British Company Speaking – Flash Fiction

photo via It's A Dog's Life

photo via It’s A Dog’s Life

I rode up the quiet Main Street in the lingering evening. All the cars were gone and it was relatively silent. Except…

Bring! Brrriinngg! Rang the phone in the telephone booth.  The young man in the wife-beater t-shirt, low-slung jeans, and backwards hat picked up the receiver.

“Ello, British Company speaking,” he said with a fake Cockney accent.

I busted up laughing, because it was so out of the ordinary.  Then the laughter increased as I saw the other youth around the corner of the local deli on his cell phone, talking to Mr. British Company.

Ah, yes, to be young and silly again.

Yes. This is not true flash fiction, because it’s actually reality. I did see this happen and I was riding my bike up the street one quiet evening not too long ago.

Writing on

Kate

Panini Press – Flash Fiction

“I feel like a I’m in a panini press,” she said as she slumped into the ironwork chair at the local brewery.

“How so?” her friend asked and twirled his finger to catch the waitresses attention.

“The sun above, baking. The asphalt below burning. I’m the sandwich bread and my insides are turning gooey, but not in a good way.”

He laughed. “What you need is a beer.  Sandra, we’ll take a round of the IPA and bring out some of the double fudge ice cream,” he ordered.

“You think that’ll help?” she asked as the waitress walked away.

“Babe, beer and ice cream always help.”

 

So, it’s one of those California bake everything in sight days. 102F on the thermometer. YUCK is all I can say. I was writing a bit of poetry and the idea of being in a panini press made me laugh. Except for the fact that my shoulders are burnt. Bleh.

Signing off

Kate

Listen To This – Flash Fiction

“Here, listen to this,” I say, hearing the silent groans, which I ignore, opening my book, a well worn copy of poetry by a poet laureate, circa 2001.

I have taken to quoting bits of poetry I find hilarious, and while I can sense the lack of interest or understanding, it never stops me from trying. Maybe I have been reading it out loud too often, but I I have to inform people how brilliant this poet is. I mean, who do you know that writes poetry that 1. you actually understand, and 2. makes perfect sense because you relate to it completely?

I finish reading and look up to bored faces. I sigh and close the book. People just don’t get me.

 

Cover of "Sailing Alone Around the Room: ...

Cover via Amazon

I have taken to reading Billy Collins‘s  Sailing Alone Around The Room to anyone who will listen. I rather like his wry take on life and I feel that people, IE my family, need to hear how wonderful he is. I’m sure my family is already quite bored and I’ve only read off bits and pieces of two poems. Sigh.

Signing off

Kate.

Icy Writing Prompt

This has got to be the best prompt I’ve ever heard. Well maybe not iciclebest, but pretty incredible.

I was talking to an older woman who’s a semi friend today and she was mentioning she and her late husband used to winter at their cabin in the mountains. Every evening they would have their cocktail hour and he would mix up drinks. He loved to go outside and break off an icicle to stir the drinks with to chill them.

Isn’t that great? And icicle cocktail stirrer and chiller.  I love it and I had to share.  Now, people, run with it!  I want to see Flash Fiction, short stories, or a blurb or something with this.  Please, pretty please.  :)  I know you all can come up with something great.

Link back to me so I can read them all. I might come up with something myself too!

Signing off

Kate

Enhanced by Zemanta

Should I or Not? — Flash Fiction

Have you ever wanted to kiss someone that you really didn’t want to date? Someone that who is not in your league or inappropriate? Someone that you’ve watched for years and just sort of wondered what it would be like to kiss them? I have. For years I’ve watched Jace as he’s flirted with me despite my less than enthusiastic response; watched him as he worked; watched him as he dated woman after woman, slightly jealous of those women, but not really wanting to date Jace himself. But, oh! There is part of me that really want’s to know what his kisses taste like.

I’ve kissed several men in my life. Boyfriends, whom all I could say did not know how to kiss, and a couple spur of the moment times where the kiss was good, I liked the guy, but it never went anywhere. But there are a couple men I’ve fantasized about just sampling a kiss.

Jace has probably been the one that sticks in my mind, and it’s there right now as I watch him walk across the street to get into his truck. He’s been logging so he’s covered in dust and dirt and probably sawdust. I’m sure he smells like chainsaw oil or gas and that all guy smell of work.  You know: sweat.  But here I sit wondering like I have for quite a while, what it would be like to have him wrap his long arms around me, tip me back and kiss me.  One of those romance fantasies, you know?

