Tag: Flash Fiction

Hello, friends!

This month I’ve been going through Jonathan Babcock‘s 1 Month of Creative Writing Exercises, and I’ve really been enjoying them!

The other day I was supposed to write three completely different scenes, where someone trips and falls in a park, then rolls over to find someone smiling at them. I got a kick out of writing these, and I hope you enjoy reading them, as well!

#1

“Sully! Is that you?”

Oh, no. That voice is all too familiar. I roll over on the sidewalk and see the suave smile I’d hoped never to see again after the day I walked out of Century High with no honors.

“Jared!”

Good heavens, he doesn’t even have the compassion to extend a hand to help his old high school rival. His carefully-arranged facial features never shift as I grunt and heave and shove myself into an upright position. I brush the dead leaves from my hair and shirt, wishing I was one of them. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Evidently not much has changed.” Jared brushes an imaginary leaf from his own immaculate shirt sleeve.

#2

The little girl rolled over, tears starting in her eyes. Her knee was burning, and no doubt bleeding from the sudden contact it had with the walking trail.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The boy standing over her couldn’t be more than six years old. Orange hair poked out at random from his hastily-donned cap, and his green eyes expressed concern.

“Uh, I think so…my knee really hurts.”

“Gee, it really hurts when you skin your knee. I did that the other day, and I couldn’t run right for a while.” The boy got down next to her and looked at the wound. “Hey, it’s not that bad! My mom’s right over there; she’s got some bandaids.”

#3

“Hey, do I know you?”

Dave sure hoped the girl didn’t. He hastily scrambled to his feet, wincing a bit as his scraped knees protested the movement. He took a closer look at her. “Uh…”

“Youth group!” She pointed in sudden realization. “You’re the new kid! David, was it?”

“Uh, yeah!” He squinted, and she grinned. 

“Kathy.” She shifted the backpack she had slung over one shoulder and stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you again! Are you okay?”

“Just scratched.” David took a closer look at the girl and decided he better not play up his injuries. She looked like she could fight a bear and come out victorious.

Which story was your favorite? Do you enjoy writing exercises? If you’d like to access the resource 1 Month of Creative Writing Exercises, click here to subscribe to Jonathan’s newsletter!

❤ Laurel

Photo by Lynn Danielson on Unsplash

Everyone says he’s too big for me to carry now.

It’s probably true. His legs in his favorite Superman pajama pants (the ones that are way too short and ragged) dangle past my knees when I carry him piggyback, and I can’t run with him like I used to.

But I’ll carry him until he stops asking…

‘Cause I know that one of these days he’ll stop begging to be close to me. One of these days he’ll stop giving me butterfly kisses, chubby arms tangled around my neck, almost choking me. One of these days my shoulder won’t be the one he clings to and bawls on when his little heart gets broken.

One of these days he’ll think he’s stopped needing me.

I’ll hold him while I can.

Photo by Bethany Beck on Unsplash

Happy Monday, all!

So today’s piece of fiction is half flash fiction, half fan fiction. Flash fiction because… it’s short. Fan fiction because the two characters featured in this scene are from the novel I’m writing! (Can you write fan fiction for your own characters? I don’t know, but today we’ll pretend you can.:) )

Look at the ceiling… out the windows… at the cold stone of the floor… at anything but what’s right in front of you. Look at anything that could make you forget the pain.

Myghell gritted his teeth and turned his head to the side, staring at the dirt ground into the shoulder of his shirt. He looked at the stone blocks of the castle wall against which he leaned. He stared at his left arm resting on his knees, determined not to see his right arm where he cradled it against his chest.

“Myghell!”

He groaned and smiled all at once. The little girl was barreling towards him with brow furrowed and arms pumping. He moved his left arm in an attempt to cover the bloodied cloak that he’d crudely used to bandage his wounded arm. Too late. “You’re bleeding!”

“A little.” “You need someone to take care of you.” She looked around the great room full of groaning men and scurrying medics, and Myghell shrugged the shoulder of his good arm. “No one’s available right now, but it’s alright. It’s just a scratch.”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “Scratches don’t dump blood all over your cloak. Lemme see.”

“I’m fine, Kahtcha.”

“But I want to take care of you!” She got down on her knees and poked at his bloodied cloak, pouting when he brushed her hands away.

“You’re not even supposed to be in here.”

“Blood doesn’t scare me.” Her brown eyes glowed defiantly. “How was the battle?”

Myghell smiled wryly. She asked the question as though she were asking about a peaceful flight across the Shire. “Bad.”

“You lost?”

“We did. But the war isn’t over.” Myghell bowed his head. “It won’t be over ’til we win.”

“What was it like?”

Myghell hesitated, remembering the frustration of times past when he’d been shut out from conversations and retellings that were deemed to be unsuitable for his young ears. “It was loud… and bloody… and… frightening.”

“But you weren’t scared.” Kahtcha sat on the floor next to him and hugged his good arm, proud of her mighty warrior.

“I was.”

“But you aren’t scared of anything!” “Everyone’s scared of something.” “I didn’t think you were,” Kahtcha murmured, scooting closer to him.

Myghell grinned. “Guess for the first time, you’re wrong about something.”

Kahtcha giggled and leaned her head on his arm. His eyes scanned the room, then he glanced down at her. “Close your eyes, sweetie. I don’t want you to see all this.” She obeyed so fiercely that her nose wrinkled up. “But I can stay?” “For now.”

They sat in silence. When she finally spoke again, her words startled him.

“Thank you.”

He turned and saw that her eyes were still closed tightly. “For what?”

“For being scared so I don’t have to be.”