#SwiftFicFriday – Week 125 Prompt

#SwiftFicFriday – Week 125 Prompt

Welcome to the new and improved flash fiction writing prompt series – #SwiftFicFriday!

I’ve changed the rules, so if you didn’t see my tweet, check them out!

The gist:

  • You have THREE DAYS (AM Friday-PM Sunday on the east coast) to submit your entry.
  • Include social media links/handles/anything you want to promote (Twitter, FB, etc) & word count in the comment with your submission.
  • Submission must be between 150-300 words.
  • All stories are property of the authors.
  • Winner will be determined via reader votes on Mondays.

Ready, set, write!

Prompt: This week, it’s another phrase! Write a piece that uses the following phrase:

There’s nothing I can do about it.

Happy writing!

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7 thoughts on “#SwiftFicFriday – Week 125 Prompt

  1. Retreat

    I have no control of course. They’re all figments, real but not if you’re following me correctly. At least I think that’s the case.

    I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.

    But Ben can’t wait. He pipes up with, “What’s he doing here? You know I can’t stand him.” As that could be any one of hundreds of people as Ben has strong opinions about pretty much everyone, I follow his erect finger and it lands on the ex-leader of the free world, President Doo-doo Trousers, and I wonder myself why he is here.
    It is certainly none of my doing.

    That I know of.

    “There’s nothing I can do about it,” I offer kind of weakly.

    “Whaddaya mean,” fires back Ben, “It’s your…”

    “It’s my what?” I ask, curious as to what this thing really is, assuming Ben can be believed.

    “It’s your Retreat. Your Writers Retreat. Self-improvement and all that. Don’t tell us you’ve forgotten?”

    Of course, I have forgotten but I’m not going to blurt that out. Seems like a suitable time to take control. I look around and a tree trunk has blasted out a window. A storm’s swirling outside and the wind is hurling fat rain balls in.

    “Great stuff,” Ben opines.

    I look at him and he looks elated. “I have to fix that,” I say, and he looks at me as if I was the greatest fool he’d ever met. “No sweat. Considerate it done, and in a flash, the tree trunk’s gone, and the window is repaired.

    The storm appears to have been silenced.

    “How’d you do that?” I ask.

    “It’s your memoir writing retreat, you ninny. Creative non-fiction. You can fix anything in memoir.”

    I nod.

    Ben’s right.

    It still doesn’t explain ex-President Doo-doo Trousers.

    I’ll have to fix that.

    300 words
    @billmelaterplea
    http://www.engleson.ca

    Liked by 1 person

  2. A slight punctuation edit…
    Retreat

    I have no control of course. They’re all figments, real but not if you’re following me correctly. At least I think that’s the case.
    I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.
    But Ben can’t wait. He pipes up with, “What’s he doing here? You know I can’t stand him.” As that could be any one of hundreds of people as Ben has strong opinions about pretty much everyone, I follow his erect finger and it lands on the ex-leader of the free world, President Doo-doo Trousers, and I wonder myself why he is here.
    It is certainly none of my doing.
    That I know of.
    “There’s nothing I can do about it,” I offer kind of weakly.
    “Whaddaya mean?” fires back Ben, “It’s your…”
    “It’s my what?” I ask, curious as to what this thing really is, assuming Ben can be believed.
    “It’s your Retreat. Your Writers Retreat. Self-improvement and all that. Don’t tell us you’ve forgotten?”
    Of course, I have forgotten but I’m not going to blurt that out. Seems like a suitable time to take control. I look around and a tree trunk has blasted out a window. A storm’s swirling outside and the wind is hurling fat rain balls in.
    “Great stuff,” Ben opines.
    I look at him and he looks elated. “I have to fix that,” I say, and he looks at me as if I was the greatest fool he’d ever met. “No sweat. Considerate it done, and in a flash, the tree trunk’s gone, and the window is repaired.
    The storm appears to have been silenced.
    “How’d you do that?” I ask.
    “It’s your memoir writing retreat, you ninny. Creative non-fiction. You can fix anything in memoir.”
    I nod.
    Ben’s right.
    It still doesn’t explain ex-President Doo-doo Trousers.
    I’ll have to fix that.

    300 words minus the explanation
    @billmelaterplea
    http://www.engleson.ca

    Liked by 3 people

  3. I sipped my tea and thought about what life would be like now that Harley was here to stay. Would I still be the electronic surveillance expert for the club? I was a mother now, and couldn’t just leave her to do whatever I wanted.

    There’s always what Neo offered.

    True, I could ask Neo to keep an ear on Harley while I did small, nearby jobs. But I liked the idea that I had to be home for the baby. I liked having the responsibility that meant I didn’t have to party all night long, fending off the drunk and amorous.

