can’t stand that.”
Belle handed her the apple and started peeling the banana back. “A few little bruises never hurt anyone, I’m fine with this banana.”
At that a loud crack could be heard coming from the ballpark, and the women turned to look in its direction. Cheering could be heard from the crowd, even from where the two artists were sitting.
“Sounds like a home run.”
“The boys will be happy then, hopefully.”
“Yes,” Margaret said as she picked up her sketchbook. She stared at the dark charcoal sketches she did of the boy.
“Well I’ll be, our subject!” Belle said, forcing Margaret to look up.
The boy had gone.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers
Tagged 1940s, art, artists, baseball, beauty, Boston Red Sox, couples, entertainment, family, Fenway Park, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, friendship, hipster, kitsch, life, love, marriage, old, painting, park, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, picnic, pictures, playground, relationships, retro, sad, sketching, vintage
This is an origin story to one of the many characters in my first published novel, The Z Word, available here both in paperback and for the Kindle. Follow us on Facebook as well!
Marie happily ignored the doorbell as she played with her Nintendo DS. Her mom and dad called to her to answer it, but she pretended not to hear and then threw on her headphones so it would look like she couldn’t have possibly heard them over her game.
If she’d only kept them off, she would have heard the screaming.
After another half hour or so of taking care of her virtual dog, her stomach growled so she threw the game onto her bed and ran to the kitchen for a snack. She grabbed a banana and jar of peanut butter before she noticed the odd crunching sound coming from the foyer by the front door of her family ranch home.
As she stopped and listened to the odd sound curiosity got the better of her and she went into the living room for a quick investigation. She saw Grover, her dog, hiding under the couch, his little tail sticking out, and a muffled whimpering coming from the little guy. As she turned into the foyer, she dropped the banana to the marble floor.
“Mom?”
Her parents were both attacking the mailman, tearing at his flesh and apparently eating it. Her father had his severed arm and was biting a finger off when he noticed her. He froze for a moment, like a kid caught eating sweets right before dinner, and then growled.
“Dad? Mom?” They both turned on the ten-year-old and lunged for her, causing her to fall backward onto the floor. Her mom’s bloody hand grabbed onto her foot and yanked but Marie wiggled her foot out of the sock and tried to pull back. Her dad was too quick for her and gripped her ankle. As his teeth neared her flesh Grover jumped out from the couch to protect her and started barking. He bit her dad’s hand, forcing him to let Marie go. She jumped up and backed away toward her room as both of her parents grabbed Grover and started tearing him apart.
Marie screamed and ran to her bedroom as fast as she could, shutting and locking the door behind her. Her bed seemed the safest place, so she jumped into it and hid under the covers, waiting. After a few minutes of silence, scratching started at the door, followed by banging. She screamed again and realized she would have to come up with a better plan.
She ran to the window and saw her best friend and neighbor, Joey, walking into his home with his dad. She slammed her hands against the window, and Joey looked over for a second before his dad pulled him inside. Her screams went unnoticed as the neighbors’ front door slammed. She was on her own, and the hammering on the door intensified. She ran to her dresser and tried to push it in front of the door, but her small body couldn’t make it budge so she gave up and threw on a new sock and her sneakers. The banging continued at the door and she screamed at it. “Go away!” The other side was quiet for a second or two before it started again with renewed violence.
As Marie threw some things in her backpack a crack appeared in the door, which grew larger with each slam. Eventually her father could see her and started making a sound that made her blood run cold. She was out of time and ran to the window again, leaving the bag behind.
That’s when she saw Joey run out, a little blood splattered on his t-shirt. She watched him look at some nearby neighbors who clearly resembled her parents and he ran around his house to the deck between her window and his. He climbed under it and disappeared. She knew she had to go there as well. She turned and looked as the door splintered from its hinges. She yanked the window open, jumped out, and ran straight for the deck where her best friend was hiding. Maybe he would know what to do.
Posted in flash fiction, Horror, The Z Word: Origins
Tagged childhood, children, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, friends, friendship, horror, sad, The Z Word, zombie, zombie apocalypse
The following story is a prequel to my first published novel, The Z Word. If you enjoy the prequel check out the other prequels available on my blog, like it on Facebook or order the book.