The wishing has gotten out of hand. I’ve been dreaming about him as well.  Long vivid dreams where it’s just us. Where I finally relent and decide we should be a couple. Where he wears me down with flirting and teasing and kissing.  Because, oh yes, there is always kissing involved. Clearly I have an over active imagination because those dreams are vivid. I wake up befuddled and practically giddy, reveling in really good kissing. I flush when I think about how unashamedly bold I am and half the time I remember I initiate the kisses.

What is wrong with me? Should I just walk up to Jace one day and grab him around the back of the neck and pull him down for a kiss? I know it would surprise the heck out of him. I mean, I have turned him down every single time. And I don’t want to date him. I don’t. You believe me, right? Consequences. There are always consequences for impulsively jumping in to something so intimate as a kiss.

My coffee’s cold, and Jace has driven off. Well, there’s always tonight for another dream……

 

 

Isn’t it funny how real life is what makes fiction come alive? Or it is what makes stories to write about. Or it makes you wake up wondering about a dream you had.

Semi autobiographical, I hope you enjoy this nameless girl’s musing about a guy named Jace….. who is very similar to someone I know, and well, let’s leave it at that.

Writing on

~Kate

Enhanced by Zemanta

And the Phone Rang – Flash Fiction

The Phone

The Phone

The antique rotary phone rang with a blaring ring that was loud enough to wake the dead. Of course she bolted out of bed and reached for the receiver before another deafening brring could escape the damned machine.  A muffled “hello” was muttered into the mouthpiece as she fell back into the pillows.

God, why did Sears need to call to remind her that the repair was tomorrow?  Couldn’t the automated machine have called later?  And who in their right mind would want to have this phone by their bed?  It should be installed in a padded room where the sound would be slightly muffled.

No, she was not a morning person, and ringing phones did not help matters.

 

Rotary phones…. so much fun.  I happen to have one by my bed to try it out.  The above is a semi-autobiographical incident from this morning.  Okay, fine, you got me. It did happen, and it did not help that I had an antihistamine drugging up my system.

Signing off

~Kate

I Feel Like Sushi! – Flash Fiction

“I feel like sushi!” she announced as she looked up from her book.

He looked at her cautiously. “Is that a metaphor?” he asked warily. It was common for her to spit out strange metaphors at the oddest of moments.

Her laugh was like little bells.  “Heavens no! I want sushi.”

“Well that’s nigh impossible now,” he said, indicating the clock that read 1:30AM. “Plus, you really shouldn’t be eating that now,” he said, hinting at her very pregnant state.

“I know, but it sounds so good,” she sighed.

They went back to reading.

“How about tacos?” she blurted out.

“That we can do,” he said, smiling at her very strange switch of foods, but sliding out of the covers and slipping into his jeans, nonetheless. Ah, the things he suffered through to make his wife happy. But tacos sounded good to him too.

 

It’s amazing what kind of flash fiction you can get out of the back of a magazine with an ad for Siri. The first line is from that ad.  Enjoy.

Signing off

~Kate

Maybe He Had A Better Reason For Leaving – Flash Fiction

farmers-wife-magazine Maybe he had a better reason for leaving. Maybe it was the summer sun that first started the wanderlust. Whatever the reason, on day Janis watched him walk out of their front gate, not knowing when she would next see him.

He left no plans, no way to contact him; He only said he’d be back in the fall. Whatever that meant.

Janis watched him close the white picket gate, the one he had built last summer and walk towards town proper. She dried her hands on the dish towel she held, just shaking her 33-06,FrmrsWfhead.

“Silly man,” she muttered, smoothing down her apron. She wasn’t surprised he was leaving. Every couple of years he’d get this look in his eye and by the next day he’d have his knapsack packed. He’d go off finding adventure, though he never told Janis what he ended up doing on his treks. He could be gone a week or months. Once he was gone only two days, but another he was gone almost a year.

She didn’t know if he had another woman, she hated him if he did, but she doubted him fooling around. There were plenty of women around here who would have gladly taken him into their beds. No, the look in his eyes was not the lust for human flesh, but of fresh air, mountain peaks, and sandy beaches. Sometimes she would find bits and pieces of nature hiding down at the bottom o f his knapsack when he’d return. A small shell, a green rock, and once she found an old arrowhead.