    I’m getting old if I prefer responsibility over partying.

    My phone chimed as I got a text. I snatched it up and swiped the screen.

    :Calhoun is back with your vehicle. Washed and switched out your plates though the rain’s fucking up all my hard work. Keys are under driver’s side floor mat.:

    Torch’s text made me smile. I could run to the grocery store, pick up some baby formula and food, and still take Harley with me. I thanked him for the news and went to get Harley dressed. Something that would keep her warm and dry while it rained, though at this time of year it could easily turn to snow.

    “Welp, Harley-Girl, we’re gonna head on out to the grocery store and pick up a few things.”

    She cooed at me as I got her dressed in a cute onesie with a unicorn sporting a rainbow horn and the words, “I Believe in Magic” on it.

    It would look great under a Concrete Angels biker jacket, but there’s nothing I can do about it until we order one.

    I’d have to remind Dollhouse to get on that.

    292 #ConcreteAngelsMC words
    @SiobhanMuir

    Liked by 4 people

  4. Kerri White unsealed her powers and resummoned her mother’s wand just before a massive magic flower illuminated the desert night. The petals unfolded, and Kerri’s adult self stepped out, facing Kerri and her best friend, Mirro.

    Why hadn’t Kerri thought of customizing her teleports like that yet? Not important now!

    “I don’t know why you’re trying to kill Mirro,” Kerri pointed her sapphire-tipped wand at her future self. “But don’t think there’s nothing I can do about it!”

    Future Kerri conjured an immaculate white couch with a wand flourish. The alluring adult collapsed onto her couch while casting another for Kerri and Mirro faster than Kerri could react.

    “You already did it,” Future Kerri sighed. “You made it through the day. Happy birthday, Mirro.”

    “Thank you,” Mirro floated gently to sit on the other couch.

    “Wait… What?”

    Kerri’s heart was pounding in her ears. Rushing adrenaline shook her tense muscles. In contrast, her adult self was draped bonelessly over her couch while her best friend kicked her bare feet absently. Adult Kerri shot a flat look at Mirro, who had already shed every aspect of her disguise that modesty allowed.

    “Mirro and I are still best friends in the future. She asked for an exciting birthday and, well, we owe her a lot. One of her only limitations is that she can’t travel through time; but, as you can see, you figure it out eventually.”

    “What!?”

    This was too much. Kerri’s dark-haired best friend patted the couch next to her.

    “I thought it might be something like that.”

    Kerri turned on Mirro, her energy draining rapidly.

    “What.”

    “Well,” Mirro cocked her head. “Wasn’t it obvious that future me had to be the one to teach future you how to turn me mortal?”

    Both Kerris glared at Mirro, “No!”

    298 Kerri’s Creatures words
    @DavidALudwig

    Liked by 3 people

  5. FISH IN THE WATER

    Captain Hass was still laughing when the looming tower-like fin of a submarine glided alongside the lifeboats.

    For years, a hijacking operation targeted yachts and small ocean liners resulting in stolen ships and victims abandoned in lifeboats. Scores of lives and livelihoods had been disrupted and ruined to the degree of bankruptcy and suicide however, since the culprits weren’t killers, they were deemed mere ‘nuisances’ and not seriously pursued.

    One day, Captain Isaac Hass learned a friend had taken her life in despair after being among those ruined. That same day, the concept of Ice Maiden was born. Ice Maiden became an ocean liner with 138 staterooms and suites which Hass filled with sailors from his private fleet who played the roles of crew and passengers. To a maritime hijacker, she was a prize.

    After three ‘voyages’, Ice Maiden lured her quarry. The criminals seized control, as expected. The ‘victims’ were set adrift, as expected.

    From the railing, the hijackers’ leader gazed triumphantly at the distant lifeboats of whimpering sailors and passengers, but his joy waned when every face turned toward him in emotionless unison.

    Smile dropped.

    Something in the water.

    A dead wake, the bubble trail tracing where a torpedo had been, vanished amidships below Ice Maiden’s waterline followed by a flash and blast that ripped the ship in two. Her death groan snarled across the water as she listed, rolled, and sank.

    Submariners emerged from a hatch behind the fin and helped the lifeboats’ occupants onto the black skin of the submersible.

    A bearded submariner offered a hand to Hass. “No signs of survivors, sir.”

    “A real pity, Mr. Greer.” Hass accepted the submarine commander’s assistance. “If they didn’t secure enough lifeboats for themselves in case of some unforeseen emergency, then there’s nothing I can do about it.”

    By Duri Rolvsson
    word count: 300

    Liked by 2 people

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