Hop on #TuesFlashFicTrain Week 3!


Week 3! I still can’t believe it 🙂

First things first, be sure to check out last week’s winning post, by Renee L. Tennis-McKinley, before attempting this week’s prompt. Remember, you have to continue where she left off!

Now, prompt time!

I’m feeling more lethargic than usual – maybe it’s the change in the weather, or something, but I’m finding it really difficult to get motivated to do much. I’d like to think that it’s the recent, drastic change in climate. Where did the unbearably hot weather go? I feel like it was just yesterday that I was complaining about a seemingly endless summer. But here I am, wrapped in a snuggie as I write this because the heat in my house isn’t enough to keep me from shivering. Being wrapped in a snuggie is also not helping the lethargy problem, only making me want to curl up and sleep even more. So, for this week’s prompt, I want you to write about lethargy or reluctance. Your protagonist, or someone else in the story, can’t bring themselves to do something, either because they don’t want to or simply just can’t – what is it? Let your imaginations roam free – you guys are good at that!

Remember, continue last week’s story, keep it under 400 words, and submit your response in the comment section below. Don’t forget to include your twitter handles and/or other social media links for promotion! I updated the rules, and submissions now close Wednesday at 11:59PM EST– tell your friends!

Questions, suggestions? Check out the rules in more detail and/or drop me a line!

As always, think happy thoughts!

Image Credit: Image found via Google Image Search on picturequotes.com


13 thoughts on “Hop on #TuesFlashFicTrain Week 3!

  1. Her gentle hand on my cheek recoiled quickly. The eyes which had moments ago been tender and loving, darted quickly around the room. Momentary panic gripped Mom tightly. She fidgeted in her chair, shuffled her feet.

    “Gotta get up,” she mumbled. Frail arms struggled to move her slight frame upward.

    She was so weak. I barely knew the woman before me. She was not the Mother from my memories. Not the spitfire woman who held a house of five children together, while Dad worked long hours at the mill.
    My Mom bravely faced the daily struggle of surviving. My Mom took life’s hardships with a grin and the perseverance of a battle-hardened soldier. She was a fighter. Now this weak woman in front of me wanted only to flee.

    I put a hand gently on her shoulder to stop the struggling to stand. Instantly her battle against gravity was forgotten as she spun her head towards me.

    Mom stared blankly as our eyes locked. She tried in vain to hide the confusion. I knew she was straining to understand why I looked familiar. I was a fleeting memory, a name on the tip of her tongue. A person forgotten. Her cracked lips pursed and her sad eyes squinted as she searched for a glimpse of insight.

    “I’m just a friend.”

    The final word caught in my throat. It threatened to choke me. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. I wanted to make her remember me. I wanted to yell that I was more than just “a friend!” That I was her youngest. Her baby!

    I turned away quickly and fought to hold back the tears. I never imagined that being simply “a friend” could hurt so much. Being a friend implied so much to most people. A friend is the person that is there when you need someone. I was much more than a friend, yet someone much worse. I was the child that left.

    In that brief second, I wanted to fall to my knees and beg her to forgive me. I wanted to cry in her lap and have her tell me it would be alright. I wanted to be a child again with a scraped knee that Mommy would make better.

    At that moment, for the first time in years, I wished I had not left.

    Chad R Smith
    Word count 391
    Twitter @CRSmith4719
    Blog https://moralitypuzzle.wordpress.com/
    Facebook yeah I really need to get that thing going again

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I opened my lips to say Mother, but no sound came. In my hesitation, I saw the focus leave her face once again. She clutched the quilt tightly and began to rock. Lost in memories that may or may not include me.

    I left her there with the quilt in her lap.

    Perhaps I should not have come back.

    Wounds long scarred over began to seep anew. Bruises faded by time and distance throbbed.

    Had I really believed I would receive an apology…an explanation, for the despair of my childhood?

    Any hope faded with the blank gaze of her eyes. Questions to the nurses attending her confirmed my fears. She hadn’t recognized her husband for months. She seldom spoke. She ate when told, slept when the lights were turned off. Nothing more could be done.

    With my father’s death, I lost the chance to ask him why. What was the crime I’d committed that made him turn against me. I’d written so many times, hoping he would slip, give me a hint to his lack of feeling. He never wrote back.

    My mother’s letters had been filled with postcard descriptions of her days. She conveniently avoided the subject of her husband. When she stopped writing I assumed she had gotten tired of the charade. I found out she’d been in the nursing home over a year when I spoke to their neighbors.

    I should have come back sooner.

    Once I slid behind the steering wheel of my car, I let the tears flow. Searching for a tissue, I found the one other thing I’d taken from their house.

    A letter addressed to my mother, from a man I didn’t know.

    It began; “Mom.”

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  3. I opened my eyes, remnants of the daydream hazing around the edges of my mind. A gust of wind made the rocking chair creak, its chilly finger caressed my cheek as it passed. Tears pooled against my eyelids. I let them fall, unable to withhold the ache of my heart any longer. I buried my face into the quilt, inhaling the scents of the house—cinnamon, moth balls, Downy April Fresh. The wind changed direction, resting heavy arms on my shoulders and threading wispy ribbons around me. I wailed once, my voice filled the small space. It bounced back to me from the window and trembled through me. The wind clutched me tighter giving me pause.

    My face rose from the blanket, and my eyes sweep the room. Ice ran through me again, jerking the blanket from my grasp, and it fell to the floor. I gasped as a shadow crossed the wall. It waited for a moment, like a beckoning finger, and disappeared as I stepped forward. I opened the door to another shadow bathed room. Whatever I thought I saw was lost in this darkness. Wind pushes me forward. I stumbled over something in my path. I knelt, and searched the floor until I found it. Soft velvet crinkled under my fingertips.

    A tear plopped hollowly on the wooden floor. My childhood teddy, the one Christmas present I ever received, its white fur yellowed with age, its soft brown nose peeling, and its sapphire blue velvet vest cloaked in dust, cradled in my arms. I had thought it lost so many years ago, but here it was, a kept memory.

    Yes, I had indeed stayed away too long.


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