For Janis the reprieve of married life was always a chance for a renewal of herself.  She slept in, not needing to make his breakfast. She enjoyed her poached eggs on toast without complaint. She tried new hairstyles and bought a new outfit or two. She would hire a couple of local girls and they would tear apart the house, cleaning it from top to bottom, then Janis would rearrange the furniture or paint a room. She’d have a gardener come in and give the whole yard a nice clean up, getting all the spots He never got to when he was at home. She’d splurge on a new rose bush or something exotic and fancy that would last only the summer season.

She’d invite her friends over for luncheons and teas. They’d gab about kids and husbands, though Janis never mentioned Him other than to say he was on sabbatical. They all knew what that meant. The ladies would discuss flower arrangement and wallpaper options. Painting versus staining re-purposed furniture. Then Janis would show off her new redone room and all the ladies would ooh and ah, commenting on how they wished their husbands would let them redo a room whenever they wanted to.

The friends would leave and Janis would clean up the house to a spotless state, fix a small meal and eat dinner watching one of her favorite movies. Something he wouldn’t like and try to talk over. She’s go to bed whenever she wanted, sometimes late, sometimes early. And every night till he came home, Janis would cry herself to sleep.

Who would have thought a short story or flash fiction piece could come out of a Harbrace College Handbook?  The first line and title of this piece was a line of correction under commas in my Harbrace. I was reading it the other day and this line caught my attention and I knew I had to write something. Not exactly sure if I have the commas in the correct spots (I’m a comma girl and I use way more than I ever should), but I’m happy with how this turned out. I have a fifties or sixties esque thought pattern in my head for Janis. Like she does her hair in the flip styles and wears big patterned dresses with bold flowers. Well, whatever she looks like, this was fun to write out the other day in a matter of moments on a piece of lined paper. Sometimes inspiration strikes from the funniest of places. And this story did not even come close to what I had in my mind, but hey, sometimes the character takes you places you never knew were hiding.

Signing off

~Kate

Blue-Eyed Smitten – Being Thwarted – Flash Fiction

Part Two of Blue-Eyed Smitten

I had been thwarted. I had spent a week of trying to find a plausible reason to speak to Mr. Blue-Eyes. Something that didn’t sound inane and ridiculous. Fortunately, due to his distracting beautifulness, I actually hadn’t paid attention to something he’d told me. I had a reason to call! I played our conversation over and over in my head practicing and discarding what wouldn’t work. I knew what I was going to say.

I dialed the number carefully, rehearsing what I had practiced saying. I waited through the answering service information, heart pounding. I pressed the extension number.

“Is he in?” I asked the receptionist.

He was! But he was with a patient, could I hold while the question was asked?

Now I stare at the silent phone, defeated. Deflated. My question was answered. I had my information. I did not get what I had wanted.

I had wanted to hear his voice. To teas and ask him my question, while making it obvious I was interested in him. Impossible to convey that to the receptionist.

Cross plan B off the list. Now what?

 

 

There is that moment in the film Serendipity, where Jonathan Trager (John Cusack) goes to take Sarah’s number from her and a gust of wind comes up and blows the slip of paper away.  It’s that moment when “fate’ is telling the two to back off. That it isn’t time.

I am a huge believer in fate, Destiny, and God.  All interact completely.  So clearly, this was not my time and ‘fate’ was telling me to back off.  My only consolation is that the receptionist did have to go ask him my question, and she did have to use my name.  And I am supposed to make an appointment in 6 months…. Plan C?

Enjoy the continuation of my life in flash fiction form.

Signing off

~Kate

Blue-eyed Smitten – Flash Fiction

jordon l legault edit blue eyesI was smitten. Staring up in to the most beautiful blue eyes on God’s green earth, with lashes that were too beautiful to belong to a man, I was dumb struck.  Eyes that were  only inches from mine. So close. I could drown in eyes this blue. Bluer than mine. Like those icebergs you see that are so blue they seem unreal.  And yet, this was the most awkward position for a me to be in; on my back with a beautiful man looking down at me. There I was with my mouth wide open and dental tools scraping away at my teeth.  Oh yes, this was a flattering way to tell a guy that you could drown in his eyes.  Why did awkward always happen when a gorgeous man, with no ring on his left hand, was anywhere near me?

A moment of real flash fiction from Monday. I never knew a man’s eyes could be so gosh darn beautiful. Or that a man could be so drop dead gorgeous. Well, that was the best visit to the dentist ever.  The picture is not of his eyes. His eyes were so much better. However. Enjoy.

Signing off

~Kate