55 - Flirt

Hello, lovely lady! I'm a pretty bird. Aren't my feathers fine? Let me get a little closer. I'm a pretty bird. I love you.

Oh, wait - who's heading this way? Fine lady, aren't I a pretty bird? Let me get down off this person, sit upon your shoulder. Aren't I pretty? I love you.

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, go let The G-Man know!

Rip Tide

Three times I reach my hand.

Three times you let me go.

Deliberately.

With intent.

Rip tide has you.

If I dove into your current,

Lived your death,

Shared your fate,

Would that help?

Rip tide wants me, too.

So I stay here, grounded,

while you're carried out to sea,

rejecting every rescue.

Unmoored.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.

55 - Bunny-Head

She found a rabbit on her head.

Thoughts of doots filled her with dread.

She wondered what it should be fed,

perhaps a bit of whole wheat bread?

She must take action; that was clear,

one cannot go about in fear.

Get down bunny, be a dear,

you're not a hat; get out of here.

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, go let The G-Man know!

Cat and Mouse

Silent feet,

busy mind,

alert to tiny clues;

the steady drip of

life-fluid:

wounded prey

Gather this bitter harvest.

We are here to catch a mouse

or perhaps a rat.

Scurryings in secret places,

whisper of a scent.

No more waiting by the door

for scraps,

perfunctory caresses,

handouts.

We are engaged in epic battle.

Quietly.

Where will we go next?

There is no place to hide.

Who forgot to bell the cat?
You did. You did. You did.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

Between Us

We feast on our illusions

at empty tables,

imagining pure sunshine

by the light of manufactured flame.

This thing we have between us

is fluffy confection of sugar and air.

This thing that comes between us

is the fracture we ignore.

Don't take away my fantasy.

Close your eyes,

make a wish,

but don't blow out the candles.

 

I ate a piece of my soul today,

drizzled with butter and honey.

It was delicious.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.

55 - Fountain People

They called themselves the fountain people, although what this signified the young man didn't know. Perhaps they were a race of water-worshippers, beholden to a deity that caused rivers to flow forth from crusty rock. Whatever their origin, to the ambitious archeologist of 7012 they were a rare find. Their story would make his career.

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, go let The G-Man know!

Flood

It starts with just a trickle,

sweet,

deceptive.

One more drop

won't make a difference

to empty pots,

parched fields,

thirsty hearts

needing sustenance

after a long drought.

Drip by innocent drip

you seduce me

with your promise.

Take me

past the shallows.

Make me

trust the current.

Without a chart to guide me,

I'll submerge

antediluvian fears.

I will be master

of these waters,

(plotting my course

across dark tides)

until the deluge

pulls me under

and I drown.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.