Frustration – A Flash Fiction

Frustration - A Flash Fiction

I have never felt so lost in my life, totally overwhelmed, on the deepest level.
How am I supposed to tackle this task, when I don’t even know what half of this means?
These instructions are the worst example of directions I have ever experienced.
And I only got till 8 pm, when everything has to be perfect.
My hands are shaking with frustration, as I toss the cookbook onto the kitchen counter.

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014

This Flash Fiction was inspired by the book “The 4 Hour Chef”, by Timothy Ferriss, who tackles the frustrations of cooking and cookbooks while teaching you how to learn everything (review coming soon!)

P.S. Check out my debut Flash Fiction collection “A Darker Slice of Life” on Smashwords! 

 

Rose – A Flash Fiction

Rose - A Flash Fiction

 

“Well, to be honest, I threw it away.”
“You did what?”
“It was just sitting there, all torn up, and old-looking. Who keeps stuff like that?”
“I do, you….” She bit her check to keep herself from throwing every cuss word she could muster.
“Never mind. How long ago was that?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“No, don’t tell me that was right before the garbage truck came?”
“Of course it was, silly. That was the whole point of me rushing to take out the garbage. I don’t want this stuff to fill up the bin over the next three days.”
“You are just too efficient.” She grimaced, as she knew that the sarcasm would be completely lost on her assistant. As expected he trotted off, proud of his accomplishments and efficiency.
He was new, he was good, and he was overly productive. He wanted to please her, and showed it by cleaning her desk more frequently than it ever had been over the last 5 years she had been working from home. Not that this was a bad thing, but it also was not the first time, she had to rescue something that he did not consider as usable anymore.
Bell treasured trinkets from the past, little items that reminded her of her Grandma, of their rose garden, and of the long summer afternoons spent together sharing stories, drinking tea and coffee, while savoring homemade cookies and cakes. Grandma Rose, as everyone had called her, was a lover of stories, always weaving a newly crafted web of intrigue, love and adventure, pulling all of her listeners into her web with an ease, Bell now tried to capture, as she wrote her own stories. Because of her, Bell had fallen in love with words. Because of her, she had become an Author. With enough work on her plate, that warranted, no, demanded a personal assistant.
Who drove her mad.
That envelope had been not just any old, torn envelope. It contained a picture of her, her mother, and her Grandmother, in their rose garden, a photograph that had seen better days. Bell had been contemplating of having it restored, and a copy made for her parents.
She shook her head, trying hard not to get emotional. After all, vivid memories of beautiful times were burned into her heart, and no photo or the loss of it, could be more meaningful than that. Still. This one was special.
Walking through the french doors upon the patio, toward the back entrance, she squinted at a small, rectangle something caught in the thick rose-bush, that flanked the small path toward the small gate. It moved fiercely in the wind, but the rose-bush had a strong hold upon the item, its thorns grabbing it, not unlike human hands holding on to price possession.
Sighing in relief, Bell grabbed for the envelope, which released with ease and gentleness into her hands.
A smile deepening on her face she whispered softly. “Thanks Grandma.”

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014

This story was loosely inspired by today’s Daily Prompt.

 

Come Back To Me – A Five Sentence Flash Fiction

Come Back To Me - A Five Sentence Flash

Come back to me

I hunger for the day when you come back to me, the day when you see the light, and understand that you are mine.
Mine, do you hear me?
There is no escaping this truth, there never will be.
And if, out of some reason, you do not choose to come back to me out of your own free will, well then, you will get to see a side of me you might not expect.
Trust me, you don’t want that.

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014

The Keeper – A Flash Fiction Short Story

The Keeper - A Flash Fiction Story

The scent of cinnamon cookies rushed through the hallways and grand entrance, that was still grand despite its need of TLC, lots of TLC.
“She likes you”.
“Who likes me?”I was bewildered. With no one in the family left but me, there was no one to approve of me, or disapprove.

Finally

Free from the stuffiness of what was supposed to be for my own good, but had felt more like a lifetime prison of rules, regulations, tradition and expectations. 

“She does. The house, silly.”
I glanced at the young woman in front of me, as if she just had grown a third eye, not the psychic kind, a literal one, bulging from the center of her forehead. Or maybe alien antennas. I had known that the girl was weird, had been told to stay away from her, but I did not expect a bubbly young woman with a sense of purpose, and self-confidence, I wish I had. I liked her from the moment I first saw her. Even if she did not make sense to me most of the short time, since I had arrived.
“The house likes me?”
“Yes, she approves of you. Only when she likes someone does she smell like that.”

She laughed at my expression, a mixture of confusion and disapproval, and waved me further into the entrance.
The white marvel floors where exquisite, and despite the need of touch ups, updates and a dire need for wall paint, the home was beautiful. Overwhelmed I forgot for a second how crazy the caretakers words sounded and took a deep breath, breathing in more of the welcoming sugary, cinnamon scent.
“This is really mine? All of it?”
She nodded excitedly.
“All yours.” She giggled, hugged me quickly, another habit of hers, I had the feeling I would have to get used to.
“You have no idea, how much fun you two are going to have! She is a special place, precious. And now you are her Keeper.”