“C’mon kiddo, we’d better get back or your mother will kill us both,” Joey’s dad said to him from across the baseball field.
“Just a few more throws!” Joey yelled, and his dad just laughed and loosened his tie a bit.
“Fine, a few more,” he said. He’d really started to cherish the few minutes they played catch between the time he got home from the office and dinner. Five minutes later they were walking down the street toward home.
A man was walking behind them slowly and moaned. Joey turned and looked but his dad pulled his arm.
“What’s wrong with him dad?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. Let’s just get home.”
Joey peered over his shoulder at the man and saw the blood running down his chin and an odd look in his eyes as if he were far away.
Another tug forced Joey to look ahead of them and their house came up on the right. Joey ran ahead.
“Bet I can beat you!” His dad laughed and played along to the front door where Joey was standing bent over, panting.
“You beat me, you win.”
“What do I win?”
“You get to run right upstairs and wash your face and hands. You’re covered in dirt from the baseball field. If your mother sees you like this she’ll kill me.”
As his father opened the door Joey started to go in when he saw Marie across the yard waving from a window. She looked a bit upset, but a large hand grabbed him and pulled him into the front door.
“Let’s go! Get washed up! Honey, we’re home!”
As Joey ran up the stairs two at a time his father went into the kitchen to see what was for dinner. A quick sniff made Joey wonder if anything was being cooked in the house.
A change of clothes and a minute in the bathroom had Joey looking like new so he ran back down the stairs, jumping the last four and then looking back at them, impressed with himself. That’s when he heard a whimpering combined with a crunching sound.
“Mom? Dad?” he called as he ran around the bend into the kitchen and stopped with a squeak of his sneakers on the linoleum.
His dad was sitting on the floor as his mom seemed to be eating his neck.
“Mom?”
His dad suddenly opened his eyes and pointed at the door. “Joey! RUN!”
Joey noticed the blood dribbling down her chin and that same weird look in her eyes as that strange man on the street and knew something was wrong. She stood from his father, the man’s body limply falling to the ground, and started in Joey’s direction.
“Mom?” he whispered.
She growled and he turned and ran for the front door. Outside he noticed a few people wandering around and they all stopped as soon as he let the screen door slam behind him. They all had that same look, and Joey knew he was in trouble. He thought about places to hide, somewhere they would never find him, and his mind went back to the game of hide and seek he’d won, beating all of his cousins, even the older ones. He knew just where to go.
Come back tomorrow for the story of Marie, and who knows, maybe even a continuation of Joey’s story…where will he hide? Will Marie survive too? Find out tomorrow!
Posted in Horror, The Z Word: Origins
Tagged childhood, children, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, friends, friendship, horror, life, living dead, marriage, people, relationships, sad, The Z Word, undead, zombie, zombie apocalypse
Terese stood looking up at the perfect blue sky and fluffy clouds before she gathered the nerve to go to the edge and look down on everyone. The building wasn’t that high, and while she could appreciate an amazing view of the city, her fear of heights tended to take over. But she wanted to, so she forced herself, inch by inch, her high heels scraping the cement with each half-step, toward the wall that overlooked the courtyard below.
Ole had been difficult all day; as a matter of fact, he hadn’t been fun to travel with at all. His constant complaints were annoying, his mood swings obnoxious, and his hatred of people in general was exhausting. She practically had to drag him onto the metro and to the different sights. If she left it up to him they would stay in the hotel most of this trip, and he wouldn’t even be trying to have sex with her. He was more likely to watch television.
Terese shook her hands a bit, then her head, her black hair flinging until she stopped and it was frazzled, a strand or two sticking to her lipstick. She wanted to forget the frustration of her relationship and think about the view, attempt to check out Oslo with a positive mind instead of one focused on her problems. She boldly stepped to the edge and looked below to see people milling around. She sighed and enjoyed a pleasant moment, her first one on the trip thus far. She felt the stress wash away as she listened to the water lapping against the man-made walls, noticed two lovers sitting by the water having a moment, and was instantly refreshed.
Until she noticed Ole.
