Category Archives: Fiction

Waiting: Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers Challenge


He played in the puddles as he waited. This was his third day at his new school.

Momma was so happy when they moved here. He remembers their first night when she pulled him close and told him, “We are safe now baby. We don’t have to worry anymore.”

He was not sure what she meant by that or why she decided to move all the way out here, so he simply hugged her back as she tucked in his covers.

He continues playing when he sees his mom pull up.

She smiles, hugs him and ask, “how was your day?”

He replies, “It was fun. I met some more friends.”

They get into the car and head home.

She smiles at him through the rearview mirror thinking to herself, they are finally safe and they will never have to live in fear again.

She is completely unaware of what lies ahead.



This week’s photo prompt is provided by Jessica Haines. Thank you Jessica for our photo prompt!




The Visit

She sits on the couch in the sparsely lit room. It had been months since she started and even she didn’t believe there was much progress being made. The therapist looks at her cautiously, waiting for a response. She wasn’t paying any attention. Her mind had drifted back to that night.

It was a cool June night, she was walking with some friends laughing and joking. They stopped short when they saw the commotion.

Cop cars were everywhere, people had gathered in the streets while some neighbors looked out their windows. As they walked closer, she discovered what the commotion was about. There on the sidewalk, she saw him. His hands cuffed behind his back as cops lifted him off the curb.

She looked up to see her front door wide open. The paramedics were rolling a stretcher toward the door with a black bag on top. Before she realized it, she was running, past the onlookers, past the police tape. She stopped just as the paramedics lifted the stretcher over the final step. “Can I see, please let me see!” The paramedic looked somberly at her, he unzipped the bag, she wept.

Now as she sat here, tears welling in her eyes, she looked at the therapist, “I can’t do it doc, I can’t.” She sat back on the couch, letting the tears finally fall. “I’m sorry doc, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t working. We aren’t making any progress.” The therapist looked at her, “No, it’s OK, you are doing better. This isn’t going to be easy, it will take some time.”

She looked off toward the window. “I don’t want to remember. I want it to go away. Why did this happen?”

The therapist passed her a tissue.

The session was over. She would return next week.


Afraid to Answer

They walked into the room in disarray. Toppled chairs, papers all over the floor. An open laptop still warm on the desk.

What happened?

One peek over the desk and it seemed they had their answer.

Sprawled on the floor was the body of Attorney Mark Sampson, riddled with bullets.

Attorney Sampson was known as an inimitable lawyer, confident without an air of cockiness.

Every case he tried, he won. His colleagues adored him, superiors praised him, people looked up to him. He was by all accounts, the model professional.

Yet, in this little town it was hard for some to believe he was as perfect as he seemed.

Rumors swirled that he was hiding something. A mistress? Prostitutes? Drugs? Some going as far as to say he was on the run and assumed someone else’s identity.

As investigators stood processing the scene, they began to wonder too. Who could have killed such a beloved attorney? Was he hiding something like many in town believed? Was this revenge by someone he sent to prison?

The investigation was launched immediately and with much attention paid to it. Investigators left no stone unturned.

They interviewed his wife. Talked to his colleagues and supervisors. Reviewed his cases. They were coming up with nothing.

Higher ups increased the pressure. Why wasn’t there any leads? What had they not looked at?

Investigators had hit a dead-end. Would this case not be solved?

Three months passed without another clue.

One evening the phone at the police headquarters rings.

Someone had information on the murder of Attorney Mark Sampson and what they revealed would turn this town upside down and uncover secrets once thought to be buried forever.



Joey’s First Words

I’m not much of a talker.

Curly brown hair, hazel eyes like my mom, tall like my dad.

Josiah Pierre Thompkins,  everyone calls me Joey.

Being 5’9 makes it hard to blend in, so I clutch my notebook to my chest and crank my iPod volume up loud.

I only hang with two other guys, David and Brice. We’ve known each other since 3rd grade.

David, tall as me but athletic, girls fawn over him, but me and Brice are the only ones who know his secret.

Brice, shorter than the both of us, standing at a mere 5’3. Crew cut black hair, freckles that have dotted his cheeks all his life. Video game aficionado.

The three amigos as my mom likes to call us.

David the athlete, Brice the gamer, and me, the writer.

I can write for days, from poetry to short stories. My notebook is full.

I’ve never presented my writings. I hate public speaking with a passion.

David and Brice always want me to present my writings. My mom and dad too.

They say, “Joey, you are too talented to not share your stories.”

So when I saw a flyer for an upcoming showcase, I pondered the idea for a moment.

The last time I spoke in front of an audience, I wet my pants.

Granted, I was 6 years old, but the memory is still there.

The day of the showcase, I finally got around to telling David and Brice.

They were ecstatic about it. I knew they would want me to participate.

Later that night I signed up. I would be the fifth person to present.

The people ahead of me were really talented.

I was more than a little intimidated.

Would the audience like me?

When it was my turn, I stepped up to the microphone.


Inner Demons

You’ve seen him.

He is in your class.

He is in the cubicle next to you.

He rides the subway.

You’ve seen him in the store.

You’ve seen him, but you haven’t really seen him.

You don’t know about him crying.

You don’t know about his tossing and turning each night.

You weren’t aware of his inner demons.

It’s not your fault. You just didn’t know.

So when you heard the news, it shocked you.

His inner demons were too much.

You saw him in the store.

He rode the subway.

He was in the cubicle next to you.

He was in your class.

You saw him.

You saw him, but you didn’t really see him.