Friday Flash Fiction

bultot

Photo Courtesy of Roger Bultot

Glowering clouds threaten rain – this scene looks like one I’d see here in the Pacific Northwest, but I have a feeling this was taken elsewhere.

Word count: 100

Lines of Music

The gloomy clouds made the village seem more cantankerous than usual. Mary trudged along the path toward market, Anna at her side, skipping along, humming.

‘What’s that song, Anna? It’s a lovely tune.’ Listening, Mary’s mood lightened.

‘It’s the birds, gramma. See?’ Anna pointed to the birds on the wires above.

‘They aren’t singing – you are!’

‘No, silly – they are the music!’ Anna laughed, tripping further ahead.

Mary marveled. They did look like notes on a musical staff. Shaking her head, she was smiling as they reached the center of town, feeling as if the sun had suddenly come out.

To see other stories, please visit the Rochelle Wisoff-Fields site here.

© Erin Leary

Friday Flash Fiction

Madison Woods

This photo first appeared in October, 2012. My story from that week is here.

The picture has a similar impact on me, reminding me of my time spent in Japan, the people I met there and a woman who is near and dear to my heart, Mihoko. She lived with us for about a year as a ‘mother’s helper’ when my older two children were babies and helped in so many ways – mostly, as an experienced mother who’d raised her children, she let me know I was doing OK when things felt hard. Patient, calm, and always willing to help, she was a true blessing and we are still dear friends, even now that those two babies are all grown up.

Word Count: 100

Itamae

Her life’s dream rested here. Opening the restaurant had been a labor of love and honor. Named for her grandfather, Hiro, his hands had lovingly taught her the art of becoming Itamae and all that came with that title – the importance of one’s ingredients, one’s utensils, one’s patrons, and one’s movements. Their sushi-ya would be known for creating dishes full of both artistry and heart.

Mihoko nodded, looking around her; her white coat and apron spotless, her knife sharp and her heart full. She turned on the lights and opened the door to her future, ready to serve.

すし屋

To see other stories, please visit the Rochelle Wisoff-Fields site here.

© Erin Leary

Friday Flash Fiction

untitled

Picture courtesy of Dave Stewart       

The gazebo, the band, the nostalgic feel – all made me think of this song. And this song made me think of my mom. This is the result.

Word count: 100

Sweet Dreams

“Sweet dreams ‘til sunbeams find you…” Ellen sang as she worked. “Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you…”

Walking into the kitchen, Oliver smiled at her.

“What are you smiling at?” Ellen reddened, suddenly embarrassed.

“I love hearing you sing. You know all the old songs by heart.” Oliver brushed a curl back from her forehead.

“It keeps my mom alive. Her songs are mine now.”

“But in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.”

Ellen danced around the floor with the broom, hearing her mother’s voice echoing from the past, lost in her own sweet dream.

© Erin Leary

To see other Friday Fictioneers, please visit here.

Flash Friday Fiction

Ted Strutz

Picture courtesy of Ted Strutz        

Electricity, switch, somewhere not in the US – this is what I get from the picture above. The stark contrast of the black and white makes it look both older than I think it is and slightly more menacing. Black and white, on and off – opposites attract.

Word count: 100

Opposites Attract

Angela looked over her shoulder, sneaking a peek at him across the counter. Brooding and dark, his allure was immediate. A sudden spark, a surge of her heartbeat, she felt his pull and pushed it away, knowing it would end badly.

Why did she always want the wrong type? He would be like the others – hot one minute and cold the next. Who needed the heartache?

Still… she could only resist so long. The air around her felt electric as she delivered his bill, her phone number surrounded by a heart, drawn with her usual flourish and charged with hope.

© Erin Leary

(For those keeping track, the number of electrical terms used was 9. See if you can spot them all.)

To see other Friday Fictioneers, please visit here.

Flash Friday Fiction

untitled

Picture courtesy of Dawn Q. Landau          

This picture leads to more questions than answers.  Time, erosion, one hell of a storm….how did this little building end up there, with stairs up the rock?  I love the idea of it.  When I saw it, I had to give it magical properties. 

Word count: 100

Welcome Home

Edna walked this beach daily, down and back.  Their constitutional, they’d called it.  She walked alone these days, widowhood a mantle she never claimed.

Seeing the red room on the rock, Edna puzzled over how it came to be there. Dropped to earth, it seemed.  She gave it wide berth for days, something ominous about it.

Late one afternoon, she spotted a light glowing in the window.  Cautiously, she approached to get a better look.  A glow emanated from the doorway, and through it, she spied her husband, beckoning.

A tentative first step, then another. At last, she was home.

© Erin Leary

To see other Friday Fictioneers, please visit here.

Flash Friday Fiction

I am posting this from just outside of London this week; last week was from Ottawa. I am looking forward to being at home again and staying there for a while, which may have influenced this week’s theme.

Cobblestones

Worn with age, edges softened, grime filling the gaps – the cobblestones are testimony to the passage of time.

The street bustles in daylight; the night is quiet – only the occasional rat scurries. Darkness conceals, providing needed shelter.

In the shadows, I sit. Lost to the world, I claim this corner as my own. I yearn for the light, for a home, for connection. Old as the stones, old as the bones.

Worn with age, I sit. Hunger urges me on. Time to hunt again.

(C) Erin Leary

To see other Friday Fictioneers, please visit here.

Flash Friday Fiction

maui-from-mauna-keaPicture courtesy of Doug MacIlroy

Call the police, I broke the law.  Scattering ashes requires a permit most places.  Hawaii must have its share of scofflaws like me who come to honor a loved one’s last wishes…but then again, they have ashes in the wind on a regular basis.  This story is more truth than fiction.  Thanks to Doug for the lovely muse his photo provided.

Word Count: 99

Silver Linings

– Well, now you can scatter my ashes with dad’s on Maui this summer.

We were listing the positives of mom’s terminal diagnosis, trying to make the best of things.

– Somewhere near Makena Beach, if you can.  You kids used to have such fun there.

Hawaii wove through my parent’s life like a vibrant green tendril, tying together our memories.  It was their paradise, their place.

Rising above the clouds as we head back to the mainland, the sun paints their edges with liquid silver.   Promises kept, memories honored, we left more than our hearts behind this time.

Please check out the links to all the other Flash Friday Fictioneers, which can be found here.

© Erin Leary