Flash # 5

            He studied his plate.  On it was a single slice of lime shining in the low light of the restaurant.  The plate was clean, but of simple design.  Out of place with a mastermind such as himself.  The white of the plate looked even brighter with sharp contrast of green in the center.  The fruit was moist and bitter, perfectly segmented into slices, a harsh-tasting rind edging around it.  Beside the plate and lime was a triangular napkin.  It had a few simple designs of swirls, but was also far too plain for the brilliant brain beholding it.  That would change tonight.  In the center of the triangle was a bright, polished silver piece.  He slid his hand forward to grasp it, simultaneously grasping his future and his wealth.  His hand wrapped around the handle of the silver knife.

Flash Fiction # 4

                A fly buzzed annoyingly next to his head in the air.  The lazy sun hung over the trees and meadows, not wanting to move, just like everything else.  Berries ripened and their scent drifted to the sleeping boy’s nose.  The soft green grass sank to the earth under his weight and seemed content to droop there.  A bright blue sky sat merrily over watching all the things below it.  Footsteps clattered over the sunbaked gravel and crushed the spongey grass under foot.  The boy jolted awake and looked at his mother silhouetted against the sun.  A simple inquiry sent an electric bolt down his pine and suddenly everything seemed to be in a rush.  Bees buzzed back and forth, never ceasing to gather pollen.  Bugs crawled, grass swayed in the breeze, and the lazy afternoon was marred by the fact that time no longer seemed to stand still.  He rushed down the garden road, grabbed a pencil and sent it whizzing across paper anxiously.  He had forgotten to do his homework.

Side note:  By the way, all the flash fictions are rough drafts.  I was told I wasn't supposed to edit them.  I saved you all from the worst mistakes, but other than that everything that doesn't make sense and is spelled wrong is supposed to be there.  Any mistakes on the rest of the blog...I don't really have an excuse for.

Flash Fiction # 3

                I slammed my fist against a tree trunk.  It wasn’t the wisest thing to do, considering all it did was shower snow into my hair.  I was shivering, but the cold had nothing to do with it.  I had no idea what to do now and was confused as to where to start.  Snowflakes prickled the back of my neck and I brushed them off with a flash of anger.  Hot tears stung my eyes as I remembered the events of earlier today.   I sat there crying for a seemingly endless time, whispering my sorrows to the trees and rocks around me.  Eventually, I looked up at the sky and watched the snowflakes glittering like stars.  The little pieces of ice and snow swirled and turned, sparkled and twinkled, melting in the noon day sun.  I reached out the finger and softly caught one of the flakes, foolishly clinging to it like one does cling to hope.  Oddly enough, touching the snow flake made me feel warmer than I had in a long time.

Flash Fiction # 2

                The leaves glint an emerald green and the sky is a sapphire blue.  The sun shines proudly overhead, a warm glowing orb of light.  The smooth rippling and gentle laughter of the brook laps beside me.  I stare at the scene around me and the woods take on a darker feel as the battle rages on.  The leaves flicker with the breaths of those who lay dying and the moans of the wounded.  The green leaves clash with the red.  The sky is blue with the tears of families and friends lost in the hour.  It slowly grows darker as the sun falls and more are lost.  The sun’s heat scorches my face along with all the other fallen.  Soon, however, the sun will retreat behind the mountain.  Long shadows pierce the ground and turn the brook’s water black.  The brook continues to cackle and slip over rocks.  Oozing through cracks and lapping the blood of the battle until it turns red.  Stars blink coldly as the sun falls, falls, and vanishes.

Flash Fiction # 1

                A cloud of dust swirls in the wind.  Gold and red glint in the sun.  She watches the specks fly with an organized chaos.  Fear and fascination ties her to the ground, staring at the swirling dust moving faster and faster.  The sky is almost tinted green and the dust sweeps the land in a beautiful spiral.  The specks grow larger to the point where branches and leaves join the mass.  The cloud of dust continues to grow and move with intense speeds.  Still the woman stands still.  Standing and looking, but not truly seeing what’s in front of her eyes.  The dust is about one mile wide, taking in large debris, and raging in an endless twister.  The tornado approaches.

Ode to Eyes

Ode to Eyes

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  A sentence that is true no matter how you look at it.  Eyes are like the sky, their color ever shifting depending on moods, lights, and surroundings.  Feet are also like eyes, but eyes are not like feet.  Feet betray our emotions in the speed we walk, the steps we take forward or back, and the extra motions used in anger or impatience.  Eyes also betray us by being windows to our souls.  The darker the night becomes, the clearer the view gets.  Silhouettes, shadows, and outlines versus hard glints of anger, shimmers of sadness, or sparkles of laughter.   Eyes are magnifying glasses.  The vision is clear in the center, blurry on the edges, and only focuses on what we want to see.  Eyes are the first detail people see when they meet and often the last detail they see when they leave.  Beauty is literally in the eye of the beholder.