Craving Connections

Flash Fiction, a short story written in 100 words or less.

His fingers graze mine and it is charged, electric and sweaty all at once. My cheeks are flushed with excitement and embarrassment and I can feel the butterflies swarming inside. His eyes are locked on mine.

I want him to kiss me.

I want to kiss him.

The moment passes as the change hits my hand and his gaze leaves mine, I do not count it but dump it quietly into my purse. He moves on to the next order.

Loneliness hits me like a kick to the middle scattering the butterflies. I wait for my coffee in silence, alone.

Spoiled Roses

Flash Fiction, a short story written in 100 words or less.

He leans against his bicycle, chest tight, throat burning and closing off as the hot burn of tears stings his eyes. He is fighting for composure.

She was supposed to say yes. Yes, yes, unequivocally yes.

His eyes focus on the roses, now strewn across the sidewalk smashed and spoiled, ugly. The ring burns a hole in his pocket.

He has heard before that the hardening of the heart is a gradual thing but that will not be his experience. He feels it growing cold in his chest even as the hot tears finally escape to stream down his face.

photo 5

Heaven on Earth

Flash Fiction, a short story written in 100 words or less.

My lungs are near bursting, my eyes blinking as the sweat drips beaded onto my lashes. I force my shaking legs to keep going, just one more step, just another one more step (my body ignores my mantra knowing there are many steps left).

30 Days of Hiking and I am only on day six.

In my arrogance I imagined this would be easier.

In my ignorance I did not buy rain gear.

I stop to breath and lean heavily against a tree. Beauty surrounds me.

I smile knowing that I could die right now having already arrived in heaven.


A London Postcard

Flash Fiction, a short story written in 100 words or less.

Lucy bought eight copies of the same postcard. She didn’t really plan on sending them and had no one to send them to, but it was a pretty picture and she was impulsive.

Later she tried to recreate the same picture with her own camera, lining up the lens just so and patiently waiting for the right moment. A red bus passed in front of the parliament buildings as they overlooked the quiet Thames.

Patience paid off.

The picture was perfect and Lucy planned to frame it next to the postcard.

Who says loneliness has to be unhappy?

Lucy smiled.