Skip to main content

Flash Fiction Friday, and some short updates

Hey guys!  No stats blog or horror genre post this week since I am on vacation.  Normal posts will resume next week.  I'm also gonna to try to figure out the scheduling features so that this doesn't happen again.

However, I couldn't not post my Freaky Flash Fiction Friday piece (even though I'm barely making the deadline), so here it is.


A Day in the Life of Harold Abrams

"It's supposed to rain today." Laurel said to her husband, Harold who sat in his armchair on the other side of the living room.  "Good thing we are staying in today." She said, putting the newspaper down onto the table beside her.  

A whistle came from the kitchen. "Oh, looks like the kettle is done, I'll get us some tea." She stood up slowly and carefully and puttered her way into the kitchen. Harold stayed in his armchair. Laurel came back with two steamy cups of hot tea.

"I got you some Chamomile. It was the last box in the store, you sure are lucky." She placed the tea cup next to Harold and then went back to her chair next to the window. There, she sipped her tea as she did the crossword puzzle in the paper.

"Do you know a 5 letter word for a clearing in a forest?" Laurel asked her husband.  Harold sat in his armchair on the other side of the room.

"Yeah, this is a tricky one. Very unusual for a Wednesday."  A moment later, there was a knock on the door. "Were you expecting company?" Laurel asked, looking over to Harold.  Harold sat in his armchair. "Me neither." She said, and stood. She opened the door, keeping the chain lock locked so the door would stay mostly closed. "Yes?"

"I have a delivery for a Laurel Abrams. Is that you?" It was the parcel carrier.

"Oh how nice!" She exclaimed. "Is a signature required?"

"No Ma'am." 

"Then would you mind just setting it there on the porch.  I'm not quite decent you see."

"Oh of course." He said, setting the delivery on the porch. "Have a good rest of your day." He went back to his truck. Once he was gone, she went out to retrieve the delivery.  It was a vase of flowers. They were big and bright and beautiful. 

"Oh look at this, Harold. Someone sent us some flowers. Let's see who they are from." Laurel read the card.

"To my dearest friend, Laurel on this, the anniversary of Harold's death. May he continued to rest in peace and you continue to live in it.
With love, 
Connie."

"Oh look at this, Harold. Connie sent us some flowers.  How sweet." She went back over to Harold who was still sitting in his armchair and placed the vase next to him.  "Oh dear, you have a little something." She said, and brushed a cobweb off of his face, right near his left temple. "There. Much better." She went back across the room and sat.

"Now lets see if we can finish this crossword."

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Coffee Shop Chat!

What I Did This Week... This week has been super busy!   Sunday:  Had a meeting at Job #2 suuuuper early in the morning (I am NOT a morning person), and then it was off to church for the Palm Sunday service, which was awesome.  The church was freshly decorated for the season, and the children had a Palm Parade, where they walked around the block, waving their new palms around.  Super cute.  Then, I went to the coffee shop to TRY to get some writing in (that didn't go too well, but I had a delicious pot of green tea). And then I came home and worked on school work (I get my Masters in 2 months!). Workout and Meditation. Monday:  Worked at Job #1 (the library), ran errands, workout and meditation. Tuesday:  Worked at Job #2 (corporate job, ew). Had a TERRIBLE day, but that was made better by these beautiful flowers from my SO: Wednesday:  Worked on my Grad Portfolio ALL DAY (Did I mention I get my Masters in TWO MONTHS??) ...

Hold on to your butts, this is a long one.

I've been thinking a lot lately about creative nonfiction - and that's probably due to the fact that for the first time in 7(?) years, I have been inspired by people.  Real life people. I took my first creative nonfiction class in community college because it was a term I had never heard before.  How on Earth could an essay be creative? But it opened up this new world to me, a world of memoir and a level of thought that I needed and ended up thriving on. the first creative essay I wrote landed me a spot reading in a swanky art gallery surrounded by middle aged, well dressed academics drinking wine (which was, and still is my measurement of success). I continued taking creative nonfiction as a writing major at Southern Oregon University. I got A;s, I was told I could easily be a biographer or a memoirist, or essayist writing for any number of journals, and yet, for some reason, I stopped. I attended Grad School where I studied Library Science, not just because I wanted to b...

Book Review: The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne

Okay there are so many places I want to take this post, and I'm not sure where I want to start, so I'll just start with cover art and a quick summary of the book: This story focuses on the adventures of 5 Americans on an uncharted island.  It starts during the American Civil War, where 5 northern prisoners of war decide to escape by hijacking an air balloon. After flying through a storm for several days, they finally land on some unknown island. They name it "Lincoln Island" as tribute to their president, Abraham Lincoln. The five are able to sustain themselves on the island, producing fire, pottery, bricks, nitroglycerin (!), iron, an electric telegraph (!) a cliff side home, and even a seaworthy ship. Throughout their time on the island, there seems to be a deus ex machina at work, delivering chests of goods and rescuing them when in danger. Eventually, they find out the secret of the island and the gifts. Captain Nemo.  Yes, that Captain Nemo from 20,000...