Ecstasy – Flash Fiction from Prompt


                A crowd was forming at the base of the mottled granite plinth.  The stone was reminiscent of black-eyed peas, the beige and black slopped together in a way that was both elegant and nauseating.  In the space above the slab was a shape covered in a stark sheet.

Murmurs had begun to spread among the gathering, everywhere at once the question was being asked:

“What is it?”

No one person quite knew what the answer was but all minds were pitched against the question that hung around and clung to each of them like a grasping fog.  The curiosity was thick, creating a stew of unease and expectation.  Continue reading

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100 word prompt – Wall


border-wall

It is grey here.  It is always grey here.  On the other side I’m sure there are days filled with yellow and green.  I can feel the faded reflections under my fingertips.  I can sometimes hear things from the other side.  Not like the gaping shrieks that fill the yawning nights.  Different sounds.  They make my palms itch and my neck sweat, frightened. If only I were taller I could maybe see the things making the sounds.  Or see the yellow and green.  But this side is grey.  This side will always be grey.  What else could it be?

This is based on the prompt walls and a 100 word writing about that prompt.  follow the link here to see what I’m talking about/

That’s all I can remember.


The_Red_Dress_by_bigskystudioThat’s All I Can Remember

That’s all I can remember.

Showing up fifteen minutes early to make sure I didn’t miss you.

Standing in front of La Forchetta alone. Checking my watch. Making small talk with the valets.

Their blue vests, red ties, white shirts, and neatly creased black slacks.

Looking for and seeing a dozen red dresses. You said you’d wear a red dress.

The dress because I could only imagine how great you would look in red. Continue reading

A Prequel To: The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth.


sin

It’s been a great couple of days for writing.  I got a prompt from another blog I stumbled across Master Class  the prompt was “Desperation had given him authority.”  It reminded me of my recent story about Gregorim, so I thought I’d expand on the universe a bit.  Let me know what you think :).  Here’s a link to the other story 

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The flames licked at the edges of his vision.  Smoke hung thick in the air, carrying with it the smell of burning wood and flesh alike.  His mind was frenzied.  His breaths came in ragged choked gasps.  His eyes stung with the combination of smoke and tears.

He hadn’t meant for it to go so far.  He hadn’t meant to do all of this.

He gaze drifted from the husk of one building to the next.  The shells of what used to be homes and shops leering at him, flames staring from behind the empty sockets of their sagging window-frames.  There was no movement in the streets aside from the hungry fire.  The screams had stopped.  The only thing to be heard was his own heart, sounding like an army of angry blacksmiths, destroying his ears.  The time passed with the slow crawl of tar on a cold day.  He was numb.

Finally he looked down at his hands.  They were covered in blood so thick it looked black.  His once white clothing was also mostly reddish-black.  He let his focus slip for a moment, at his feet were three torn and battered shapes.

Small shapes.

Children. Continue reading

The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth.


Dust flew in wisps around his feet as he stood at the edge of the rocky peak.  He stared down into the deep valley below the mountain, fury gripping him in tight bonds.  The smooth features of his face were taut, frozen in a grim snarl.

“Not now.  Not here!”  He focused on the small figures far below.  They scurried like ants around a small, newly forming building with a symbol perched on its sharply peaked roof.  A symbol he recognized.  A symbol he did not want to believe was in his village.   Continue reading

Papa and Me.


This is a series of vignettes that make up the larger piece that is Papa and Me.  I wrote this a little while ago, and I had it posted on another blog, so I thought I’d move it here.  It should also be said that this piece won me the Grand Prize from Bergen Community College for Creative Non-Fiction, an honor I dedicate specifically to my Papa, Joyce Wensel Schmidthuber.

Papa and Me

First Impressions

To say that my start was a rocky one might be an understatement.  My parents were married young and I came into a family of alcoholics and addicts.  Inevitably, the relationship went downhill and my mother called home to her parents for a way out.  They bought us a plane ticket, and put us on a plane home when I was only six months old.  Now of course I don’t remember any of this, but my mom tells me that the flight went well and that I wasn’t fussy on the plane at all.  An older man sat next to my mom and I on the longer of the two flights and when she was given her meal, he held me and kept me entertained while she ate.  It’s funny to me now, but my mom seems to remember that the man looked exactly like an actor that was in a Norelco Shaving commercial.  She said she wanted to ask him, but never did.   She’s been curious ever since. Continue reading

Sometimes it’s just a blanket.


I’m not sure why, maybe it’s because I was born on April 1st, but I’ve always thought my life was kind of a joke being played on me by everyone else. For example, its January 5th, and my parents are “wintering” in North Dakota.  People don’t even summer in North Dakota.  Yet another in a long line of bad jokes. Continue reading