There he was, angrily brushing his jacket off as if the metro got it dirty. Her moment of happiness fell apart and her shoulders began to ache the tiniest bit. He then started brushing off a cement wall, preparing it for his royal ass. He’s the royal ass she thought to herself, then giggled a little. She tried to enjoy the view of the waterfront but her eyes kept resting back on Ole, who checked his watch a dozen times in the few moments she was up there.
She walked across to another view, one where she would not see her annoying lover. The sun was beginning to set and cast a shadow across the area, shadowing her in darkness for a brief moment. If Ole looked up he would have noticed her silhouette from below, but he just sat on the wall wondering how long she would be up there.
She looked around at the walkway where she stood and realized she was alone. She returned to a vantage point near the edge, one where she could see Ole again. Her hand slipped out of her pocket and shaped itself into a gun. She pointed it in his general direction, pretended to look through the sights, aimed and fired.
Photographs by the talented Kristin Brænne, whose work can be seen HERE.
Posted in flash fiction
Tagged annoying lover, city view, couples, dating, dennis finocchiaro, entertainment, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, friends, friendship, I want to kill my boyfriend, it's time to break up, life, love, Norway, Oslo, Oslo city view, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, relationships, romance, sad, terrible boyfriend, writing
Click the photograph to see WhiteStag’s Etsy account where this print and more are available!Zachary Ward was sitting in his old bean bag chair reading the recent Walking Dead when it happened. A scream ripped through the open window of his bedroom and he barely looked up from the issue. But then, who would? The second scream was the one that forced him to carefully place it on the shag carpet in the basement bedroom he “rented” from his grandmother and walk up to the eye-leveled window.
It had started. He saw two of his neighbors chased down by another, who seemed a bit slower than usual, and a bit more…gray? The slower neighbor latched on to one of their jackets and pulled the woman in, biting her arm as her scream reverberated off the walls of neighboring homes. Blood splattered across Zach’s window as her eyes met his and she reached for him.
It was time.
He ran to the comic he’d thrown to the ground in frustration and held the cover up, looking from the image to the view outside. It was definitely time.
He turned to find his grandmother standing in his doorway, the light from the basement steps silhouetting her figure.
“Mom-mom, how many times have I told you to knock first! I don’t care if you have to do laundry!” he whined. She stood, waiting for something, and that was when he looked back at the comic he’d been reading and flipped to the fourth page. It showed a back lit silhouette of someone in a doorway, a similar scene. He carefully placed the comic onto his sofa bed and reached under, feeling for something.
“Mom-mom, I would answer me if I were you…”
She made a sound, guttural, coming from deep inside, and that’s when his hand hit what he was looking for – a baseball bat. She lunged at him just as he pulled it out, and he swung it at her side, knocking her away from him.
“Mom-mom?” He looked into her eyes, a milky white. He sighed and knew what it was he had to do.
“Sorry mom-mom. You’re no longer the person I knew. I love you.” She stood again, her flowery moo moo flowing behind her as she jumped at him and he swung the bat at her head. The crack sounded different from those of the star baseball player’s he bench-warmed for. After all, his bat had never connected with anything other than wind that whole season his dad forced him to play.
She dropped to the ground, blood oozing from a crack in her skull. Zach looked at her for a brief moment and then started gathering items around his room and throwing them into a backpack. He’d been reading about these things for years now. He’d seen all the movies, even the terrible ones. The books, the graphic novels, everything prepared him for this moment. And he knew what he had to do next. It was time to save the hottest girl in his old high school who just so happened to live across the street and also, however unlikely, never pulled the blinds when she was changing. Why else would a twenty-year-old live in his grandmother’s basement?
As he burst through the old front door of her home, the screams got to him and he winced and lost his nerve for a moment. At that point he pulled out the iPod his cousin had given him when the new one came out and threw the buds into his ears after pushing random. With the bat in his hand he entered the street filled with monsters and victims alike, trying to catch some food or survive, depending which side they were on. He stepped to the other curb and was ready to swing the bat when a song started. The first few notes made him stop as the lyrics “Well no one told me about her…the way she lied” and he laughed at the irony of this song of all songs being the first to play. As he ran across the street one of the zombies came after him and he swung, this time right at its head. It went down fast as two more turned to look at him. He ran around her brother’s van parked in the driveway and checked to see if he could make it to the front door. He took off for her house and got to the door to find it locked. He rang the doorbell and turned to find the two from earlier coming at him rather slowly.
