Tag: Flash Fiction

Posted in #FridayFictioneers

The Ruins of Our Lives

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

By R.M. Carlson

Photo Credit @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

She lifted the baby out of his crib. As she raised up, she smelled something burning. She took a quick look around her apartment. She heard the commotion in the street and walked to the doorway. There, in the middle of the usually quiet suburban street, was a bonfire. The fuel was books and the soldiers were gleeful.

Laying her son back in his crib, she started gathering their things. She didn’t know where they would go but away from here. Her son would have a chance at a good life and freedom.

Thanks to Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers.

Posted in Fiction, Writing

The Spook

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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We are sitting across the street in the non-descript black sedan watching Frank’s house. The Agency has assigned us to the job of determining if Frank is circumspect enough to work for them, to be a spy. There are a lot of moving parts to check out.

Today, we’re charged with following Frank to make sure he isn’t hooking up with any other agencies.

“Here he comes,” says my sidekick, Margaret. “He’s got his dog with him, a black Lab it appears.”

“Probably going for their morning walk,” I reply. “Let’s see if there is any pattern to where he has gone for the past couple of weeks.”

“Look at this data,” Margaret says. “He has gone to the same Russian coffee shop every morning since he has lived here, taking his dog with him”

“What joker is trying to stick The Agency with a Russian spy?” I scoff.

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Posted in Flash Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

A Boy and his Horse

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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“Artie, I can’t believe you rode that horse up here to the revival meetin’,” Kaye said.  “Why not, Momma,” Artie replied, “Old Clara is good to ride.” Kaye said, “You didn’t even put a bridle on that old hag.” “Momma!” Artie cried, “Clara is not an old hag.” “Bah,” said Kaye. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of the preacher and all my friends.”

Out of the meetin’ tent flew Artie, as fast as his short legs would carry him. He swung himself up on Clara’s back. As they walked down the road, Artie searched the fields for the biggest haystack he could find. He parked Clara and himself right behind one.

After dark fell and Artie’s momma got home, he was still behind the haystack with Clara. “He’ll come home when he’s hungry or scared,” she said to her husband, and shut the door, turning out the lights. #flashfictionforaspiringwriters #writing

*Photo courtesy of Phylor

**FFfAW brought to you by Priceless Joy