New Flash Fiction

I have posted a new Vince story: In the News

Signs

There's a sign outside the window

of the room where I get my tea:

New

Coming Soon

Countdown

I am wearing my poker face

when I hear the news:

gossip

innuendo

I smile and nod,

but keep my feelings safe

from prying eyes.

It's all a charade, you know.

They don't just come,

but also go.

And so I don my mask,

paint my lips,

and style my hair.

Blend in.

Camouflage

There is Ginseng in my cup,

red ink on my hands.

Outside: blue screen of death.

This is my day, writ large.

And when the clock strikes

and it's all over

(tea and sly asides)

papers crumpled in bins

(do not shred)

I descend the staircase,

step by step.

Outside, my glasses fog

in summer's heat.

I am blind.

This was written for Sunday Scribblings 2.

New Steal Tomorrow Flash Fiction

I have posted a new story in the Jazz Gang series on the Steal Tomorrow site: Sunny.

New Flash Fiction

By Alice Audrey's request, here is a follow up to Sunday's flash fiction: Speedball in Love - Part Two.

New Fiction for Sunday Whirl

This one takes place in Vince's gang, although Vince himself doesn't make an appearance. I realize that may disappoint some of his fans...

Speedball in Love

À mon ami

I miss you

(without missing you);

lost chance

to explain,

though you will never

understand

my words

my mind

my heart.

Was it opportunity

or crisis

that made you walk away?

Too near the chasm.

Stall for time.

Do anything

but open up your soul

and question what’s inside.

Change hurts.

Now days grow long,

reminding me

of other summers’ fires,

and so my gripe is this:

We could’ve tamed
our memory,

shared a laugh,

(thank god that’s over),

but you turned your back

instead,

refused to see complexity

in me,

while I recognized

(with fond and knowing smile)

the contradiction

in you.

Bonne chance, mon ami. 


NOTE: This is a Three Word Wednesday Post.

Morality Tale

I won’t make this a morality tale,

though I’ve seen the lies,

felt the deception,

all smoothed over
with smiles.

You’ve fed the evidence of disaster

to the fire,

burned it to ash
like your soul.

Better that you had given
your fairy tales

to the flames, instead.

You can bury the truth,

but it will sprout again in Spring.

Have no fear
that I will reveal your secrets.

(Secrets have their own ways.)

But though I do not raise the hue and cry,

accuse, pull off your mask,

I know what lies beneath.

And in the wickedest arcane corners of my heart,
Je suis d'accord.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.