Tag Archives: flash fiction

The Last Lunch at Nanking’s

chinese restaurant

© Singledust

Joel had been bringing his son Chris to the Nanking’s on Balboa since he was seven. They had father-son talks over dumpling soup or dry-fried chicken. Tommy Woo, the owner, was like an uncle to the boy. Joel and Chris eventually became a fixture at Nanking’s.

Chris was 30 now and engaged. This was their last lunch together.

Nanking doesn’t open until noon, but Joel asked Tommy for a favor. They lunched at ten just the two men with Tommy and his staff.

Chris opened his fortune cookie and read it. “Your life will change dramatically. Never thought these things were true until now.”

Joel smiled weakly and looked out the window.

“They’re here son. You ready?”

“Yes, Dad. Thanks for this one last time together.”

They stood. Tommy was near the kitchen door, tears streaming down his face.

“I love you, son.” They embraced, both crying now.

“I’ll turn myself in. You’re right. I caught Mallory cheating on me, but I shouldn’t have killed her. Now I’m going to prison.”

I wrote this in response to the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge. Based on the photo prompt above, ideally, you’re supposed to write a flash fiction story of between 100 and 150 words, however the word count can go up to 175. That’s good, because my wee tale comes in at 170 words.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

There’s a very slight similarity to reality here. My son David and I periodically meet at a local Thai restaurant on Fridays about once every three months or so to spend time together. Beyond that, the story is pure fiction.

Finding Love Again

hotel

© A Mixed Bag 2014

The so-called Country Hotel was located in the center of town. Dreary, gray, depressing place, but it’s where Janice said to meet. He’d been in worse.

Dean checked in and took his luggage to his room on the fifth floor. Janice made the reservation, so she’d know where to find him.

He didn’t unpack, just took off his overcoat, laid it across the bed, and nervously looked at his wristwatch. Almost time. Would they remember him after five years?

He heard the knock. Children’s muffled voices.

He hesitated for a second, then opened it.

“Grandpa!” Eleven-year-old Aaron and nine-year-old Esther screamed simultaneously, launching into the room, embracing their grandfather.

“I appreciate this, Janice. I know you don’t have to do this.”

“Dad, they love their Grandpa and want to spend time with him.”

Thank God Janice was so forgiving and the kids were so loving.

Dean kneeled down and excitedly announced. “Guess what? Tomorrow, we’ll go on an airplane to where Grandpa lives in Florida. We’re going to have a terrific time over Spring break.”

Dean’s mistake cost him five years in prison away from his family. Now he was going to make up for lost time.

I wrote this in response to this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction. The challenge is to use the photo prompt (see above) to write a complete story of no more than 200 words. My wee missive comes in at exactly 200.

To read more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

Burning the Ghetto

Roman ghetto

Via Rua in Ghetto, (rione Sant’Angelo), by Ettore Roesler Franz (c. 1880). Found at Wikipedia

“First they lock us up in this filth, then they try to burn us out! Rabbi, what can we do?”

Natan Ganz was panicking along with most of the other Jewish inhabitants of Rome’s Ghetto. They were trapped. In truth, they’d been trapped for over 240 years, ever since the then Pope ordered the Jewish population segregated from the rest of the Romans.

“Pray. What else can be do but turn our hearts to Hashem? The Ghetto is walled and they’ve locked all three gates!”

“We’re like rats, Rabbi. They mean to exterminate us like vermin!”

“It has always been so, and yet we endure thanks to the blessings of Hashem.”

“I can smell the smoke. The mobs are putting us to the torch.”

“Can’t you smell something else, Natan? Can’t you smell the rain?”

“Baruch Hashem. You’re right Rabbi. It’s raining. A blessing from Hashem, praised be His Name.”

“Rain is always the sign of a blessing. And there, a rainbow.

“Barukh attah Adonai eloheinu melekh ha-olam, zokher haberit vene’eman bivrito v’kaiyam bema’amaro.”

In the Jewish calendar, on Tevet 22 in 1798 C.E. (or A.D if you prefer), mobs attempted to torch the Jewish Ghetto in Rome. Only because the rains came and extinguished the fire were the Jews spared.

My two characters are totally fictional, and perhaps the names I gave them are unrealistic for Roman Jews in the late 18th century, but I wanted to capture this moment in as few words as possible. I also don’t know if a rainbow was seen, but I decided to include the blessing a Jew recites when seeing one. Here is the blessing in English:

“Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, King of the universe, who remembers the covenant, and is faithful to His covenant, and keeps His promise.”