“Just like Romero said,” Zach actually said to himself as he gripped the bat tighter before thinking better of it and swing the bag around from his back. He pulled out a half-filled bottle of rum and stuffed a rag in it as they got closer, dropping the iPod and letting it yank the buds out of his ears. A quick flick of the lighter and the cocktail was lit. He threw it at the oncoming creatures and watched them ignite and fall, bringing three more into view who were apparently following them.
“Shit.”
He turned and banged on the door, rang the doorbell again and started yelling. Finally he heard a voice.
“Who is it?”
“Lucy! It’s Zach! Let me in!”
“Who? I can’t. Something’s going on! I’m not opening the door!”
“If you don’t open it I WILL DIE!”
He waited, the closest undead thing within reach of his bat and he took it down with one swing. The click of the lock turning caught his attention and as she opened the door he fell inside onto her.
“Quick! Lock it!”
She sat on her ass looking at the monsters slowly approaching and began to shake so he jumped up and slammed it shut in their faces. He threw the latch and slid the chain into place, then offered her his hand.
“Are you okay?” She nodded and then wrinkled her nose at him.
“Oh, you’re that creepy guy from across the street. You live with that old lady.”
“Um…yeah. I was also in your homeroom.”
“Oh.”
She brushed herself off. “What do you want?”
“I was trying to save you.”
“Well, I’m fine. I’m locked in. Safe. You can go.”
“We need to barricade the door, block up the windows and do a quick survey of what you have in here. Got a lot of food? We’ll need it.”
Lucy just stood there staring.
“What?” he asked her.
“Why should I share with you?”
He pulled open the curtains to get a view of the street. “You want to be alone in all this? They’re zombies.”
“They’re what?”
“Zombies. Dead people come back to life. Eating people.”
“That’s stupid. They aren’t even eating the people’s brains. Zombies eat brains.”
“Where in the hell did you hear that? It’s a myth.”
“So are zombies.”
“Then what are those?” he yelled, pointing outside at the chaos.
She looked outside and her confidence wavered. “They can’t be z- they just can’t be.”
She rubbed her arm and looked at him as sweat began to form on her forehead. “Well, what do we do?”
“We do what they always do. Lock ourselves in. Hold down the fort. Hope others find us so we become stronger in numbers.”
The two of them went to work moving furniture and blocking the doors and windows with as much as they could find. A quick inventory found them plenty of food and he filled up the bathtub with water.
“Why do we do this?”
“If the water stops running you’ll thank me.”
“What if I need to take a shower?”
He rubbed his temples for a moment trying not to yell, but ended up losing his temper a bit anyway. He yelled “YOU DON’T TAKE A SHOWER IN THE MIDDLE OF A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!”
Her lower lip trembled and he instantly felt bad. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean it.”
She took a good look at him and collected herself. “I’m fine. I get it. We’re in trouble. I’ll be tough.” She looked out the bathroom window and gasped. “This is for real, isn’t it.”
“Sure is.”
She turned and looked at him, a small smile forming. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m actually glad you’re here.”
He smiled and felt his heart skip a beat. The hot girl from his high school days was happy he existed. That’s when they heard the thump. Zach ran down as fast as he could, Lucy close behind, to find the front door being rattled. He ran to it and pushed up against it, Lucy copying him. That’s when the window shattered.
“No! Lucy get back!” By the time she realized what was going on, a hand grabbed her nearby arm and pulled it through the window. Zach grabbed her waist and pulled her back in, and as she turned he saw the distinct marks on her arm. Bite marks. She looked at it and said “I’m fine!”
“You aren’t. When you get bit you become one.”
She looked at the cuts, wiped away some blood and passed out. He picked her up and put her on the couch.
“Shit.” He knew what he had to do. He ran to the front door and added a heavy armoire to their makeshift barricade and then went back to her. She didn’t wake up. “I’m sorry. I have to leave you. It’s too late for you.”
