© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He was smart enough not to say that out loud because his wife had just put the planter on their kitchen table.
“So what do you think?”
She’d asked a question almost as bad as “Do these pants make me look fat?”
He decided to take a risk. “I like the crystal, but I’m not sure about using it for a planter.”
“Me either. Karen gave it to me while she’s having her kitchen remodeled. Not really my style.”
He registered an internal sigh of relief. “Yes, we’re older, but we’re not that old yet.”
I wrote this for the Rochelle Wisoff-Fields flash fiction challenge. The idea is to use the photo above as the prompt for crafting a piece of flash fiction no more than 100 words long. My word count is 100.
It looked to “ordinary” for me to think of anything besides a “slice of life” piece. No research involved.
To read other stories based on the prompt, visit InLinkz.com.
Photo credit: Alpha Coders
“It’s got to be around here somewhere, Jamie. Maybe on the other side.”
“No, I’m positive that we put it on this side, Dex.”
“You’d be positive that the sky is green and grass is blue, but that wouldn’t make you right.”
“How would you know, you loser? You haven’t done right by me since the day we got married.”
“A problem I’d be all too happy to fix…oh, here it is.”
“See? I told you it was on this side.”
“Shut up and hand me the bolt cutters.”
From the television series “Moonlighting.”
Laura and Simon were an unusual pair of private detectives. They were divorced last year after ten years of marriage but neither could bear to sell the detective agency they co-owned, nor was one willing to concede sole ownership to the other. So they continued to see each other day after day, night after night at “Marcus and Marcus Detectives.” Laura even used her former last name professionally though in her personal life, she’d reverted back to Rodriguez.
Unlike television or cinematic private detectives, their cases were far less glamorous or dangerous. Mostly one spouse hiring them to see if the other spouse was having an affair.
“Usual drill, Simon. I pose as a hooker to see if ‘Mr. Sleezebag’ will give me a tumble. You stand by with the camera and I’ll record the dialogue.”
They were sitting in their car outside an office building near downtown. She was in the driver’s seat, which she preferred, and he was sitting next to her checking the camera.
“Got it, but for the record, his name is Chester Albright.”
“Or ‘all dumb’ for cheating on his poor wife.”
Found at “Couples on the Brink”
My emotions are shot. It didn’t take long, maybe fifteen minutes after she came home.
You see, she went on a trip for a few days to visit her sister. I always cherish those times because it means I’m alone. Strangely enough, I do actually get lonely, but that feeling vanishes almost the minute she walks back through the door and starts complaining about me.
Really, I kept the place up. It’s clean, but she complained because I went out of my way to bring my son over to do his laundry after his car wouldn’t start. Then she complained that I was talking to her at all after she was in a car for ten hours. Then she complained because I wasn’t talking to her.
Do you see what I mean?
© Claire Sheldon
I never understood her side of the desk we share. My side looks like a cyclone blew through the room. Papers, DVD cases, and coffee cups scattered everywhere. I’m always losing pens.
She’s so precise, so neat, except she’s a little careless with the stuffed animals our grandson gives her so she’ll be safe.
When she’s home, she drives me crazy, but after she’s gone a day or so, I find that I miss her. I like to think solitude doesn’t bother me, but in the end, I get lonely.
Come home soon, dearest. Please drive me crazy again.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff Fields’ Friday Fictioneers writing challenge. The idea is to use the photo above as a prompt to write a piece of flash fiction no more than 100 words long. My word count is exactly 99.
This is an apt description of the desk my wife and I share in our den and how I feel when she goes on a trip.
To read more stories based on the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.
Photo credit: NASA/Barry Wilmore – Israel from space
Each of the 1,038 nanosatellites that launched from the Satish Dhawan space port in India was hardly larger than a milk carton, but these small, inexpensive spacecraft, originally designed at Israel’s Ben-Gurion University, were the hope of mankind.
Avi Salomon and Havah Tobias stood in Mission Control and watched the monitors as the nanosats reached their initial orbits. The “father” of the project, Professor Dan Blumberg, received a remote feed at Ben-Gurion in Beer-Sheva.
“It’s looking very good, Professor.” Tobias spoke into her microphone. “I think we will be successful.”
Image: BBC News
Pamela had an unusual job; she was a time traveler. She worked on contract for the Department of Temporal Affairs. She was one of a dozen or so time workers who traveled up and down eternity detecting and correcting potential rifts in the time stream, events that, if left unchecked, would threaten the static history her society depended upon.
Every weekday morning at precisely 8:01 a.m. and 10 seconds, she put on her time harness, kissed her husband Morton good-bye, and left for work, vanishing from the center of their living room…
…only to reappear one to five seconds later. Her work days might be an hour or several days long, but she always returned to Morton as soon as possible after her departure.
“I love you, Mort. See you in a few seconds.”
“I love you too, Pam. Have a good day at work.”
They kissed, Morton stepped back several feet so as not to become caught in the harness’s temporal field, and watched his wife of six-months wink out of existence…
…only to wink back in three seconds later.
Image: The Daily Sheeple
In the face of AI exerts repeatedly predicting the rise of sex robots, it’s increasingly difficult to insist that such machines strictly belong to a far-off, dystopian future. But some robotics experts predict we’ll soon be doing far more than having sexual intercourse with machines. Instead, we’ll be making love to them—with all the accompanying romantic feelings.
“Experts predict human-robot marriage will be legal by 2050”
I’ve heard this before. The thing is, I don’t believe it.
Oh sure, I’ve exploited the idea in short stories such as The Perfect Woman, and I’ve written commentaries on this theme like When Your Sex Toy Tattles On You and An AI Sexbot That Can Love You Back, but let’s face it. There’s a long road to travel from sex to love, at least there should be.
“We wouldn’t have gotten a divorce if you were more responsible, Joe. I’ve told you a thousand times that you shouldn’t be so late in bringing Timmy home after your visits.”
Joe hated these lectures, which was why he avoided his ex-wife most of the time. It was why he waited as long as he could after his every-other-weekend visits with his five-year-old son to take him back to Janet’s place.
Ignoring Janet, or trying to, Joe knelt down in front of his uncertain and anxious son. “Hey, buddy. Did we have a great time or what?”
Remembering the late-night pizza and ice cream blitz after all day at the amusement park, Timmy grinned. “We sure did, Dad.”
Joe became serious for a few seconds and put his arms around the little boy. “I love you, son.”
“I love you too, Daddy.” Timmy threw his tiny arms around his Dad’s neck and squeezed. Then feeling his Dad start to stand, he let go.
“See you next time, killer.” Joe grinned at the boy.
“See you later, Daddy.” Timmy wasn’t smiling. He was sad to see his Dad go and wished they could spend more time together.