You can click the link I provided above to get more about the history of the Ghetto in Rome, but that Ghetto was not to endure much longer. Napoleon’s forces invaded and occupied Rome, and the Ghetto was legally abolished in 1808. The City of Rome finally tore down the Ghetto walls in 1888.

Word count for this piece of flash fiction is 173.

The Landing

5 red square

Image: Google Maps

“I made it.” 18-year-old Mathias Rust had just landed his Cessna 172 on Bolshoy Moskvoretsky Bridge by St. Basil’s Cathedral near Red Square. He’d flown through some of the most heavily guarded airspace in the world and wasn’t shot down by Soviet Interceptors.

Mathias got out of his aircraft and was nervously greeted by passersby.

Older couple Valentin Popov and his wife Anna approached the pilot. They were astonished the Air Force had allowed this landing. “Where are you from, young man?”

“Germany.” They assumed he meant East Germany.

He knew he would be arrested soon by the KGB, but it didn’t matter. His flight from the Helsinki-Malmi Airport, over the Baltic, and into Russian airspace proved that a small aircraft could only be tracked intermittently.

Once they let him out of prison, he’d report his findings to the West German military. Their stealth planes would do a much better job.

My story is based on an actual event. On May 28, 1987, 18-year-old Mathias Rust, a German aviator with only about 50 hours of flight experience, flew a rented Cessna 172 from Helsinki, Finland to Moscow.

The link I provided above is to his Wikipedia page, which chronicles all of the details.

I changed the outcome and his intent quite a bit, turning him into a West German spy. At the time, Rust said “he wanted to create an ‘imaginary bridge’ to the East, and he has said that his flight was intended to reduce tension and suspicion between the two Cold War sides.”

I wrote this as a very minor “cold war thriller.”

This was written in response to the What Pegman Saw weekly photo prompt using a Google Maps view. Based on the prompt, you must write a short story/flash fiction of no more than 150 words.

For more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

My word count is exactly 150.

Never Bother Sally When She’s Eating

iZombie

Promotional image for the iZombie television show

Sally used a rock to crack it open and get at the yummy, gooey center. She took her spoon out of her rucksack, licked off the leftovers from last meal, and dug in.

“Mmmm. Still warm.”

The sun had just set as she pulled her already dead prey into the ravine. Sally liked privacy when she ate. He’d been an easy kill. Lone hikers usually were. Hide in a bush, leap from behind, and then a quick head twist to snap the neck.

She never realized how much fun being a zombie could be. Sally loved the taste of brains.

I’ve probably violated all kinds of zombie lore by making my zombie intelligent, but dumb zombies aren’t really interesting.

Some people have found it disconcerting that I’ve made my vampire Sean Becker so human and reluctant to feed on human blood, so I thought I’d create Sally in this 100 word piece of flash fiction.

She likes the taste of brains and doesn’t mind killing at all.

I wonder if Sally and Sean should meet?

The photo is taken from the iZombie TV show and is of actress Rose McIver in the role of zombie Olivia Moore.

Night Reflections

reflections

© Anja Bührer

The night smelled of the autumn rain that had just ended, but Dawn still clung to her umbrella. Stephen came up from behind and they watched their reflection in the pond. Their’s was an eternal love story, though a cursed one. After all, Stephen had made Dawn a vampire nearly a century ago. Now, it was the only thing she could share with him or anyone.

Written in response to this week’s writing challenge/photo prompt from Mindlovemistry’s Menagerie.

Visit Blenza.com to see other writing submissions based on the photo at the top of this page.

Word count: 68.

The Corridor

corridor

© Dale Rogerson

Ken Watanabe wasn’t shown the entrance off the courtyard when he took over Santa Fe’s historic Museum. The ex-Curator gave him the keys. The door had been locked since 1943. No one knew why. There was no eastern door inside, but it was apparent on the outer wall.

Hesitantly, he used his key, opened the door, and saw a lit, multi-arched corridor. Then he heard a voice at the other end. “Glad those Japs were locked up after what they pulled at Pearl Harbor.”

His father was interned here 74 years ago on Ken’s first birthday. He never opened the door again.

There’s a larger story being told but it’s hard to compress into 100 words or less.

The photo reminded me somewhat of Southwestern architecture, which is why I placed my tale in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I wanted to do a “corridor through time” story, but I needed a date where the other end of the tunnel linked. I looked up Santa Fe at Wikipedia and discovered that during World War Two, it had a Japanese Internment Camp. Beginning in June 1942, 826 Japanese-American men were arrested and imprisoned.

