Speed Dating

“So this was your bright idea?  Speed Dating 101?”


“Come on, you can’t be serious?”

“Why not?  It’s Saturday night and neither of us has a date.”

“And so?”

“And so, it’ll be fun.”

“Fun for who?”

“For the both of us.  It’s only five rounds. Five minutes each.  The bell marks the end of round.  There is a mixer after the final round where you can talk to someone who may have sparked your interest.  Or leave and go home.”

“And the cups are for what exactly?”

“It’s just water, you know for drinking.  Talking to people actually works up a thirst.  You should try it sometime.”

“Or not because talking to you always exhaust me.”

“Come on, Shelly.  What have we got to lose by giving this a try?”

“I don’t know: our dignity!”

“Don’t be so dramatic.  This is long overdue.  You need to get back out there.  It’s been two years.”

“I know, Aimee.”

“He’s not coming back.”

“I know.  Let’s do this!” 

This is my offering for the 112th Challenge of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy.  Many thanks to Dawn Miller for this week’s prompt.  Click here to read more amazing flash fiction.

Everlasting Love

I inherited my love of reading from my grandfather.  The oldest of eight children, Pop-pop dropped out at seventeen to work at the local factory.  He’d planned to go to college, but his dream died along with his father.  By the time his youngest sibling graduated high school, Pop-pop was married to his childhood sweetheart with a baby on the way.   Family always came first.

After dinner, Pop-pop spent hours in his barn.  One evening, I asked if I could tag along, and he agreed.  Inside the barn, there was an old wagon filled with old mattresses and pillows atop bales of hay.  It was surrounded by stacks and stacks of newspaper.  This is where Pop-pop retreated each and every night, reading the day’s paper from cover to cover. 

It became our nightly ritual.  I’d follow my grandfather into the barn, and we’d sit side-by-side in comfortable silence.  Pop-pop with his newspaper, and me with a book of my own. 

word count: 160  



This is my offering for the 111th Week of the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenged hosted by Priceless Joy.  Many thanks to Yinglang for this week’s photo prompt.

Please click here to read more amazing flash fiction.


“I wonder where it goes?” Oliver asks.

“Where what goes?”

“The water. Once it gets out of the mountains, I wonder where it leads.”

“That’s stupid.  What does it matter?”

“I think I want to follow it.  Try at least.”

“Now that is really stupid, dude.”

“It’s not stupid.  It’s an adventure.”

“It’s a stupid adventure.”

“It’ll be fun.  Walking along the river bank, there’ll be all kinds of cool things.”

“Where will you sleep?  What would you eat?”

“I’d take some camping equipment, and just fish or whatever from the river.”

“You’ll eat raw fish?  Dude, that’s like sushi.  Natural sushi!”

“I just told you, I’d take camping equipment, which means I’ll be able to start a fire.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“Don’t know. That’s part of the adventure.”

“What will you do once you get to wherever?”

“I don’t know.  I’d figure it out.”

“Like I said.  Stupid.”

Word count: 154



This is my offering for the 110th Challenge for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy at Beautiful Words.  Many thanks to Maria with Doodles and Scribbles for this week’s prompt.  Click here to read more amazing flash fiction.


“What is that, Pria?”

“Freedom.  Marlo.  It’s freedom.”

The view was amazing, in an odd sort of way.  Familiar yet definitely new and unknown. 

Mother spoke of this often, recalling tales of our long-forgotten youth before the war.  Before we were forced into the mountainside.

“It looks different.  A lot different from what Mother described.”

Marlo was right.  Mother talked about bright skies and sunshine.  Lush, green forests with trees as tall as the sky.  Birds soared through the sky.  Deer and squirrels roamed freely.

This was not it.  Dense fog blanketed the landscape.  Vegetation was few and far between.  No squirrels. No deer. No signs of life.

While we were hidden inside the mountain, Mother’s description of the outside world sounded like paradise.  Now that the war was over, what remained was anything but.

“Is this really freedom, Pria?”  We both looked around.

“It doesn’t feel like it, Marlo.”

Word count: 150

This is my offering for 109th Challenge of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy.  Many thanks to Yarnspinner for this week’s photo prompt.  To read more amazing flash fiction, click here.