At that he grabbed the keys to her brother’s van off the counter, ran to the back door, turned to take a last look at the hottest girl in his grade, and left through the backyard.
Posted in flash fiction, Horror, The Z Word: Origins
Tagged art, dennis finocchiaro, dork, entertainment, family, flash fiction, found photograph, graphic novels, horror, love, monsters, nerd, origin story, people, photography, pictures, pop culture, prequel, relationships, romance, sad, The Walking Dead, The Z Word, undead, upcoming novel, writing, zombie apocalypse, zombies
“This is the part of the zoo where you can feed the animals,” mom told us as we walked to the cage. “Only feed them these pellets. Dennis, are you listening?”
My older brother had that smile at just the edges of his mouth, the one that meant trouble. Mom put a hand on each of his shoulders in an attempt to grab his attention. “Did you hear me?” His fake smile appeared and she fell for it. Again.
I was the good one. My brother was always causing my parents trouble, and I hated seeing my mom cry over his ridiculous antics. He always came home with unexplained bruises and cuts, or being chased by older, faster kids. My mom automatically defended him against upset neighbors, teachers, and officers. So I always tried to keep my nose clean. It just seemed fair. She worked so hard around the house, and my dad was always on emergency calls, being the town doctor.
After doling out half of the little pellets she got out of the penny machine to feed animals, she sat down on a nearby bench. It wasn’t even two seconds before Dennis ran out of the pellets, which of course he was throwing at a duck that was more interested in dodging them than eating them, before he came and wrenched my wrist to steal mine. Luckily I knew him well enough to expect this and had pocketed a few as soon as my mom handed them out.
“Hey!” was all I said. I turned to my mother, who heard my cry and looked up, so I just smiled and waved. It just wasn’t worth getting her upset. I turned my attention back to Dennis, who was easy to spot in the crowd considering he was wearing the same red and white-striped shirt as me. I carefully followed behind (he’d caught me following him once and I could still feel phantom bruises from that lesson) and watched as he pelted a little lamb with the rest of the food before he came upon the goat.
He approached the fence where this huge billy goat stood almost eye to eye with Dennis (if memory serves it had a few inches on him, but you know how memories become distorted) and Dennis instantly reached his hand through the large spaces between the wire and yanked the creature’s beard, pulling it closer. I could see from my vantage point that the goat’s eyes widened. I was pretty sure we weren’t supposed to be pulling the animal’s fur. Dennis looked around for something to feed it but only discovered the lid to an aluminum can someone had thoughtlessly discarded from a packed lunch.
“Eat it!” Dennis said to the goat, who kept moving its mouth away from the garbage. “Come on! Goats eat trash, I know it. Eat the can!”
I’d watched Dennis bully people my whole life, including myself, and I couldn’t stand it. Even the boys bigger than him always took the worst of it in a fight. What chance did this goat have?
The goat opened its mouth to make a noise and Dennis’ quick reflexes had the lid in the poor creature’s mouth before a sound came out. The sides of the lid were sharp and may have cut the goat, I have no clue, but it made a screaming sound, lunged at Dennis’ hand and grabbed it between its teeth. Dennis screamed out “Mommy!” and of course she came running. I tried not to laugh when I realized my brother was crying, actually crying, and when my mom ran up and looked at his hand, she saw teeth marks.
“Oh Dennis, come on. Look at your hand! It didn’t even break the skin.”
He was sniffling and snot started running down his face. I never thought I’d see the day that anyone or anything would get the best of my older brother, the terror of our neighborhood.
“Billy,” my mother called to me. “We’re going to sit on the bench. Come find us when you’re ready to go.”
I nodded and reached into my pocket, pulling out the few pellets I’d saved from my brother. The goat backed away, but I used my best soothing voice and said “Come here, boy.” The goat approached and I reached my hand through the fence with the pellets in my hand and fed my new hero.
Posted in flash fiction, photos of strangers
Tagged 1940s, 1950s, beauty, bullies, childhood, children, dennis the menace, entertainment, family, fiction, flash fiction, found art, found photograph, funny, humor, kitsch, life, older brothers, people, photo, photograph, photography, photos, pictures, relationships, sad, siblings, vintage, writing
A Flash of Inspiration 