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014

This post has been inspired by the Daily Prompt post.

Here are few more post of other Daily Prompt bloggers:

http://alanewart.wordpress.com/2014/07/08/reviving-bricks-come-down-and-jam/

http://jitterygt.wordpress.com/2014/07/08/warren-and-the-psychologist/

http://aerretha.wordpress.com/2014/07/08/barbie-y/

http://dragoneystory.wordpress.com/2013/04/10/the-world-i-would-create/

http://agirllikemee.wordpress.com/2014/07/08/my-dream-mansion/

 

The Watcher – A Dark Fantasy Flash Story

These walls were his temporary domain.

Sure, it was nothing fancy, at least not when it came to the comfort level, and the constant day-time traffic of spoiled children, bored parents, and a few actually interested fellas, which did make it hard to let loose.

So he lurked around corners, watching, observing these silly creatures, that called themselves advanced, intelligent and in charge. None of that, was their true nature.

They were none of what their ego portrayed them to be, the illusion of grandeur, advanced creation of a deity, they so often worshiped in the paintings, that lined the walls, of this large building they called a museum.

But in truth, those images only reflected the pathetic creations they really where. Filled with hatred for those of difference, perusing conquests, creating war and destruction.

He saw their darkness, yet hid in their presence, patience, superior to those whom he observed and shared the space with, day in and day out.

For now.

Watching, learning, plotting.
A temporary situation, for the right time, his time, would soon arrive.

The time to reveal to those before him, how insignificant they really were.

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014

Today’s story originated from following writing prompt and is a part of the “Daily Post”

writing prompt

Some other cool bloggers, check them out:

http://abozdar.wordpress.com/2014/06/11/tinkering/

http://dragoneystory.wordpress.com/2014/06/11/daily-prompt-gifts/

http://conversationswithyolandi.wordpress.com/2014/06/11/old-in-time/

http://activearmywife.wordpress.com/2014/06/11/childhood-treasures/

http://awanderingstoryteller.wordpress.com/2014/06/11/foxy/

http://herestill.wordpress.com/2014/06/11/daily-prompt-antique-antics/

 

Man’s Best Friend – A Flash Fiction Fantasy

123

“You finally have a chance to talk to me, in a way that I can understand you, and you are only asking for  three things?”
“I am dog, we are simple creatures, what do you really expect me to ask you about, the meaning of life itself? Or for the reason you insist on watching these god-awful reruns of the 70’s show?”

Ben shook his head.

“Very funny Hector. And I really do like that show.”
“Well, I really like bacon. Real bacon, not that fake stuff you sometimes get, trust me, it is nothing like bacon at all. That box thing lies to you humans all of the time.”
“I am aware of that. The lies, I mean”.
“Then why are you watching it?”
“I am not justifying my television habits to you. You have questionable habits too. I caught you eating out of the cat litter box, for crying out loud”.
The retriever lowered his eyes the floor.
“Only once. I wanted to know more about that furry thing you brought home.”
“By eating his shit?”
“Then give me some real bacon to eat. There is my alternative.”
Ben chuckled.
“Okay, deal. A back-scratcher?”
“Yes, for you to scratch me with, my back, I mean. Isn’t that what they are for? Or is that another human thing, where it has a name, but it means something else?”
“No, it’s to scratch backs, I will get you one. But that third one, come on, how am I supposed to arrange that?”
“A play date with that Doberman Pinscher next door? Easy. You are attracted to her owner. That way we both get what we want!”
“Hector, seriously!”
“I am looking out for you here, man.”

Ben shook his head, then grinned as he thought about the brown eyed, pretty young woman, who had moved next door just  two weeks earlier. Her sweet smile, had made his heart jump, the first time he saw her enter their building, her puppy by her side.
“Yeah, you are looking out for me.”
“Man’s best friend, you know. Just doing my job.”

Worst Scenarios: The Final Heist – A Flash Fiction Horror Story

Daily Prompt is asking us today what the worst case scenario would be for this day, and what would be the best.

The following flash fiction short story is about one of these worst case scenarios, originally published on my old blog, last year:

The Final Heist

This was supposed to be our last job. It was large enough to set us for life, both of us, and our families, reaching our goal of financial independence a few years earlier then expected.
A quick job, in and out, methodical and clean, a robbery of its finest and planned to the T.
Nothing was going to stop us, after all, we knew how to act quick, and in all of our years of criminal activity we never had to physically harm anyone.
We were proud of that fact.
We had principles.
And we knew how to stay out of the radar of the police.

Everything was planned, today was supposed to be the day and all we had to do was wait until it was past midnight. We had found the perfect place to watch and wait, to embrace and be embraced by the darkness that was going to be absolute on this day before the New Moon. We were used to waiting patiently, our patience had been practiced like an artist practiced his specialty.

What added to the satisfaction was that we were robbing those who robbed others.

Then everything that could go wrong went wrong.

