Tag: #flashfiction

Posted in Challenges, Uncategorized

The Sanatorium

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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Mabel and Anne sat at Table 19, waiting for their families, in their long, white, day gowns. It was visiting day and the two twenty-something girls were anxious to see their parents and others who would perhaps come with them. They were residents of the East Lake Tuberculosis Sanatorium in a town in Virginia. It was 1906.

Both girls had been diagnosed with a medium level tuberculosis. They expected to die in the sanatorium.

Visits from family were allowed only one day per month. The first Wednesday of every month and were limited to 15 minutes. Family members had to wear some sort of gauze over their mouths as tuberculosis was thought to be quite contagious.

There they were! They couldn’t hug and it was so hard, but at least they could talk for a few minutes.

Being a tuberculosis patient in the early 1900s  was like being an inmate in a prison. Mabel and Anne were lucky. They got better and got out. Most patients did not.

 

Posted in Challenges, Uncategorized

New Zealand and the Clown

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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Casey was finally able to visit New Zealand when she graduated from college. Her mother was a native New Zealander, but she died when Casey was only seven years old.

There was a tour she wanted to take in Christchurch. The sights she would see were the result of the earthquakes Christchurch had experienced. It was called the graffiti tour.  Christchurch graffiti was special. It was beautiful paintings, painted on the backs of buildings, that were the way Christchurch residents dealt with the pain and devastation of the recent earthquakes.

The tour was fascinating. The graffiti artists had poured all the city’s pain into their work. They rounded the corner of the last building on the tour and Casey turned toward it and screamed. It was a painting of a clown. She had been holding her toy clown when she found out her mother had died.

 

Posted in Challenges, Uncategorized

Burned

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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Russ and Mary stood looking at the smoldering ruin of their home. The fire had started last night in the chimney. There wasn’t much left. It had just been a small frame house. They were in shock and didn’t quite know what to do.

They heard a vehicle on the road and turned around. It was the wood man pulling a cart full of wood. He stopped in front of the burned house and walked up to them.

Russ asked him where he got his wood and he told him. He asked him if he could get better wood to help him rebuild his house. The wood man said that he could.

The wood man asked, “Do you need help rebuilding?” The man whose house burned answered that he did.

The wood man haltingly said that he used to be in construction but there had been no jobs recently and he would be glad to help.

Russ and Mary looked at him and each other. Everything would be fine.

 

Posted in Challenges

A Way Out

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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She sat at the table, looking at the bottle of poison left for her there. Her friend, Colin, supplied it. She had been so miserable. Her husband had tormented her for years. Years of subtle, and not so subtle, mental and emotional abuse. She had always confided in Colin. He knew she was about to crack, that she could not take it anymore. That she had come to this place. That she was really considering poisoning her husband, shocked her. She couldn’t wait to do it.

Her mind wandered back to all the years before. She had been ambitious at one time. He had nipped that in the bud. He wanted her home, where he watched her. Monitor every phone call. Every visitor. He had broken her spirit. She hated him.

Now, she had to figure out how to do this. Colin said the poison was tasteless and colorless. Undetectable to the police. Tonight, she would make vegetable soup. She would put just enough in his bowl. That thought made her heart beat fast. She was shaking.

She started to get up from the table. Thoughts poured through her head. She turned, picked up the bottle, and drank it herself.

Posted in Challenges

Hassan

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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Hassan watched the soldiers as they went through their drills near the house in which he and his mother were staying. He remembered another house. He was with his mother, father, and baby sister in that house. Now his father was a soldier and seldom came home. As for his baby sister, she was just gone. When Hassan asked where she was, his mother just cried. Hassan was seven years old. He lived in Aleppo, Syria.

All Hassan knew was that his ears hurt. He wished for quiet. It was never quiet where he lived. Hassan was also hungry, but he tried not to cry.

One day his father came home and told them to get ready. They were going to escape. They left the house and ran into the country, hiding all the way. His father said they had to get to the border. Hassan was so tired, so his father carried him. Suddenly, there were bright lights and men with guns. When Hassan woke up, he was on a cot with his mother smiling over him. They were safe now, she said.

Hassan knew she was right. It was quiet now.

Posted in Challenges

The River Chamo

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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They had spent three days camping by a lazy section of the Rio Chamo in New Mexico below Taos. Leslie and Bill had brought their raft with them. After much reading, they decided that this section of river was suitable for novices. After getting the raft ready and in the river, along with their gear, they climbed aboard.

It was smooth going at first. They knew how to paddle. As the river took a turn, the water got rougher. Bill yelled his concern to Leslie but she wanted to keep going.

They saw the rocky dropoff ahead, but it was too late. The raft flew up in the air and so did Leslie and Bill. They both landed on the bank, unharmed. As they sat up, trembling with shock, Bill quietly told Leslie to turn around slowly.

There sat a large black bear staring at them.

Posted in Finance, Flash Fiction

Grace

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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He didn’t dare go home. He had worked all day, but he and his buddies had slipped out to the car and had one too many snorts of Old Crowe. He didn’t want to incur Pansy’s wrath, and he didn’t want to scare his sweet daughter.

That bike had been sitting there all day. Everyone was gone. He jumped on it and headed to the bar. He’d have another drink or two. Gus would let him sleep it off in the back room.

Sitting on the bar stool, he turned around and there stood Pansy. She offered him her arm.

 

Photo Credit @ Jellico’s Stationhouse

Posted in Flash Fiction

Bank Heist

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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We hid under the branches of the old, twisted tree. Crouching so they couldn’t see us. We didn’t think they were chasing us with dogs because we couldn’t hear them bay. If they were, we were already lost. David and I, we had just robbed First Farmer’s Bank at the point of a gun. Armed bank robbery.

We got the money too. We hadn’t had time to count it. We’d been off escaping on foot. By the looks of the bills, we had quite a haul. Everyone had said that if you rob a bank, something would explode and get red stuff all over you. Nothing had exploded. We could just hear those sheriff’s men crashing through the forest after us. We crept along the high ridge.

“Cut,” the Director cried!

“And print. Great job, everyone! We’re done for the day.”

 

#Photo credit to yarnspinner

Posted in Flash Fiction

The Big House

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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I still walk by the big house behind the fence every day. It’s empty now. My mother lived in that house with her parents and her brother. After I was born, I lived with her, but then I went to live with my dad and only visited the big house.

It’s been ten years since she called and asked me to come over. She said she was frightened. I rushed to the house but I couldn’t find her. She was behind the house. With a bullet in her head. Her brother was standing over her with a gun. Laughing.

Posted in Flash Fiction

The Great Escape

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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“What is it, Mama?” the boy asked as they walked down the sidewalk with the great wheel looming in front of them.

“We don’t know, son. Some say it’s our Great Escape to another world since we can’t drink our water here anymore. More people are sick from poisoning from pollution.”

The citizens were gathering around the wheel, which seemed to be slightly vibrating. Some were afraid. Most seemed relieved. They had received leaflets dropped from the sky.

“But where are we going?” the boy asked.

His mother told him she didn’t know. She hoped to a safe, clean place.

 

Photo credit to Jennifer Pendergast