81 Words Flash Fiction Writing Challenge – Stories Page 7

Story 601:

THE RIGHT INGREDIENT

by Kent Raddatz

"Life isn't all pop tarts and gravy, ya know."

As he imagined that horrible combination of flavours in his mouth, she went on.

"Sometimes you need some spice to make the magic."

"I just wanted to know if I should ask her out."

"I know what you wanted."

"Well then, is she the pop tart or the gravy? Please don't say both."

"She's the spice."

"So I'm like gravy – boring?"

"Call her."

He shrugged. He called. And nothing was tasteless again.

Story 644:

BLUEBELLS

by Susan Wickham

The police car stopped. She stumbled out into the vast blueness. It overwhelmed her and the tears fell. It wasn't the cruelness that she had suffered all these months that finally broke her down, it was the compassion.

They had found him and then her. She had been in his flat all this time. She just wanted to wallow in the fragrance, the wonder of the bluebells. The colour reminded her of her mother's eyes. She was free. She could smell.

Story 655:

KEY, KEY RING AND FREEDOM

by Roshna Rusiniya

The bedroom door opened with a squeak, much to Lyla's chagrin. Her husband's snores were still loud, resembling the growling of a predatory animal. She lifted the suitcase with her uninjured hand and glanced around the room, brightly smiling at the sight of overflowing laundry and dirty plates.

She stepped out into the warm night and pulled the hoodie of the jacket down, so her bruised cheeks were hidden. The key in her hand glowed, free from the key ring, finally.

Story 670:

GROWING UP

by Valerie J Shay

Diane's life was never the same after she pulled the trigger. For three years, she tried to forget that night, tried to bury it in the recesses of her memory. She refused to talk about it. She forced herself to pretend it never happened. Diane loved Jeffrey, but she loved her freedom, her sanity and her friends even more.

Jeffrey needed to go. She'd outgrown him. He no longer served his purpose. Mother was right, imaginary friends are not real. Mostly.

Story 678:

FOR THE LOVE OF A GHOST

by Veena Rah

"You did this to me," she whispers, fidgeting.

I knew this, of course. I was selfish and weak. I left.

I trace the path of her tear with my finger. Almost imperceptibly, she shudders.

She'll be angry with me forever, but it won't matter, she'll be with me again.

"Don't worry, dear. It won't hurt," I lie as she tilts her head back and throws a handful of those little pills down her throat. "Trust me."

She'll be with me again.

Story 685:

JUST 81 WORDS

by Thomas O'Mara

So good to be accurate, neat and precise,

My writing a passioned, explicit device.

Apt comments found where there are phrases to spare,

Hurtling and flowing with dashes of flare.

Take care with the counting; take care not to fail,

Just 81 words must my story entail.

A word hurtle train, all engine and coaches,

My work gallops on as the ending approaches.

Some final adjustments, some last minute changes,

I'm just about there by the seat of my breaches.

The—

Story 689:

DINNER AND A MOVIE…

by Lumen Ros

"Would you like dinner out tonight, dear?"

"Let's eat in."

"Sure. Italian?"

"We've had that three times this week. How about Moroccan?"

"Excellent suggestion. I'll pick it up. Let's catch a movie after."

As I finished getting dressed, the front door opened.

"I'm back, love."

I was so hungry, I flew down the steps.

There he stood, dinner in hand. After 500 years, the gleam in his fangs still sent a jolt of lust to my carotid.

"Darling, this is Nadia."

Story 700:

THE BOOK

by Don Bartlome

I stood beside the desk, looking down at an ancient book I'd been seeing for fifty years, with gold lettering no one could translate.

Even with the threat of punishment, the book was comfortable in my withered hands, like a long lost lover. I opened the book, feeling its warmth on my palm.

"Billy," Mother shrieked. "Leave it. You're only ten years old." I looked into the mirror behind the desk and saw myself; a young boy with small soft hands.