We did not even make it out of our car when he found us. Dan was dead before he could react, his throat slashed with a quick efficiency that only a master could bring forth. He knocked me out, before I was able to reach for the Magnum in the glove compartment. He wanted to take his time with me.

In all of our luck and precision, our planning and concise pre-arrangements we had to park ourselves in the hunting grounds of a serial killer.

A serial killer with preferences for blond women.

Just after midnight, the darkness covering the area as deep as it could, with such an completeness I had never seen before, the time when we were supposed to rake in the heist of our lifetime, I began begging him to let me die.

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2013-2014

——

Your turn!

Here are some blog posts that inspired and touched me today:

http://b-due.com/2014/05/02/carrie-and-beckys-daily-challenge-5-2-14/

http://abozdar.wordpress.com/2014/05/02/presents/

http://jitterygt.wordpress.com/2014/05/02/five-letter-word-for-end-of-live/

 

Betrayal – A Flash Fiction

brownstone-inn-2

While he entered the dark abyss of the rows of prison cells, I entered the dark abyss of despair.
Yes, he deserved to be behind bars, I was still mad at him for that, for betraying me and the kids.

How could he embezzle the money from those poor people to fill his own bank account?
Into a private bank account I had no knowledge about? What was he trying to do? How deep did this madness of his go?

Too many questions that where unanswered, but I really did not care. All I wanted to do, was pull the covers over my head and pretend the world away.Pretend that he was coming home in a few hours, late at night, as usual.

Nothing would ever be the same.

I glanced around the empty and silent brownstone. At least we would not have to move. Shelley had to move after her husband was caught stealing from his own brothers company. She had no money of her own.

I was lucky.

I was wealthy in my own right.

But what did all the wealth in the world mean, when the one I loved had been living a lie, lying to everyone, including, me, the one person whom he always said he trusted?

And how in the world, am I going to explain what happened to the kids, when I don’t even understand?

The lock on the front door make its rattling noise, and the heavy entrance, made space for the concerned look of my teenage daughter arriving home from school.
I raised above the blankets.

“Mom, is it true? Is what they are saying in the news true?”
I nodded silently, not trusting my voice, wrapping her in my arms with a fierceness that pierced through the darkness inside my heart.

Music – A Flash Fiction

Piano Man Yoongi by kharys
Piano Man Yoongi by kharys
from: Redbubble 

She could not walk by the piano without seeing him there, as he was, young vibrant full of life.
Her fingers caressing the keys, HIS keys, without making a sound, closing her eyes, she wept silently.
In the silence of the room, her breathing was larger than life. The old, grandfather clock in the corner of the large room echoed its booming voice across the empty space, empty because void of him.
Love might not have lasted long, their time together merely five years, but the intensity of those five short years took her breath away.
Every nuance of his voice forever edged into her mind and heart, the same heart that was breaking now, longing for his touch so much that she felt crushed by the weight of the finality of today.
The most beautiful funeral one has ever seen, her friends gently offered. He appreciated you with all of his heart, her mother remembered.
At that moment, she had wanted them all to just shut up. But now, in front of the grand piano in their living room, the silence was too much to bare.
Walking over the stereo, placing one of the CD’s filled with his voice and his music in the player, she waited until the sound of his voice filled the empty space he left when his life was taken by cancer so suddenly.

Even now, he made her smile through the tears, expressing his love for her, despite the fact that she shared the music with his fans, who today were grieving too.
Hugging his favorite pillow, singing along with his words, she sank into his chair and once again closed her eyes to say goodbye.

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014

This post is written for Friday Flash and for Daily Prompt

“Flashes Of Light” my flash fiction collection will be available on Amazon in June 2016

 

Gossip

“She did what?”, Ann’s voice screeched through the tiny bathroom.

“She seriously gave him a kiss. ON THE LIPS! He is like old, I mean at least 15 years older then her.”

“Wow, this isn’t good. This is really not good. Dan is not going to take this well.”

“Dan never takes anything well. So don’t you dare tell him. He is so going to kill her.”

“Now you’re exaggerating. Or are you?” The sound of the fabric moving was amplified in the small old fashioned bathroom. Ann snorted. “Why in the hell would anyone have a party in this dump?”

“The same person who kisses an old dude on the lips, when they are engaged to the most handsome guy in this side of town.”

“Leah said she like the history of the building.” the younger woman chuckled.

“That girl needs an intervention. Don’t you dare tell Dan a thing.”

“Okay, okay, damn girl, you should know you can trust me. But you are right about the intervention thing. This got to happen fast.” She paused taking a few steps back. “Who in the hell is taking so long on the toilet? I really got to freaking pee.”

Slowly the stall door opened, revealing the view upon a tall red head with furiously green eyes.

“Oh, Lord no Leah! You heard..? Damn!”

Moving toward the women, as they backed up from her against the old tile in the way to small bathroom, she hissed: “He is my Father, Ann. The dude I kissed is my Father.”

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014

This flash fiction was based on the Daily Prompt post:

Have you ever eavesdropped on a conversation you weren’t supposed to?