I remember actor George Takei saying that when he was a small child, he and his family were similarly interned because of their Japanese heritage. Thus my tale was born.

I wrote this as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The goal is to write a short story of 100 words or less based on the photo prompt you see above (and as I mentioned, I just made it at exactly 100 words).

To read more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

The Nurturing Tree

broken tree

© Shivangi Singh

Savannah hated to see the old tree taken down, but the thunderstorm three nights ago had broken its trunk, and it was a danger to her home and family.

She’d lived in the same house across from the park since she was a little girl. She had fond memories of climbing in that tree. She remembered the summer when her Dad built her and her brothers a tree fort.

She was just starting to encourage her own three little ones to explore the adventure of the tree when the storm took it away.

The tree was also a symbol of everything else Savannah had lost. Her husband Jeremy walked out of the house and family. He said he couldn’t handle the responsibility anymore.

Savannah has been divorced for four months, and in those months, she became stronger than Jeremy would.

She and her babies had lost the man they thought was their tree.

The broken tree wasn’t gone, just transformed.

Savannah’s life had been transformed, too. She would always be her children’s strong, nurturing tree.

I wrote this as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story, in the range of 125-175 words with 150 being ideal. The story is based on the weekly photo prompt. For more information go to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

The word count is exactly 175.

The Demon’s Cup

demon's cup

Buck was a strange old man, but he had the best collection of vintage science fiction and horror paperbacks and comics in Las Vegas. Every Saturday, I ride my Schwinn Sting-Ray to “The Fantasy Express” looking for rare or out-of-print books. I’m only twelve, so my budget is small, but one of the things about Buck is that he gives big discounts if he likes you.

“I see you’re staring at the Demon’s Cup. Interested?” Buck jerks his thumb up at the object of my interest on a shelf behind him. He takes it down and puts it on the counter.

“What is it?”

“Legends say it’s made from a pigmy skull sacrificed to demons.”

“How much?” I picked it up. It was really metal and maybe bone and it was heavy.

“Ninety-nine cents.”

One of Buck’s special bargains. I had the money, but how would my folks react?

“Not today, Buck.”

“Your loss. Someone else will buy it soon.” He picked up the skull goblet and put it back on its shelf.

I finished shopping and felt relief as I walked out.

Buck had a week to sell the artifact before the curse of the Demon’s Cup claimed him.

This flash fiction story was inspired by a photo prompt at Sunday Photo Fictioner. You can read other submissions to this writing challenge at InLinkz.com.

When I was twelve years old, I really did ride my bike to a used comic book and paperback store in North Las Vegas every Saturday. I don’t remember the name of the place or the owner, but in retrospect, he wasn’t that old, maybe in his early 50s. He talked a lot about serving in the Navy during World War 2.

He didn’t sell cursed artifacts, which is lucky for me, but my comic book and paperback collections swelled thanks to my shopping there.

When I saw the photo, imagination collided with memory, and here we are. I just hope Buck makes it okay, but I feel sorry for the person who buys the cup. And to think my friend tried to foist it off on me.

The word count limit for this challenge is 200, and I just barely made it.

Integratron Investigation

integratron

© Google Maps / Don Darkson

George Van Tassel started constructing the Integratron the year I was born. He claimed aliens from Venus gave him the plans, which doesn’t seem likely given Venus’ harsh environment. Surface temperature in excess of 800 degrees, and atmospheric pressure 90 times that of Earth’s at sea level. Not a likely place to find life.

The Integratron is supposed to be capable of rejuvenating living tissue, anti-gravity, and time travel, none of which I’m seeing as I stand inside of what is now a tourist attraction. Still, Van Tassel’s sudden death at age 67 has never been explained. Maybe spending too much time in here is damaging instead of healing. I think Van Tassel was contacted, but not by aliens, and certainly nothing wanting to help humans. My name is David Norliss and I investigate spiritual phenomenon. I don’t think aliens gave Van Tassel the plans for the Integratron. I’m looking for demons.

I wrote this bit of flash fiction in response to a weekly prompt based on a view from Google Maps. The idea is to write a piece of fiction of around 150 words based on the prompt. Full details can be found at What Pegman Saw.

For more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

Visit Wikipedia for more information on the Integration as well as its creator George Van Tassel.

Oh, I named my character after the protagonist in the 1973 made-for-TV thriller The Norliss Tapes starring Roy Thinnes.

This story has a word count of 149.