Friday, March 27, 2015

Flash Fiction Friday: The Book of Things

Today's prompt was a text prompt:

"I think I've been dead since '98."

And my response:

I think I’ve been dead since ’98.

Oh, that was also the year I was born, actually. Keep forgetting that. The thing about dying and living at the same time is that it’s often hard to keep things straight, so I write most things in a little leather-bound notebook I keep on my person. Appropriately, it has “Things” embossed on the front. If you don’t mind, I’ll write your name in here—not that I’m calling you a “thing”, per see (humans get so touchy about labels. That observation, by the way, is Thing #24), but you’ll understand that it’s just to be concise. Alright? Good. 


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Ginny Romney -

Friday, March 20, 2015

Flash Fiction Friday - Butterfly Issues

Since I keep losing track of weeks, I decided to give up labeling them and call each week after the title of my story.

The winter had been long and dull, and this walk was my first since the blizzarding stopped. Suddenly, there came in the sky a butterfly, blue and black and beautiful. I chased it through the wood, never caring about where it was taking me or why.

It found a house and darted inside—I followed suit. The hallway was filled with hundreds of butterflies, all nestling on the walls. They seemed to sense that there was a foreign thing among them. Suddenly, they all left their wall in a tornado of color. They smothered me.

I died. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last—but may I just say, it was the prettiest death I’ve ever died. 

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Ginny Romney -

Friday, January 9, 2015

Flash Fiction Friday: Week 5

On time! *victory dance* 
This one is actually based on some characters I'm working with right now. 

“Why won’t you talk to me?” I asked, turning on him in the hallway. He paused in his walk. “I’m tired of a glare being my only response when I ask you a serious question.”

“You don’t know anything about me, and I intend to keep it that way,” he replied crisply, and started walking again. I held out my hand and pressed it into his chest to keep him where he was.

“If we’re going to work on this together, you’re going to have to trust me,” I said. He smirked.

“I don’t think so. As of yet, you don’t even know my real name.”


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Sunday, January 4, 2015

Flash Fiction Friday: Week 4

Yep, I'm late...story of my blogging life! But I really enjoyed writing this one. :D

“Drop the gun,” I told her. “I’ll give you what you want. I promise.”

“You’re a liar. You got it from your father,” she said accusingly. I could see the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes.

I slowly opened my bag and showed her the contents, strewn about in no sort of order. Her eyes grew wide when she beheld the coveted item.

“It’s the blue jar,” she said. I picked it up gingerly and put it into her cold hand. She kept the gun pointed at me until she had turned the corner, disappearing into the night. 


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