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Sue Spitulnik

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CarrotRanchLiterary

Ice-Flash Fiction

“My goodness, I’ve never seen such ice sculptures at a wedding. The liquor bottles are nestled in a huge block and the swans look like they could just up and fly away.”

“Ostentatious waste! If the bride turns into her mother the ice will be flowing in her veins.”

“For crying out loud, give them a chance before you predict their doom.”

“The groom’s already done that. I saw him last night kissing one of the bride’s maids.”

“A congratulatory kiss I’ll wager.”

“No, a long kiss with hands roving that would melt all the ice in this room.” Continue reading “Ice-Flash Fiction” →

2

From Fire to Fireweed

No fire had ever come close to our valley before. We could see the leaping yellow and red flames over the crest of the hill. We tied wet cloths over our faces to hand out water to firefighters in the dense smoke. They said we were safe. We weren’t, but we had lots of warning compared to others and left with full cars.

Months later we returned with a builder who agreed to work around the original stone fireplace. Vibrant purple fireweed greeted us. The irony of the plants name made us laugh aloud. There had been enough tears. Continue reading “From Fire to Fireweed” →

2

Black and White – Flash Fiction

“I failed an honesty test.”

“You? How?”

“The questions were grey and they wanted black and white answers.”

“Explain.”

“One was; have you ever taken anything home from work?”

“And you said yes.”

“I have, baking pans from the pastry kitchen.”

“But you had permission to borrow them. You didn’t steal them.”

“But I took them home.”

“They were asking if you stole things.”

“I know that, but that’s not how the question was worded.”

“You should have told them what they wanted to hear and not told the truth.”

“Then it shouldn’t have been called an honesty test.” Continue reading “Black and White – Flash Fiction” →

4

If Only – Flash Fiction

Her father worked evenings. That was good. She rarely had to be alone with him.

Getting off the school bus she checked the drive. He was home. Damn!

He would expect her to walk around naked so he could ogle and touch her.

Her mother was buried, no longer a wedge of protection. No siblings.

She stood there, on the edge; go in or not.

She backed away, fishing for her cell phone. She touched the only safe number.

“Dad’s home, therefore drunk. Can you come get me?”

Waiting, she decided to stick with the lie, he gets mean.

 

In response to Charli Mills -Carrot Ranch Literary

January 25, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that goes to the edge. Consider what the edge might be and how it informs the story. Go where the prompt leads.

Respond by January 30, 2018, to be included in the compilation (published January 31). Rules are here. All writers are welcome!

 

5

A Boy and His Dog – Flash Fiction

“Didn’t I tell you to keep that dog out of the creek?”

“I did Mama.”

“Then why are you both soaked?”

“Well, he rolled in the mud.”

“And?”

“I knew you would get mad, so I washed him and he shook all over me. It kinda felt good.”

“Wash him how?”

“I scooped water from the horse trough with my boots.”

“And where are they?”

“I put ’em upside down on the fence posts to dry.”

She stifled a smile. “Do you think that’s the way boots should be treated?”

“No ma’am, but they’s only rubber, not real ones.”

 

In repsonse to Charli’s prompt where she asks:

January 18, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes boots. Whose boots are they, where do they go and what is their significance? Go where the prompt leads.

Respond by January 23, 2018, to be included in the compilation (published January 24). Rules are here. All writers are welcome!

8

PTSD Personified – Flash Fiction

January 11: Flash Fiction Challenge

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about wet ink. It can be artistic, writerly or something completely off-the-wall. Go where the prompt leads.

“Doc, my family feared I would die shortly after the ink was dry on my enlistment papers. Now I’ve made it back home without a visible wound they want me to tell them what my days were like: what I ate, what I saw, if I met any nice girls. They have no idea all the Army wanted from me was a body count. Having done what I was expected to do in order to survive, now I am dead inside. I’m afraid to go to sleep at night because of the nightmares and ashamed I made it home.”

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