So it has been quite some time since I’ve done anything for this flash prompt series. A combination of being overwhelmed with work and just not having the time to dedicate to it led to its being neglected. However, I have good news for those of you hoping it would come back! The Flash Fiction Train is reborn!
If you’ve been following my social media, you’ll know I’ve been doing some work with the wonderful people of Our Write Side. Well, that’s where the Flash Fiction Train is headed next! Its new home is on Fridays as part of Our Write Side’s writing prompts. Though it has a new home, it’ll still be hosted by yours truly 🙂
If you still want to browse the stuff we’ve posted here, feel free!
So, head on over to the link on Friday and check out the new rules & prompt. Looking forward to seeing you there!
Gloria hustled to grab her jacket from the locker room, then ran for the time clock. She’d gotten a late start this evening; her keys managing to not be where she’d expected. Ten minutes wasted searching for them left her rushing to be at her post on time. As she rounded the corner she slammed into Harvey.
Rita sneezed. Her nose dripped and she was sure some gremlin was positioned behind her left eye. It was armed with a needle and was repeatedly stabbing the back of that eye. As much as her nose itched and snotted, her eye watered at each thrust of that demonic needle.
The waiter held up the wine bottle and angled it towards the table. “This our finest red from Virginia, a cool, yet crisp concoction of red and white grape, aged to perfection, with a slight pucker.” He filled the four glasses with a thimbleful of wine, set the bottle down, and stepped back from the table. Four hands touched the stems and lifted them delicately, swirling the lush burgundy liquid within the glass gently.
“Mmm,” Odessa closed her eyes. “Excellent taste, Sabine. I had no idea you liked wine, let alone Italian.”
The stale air of vacancy met my nostrils. A layer of dust settled over the tidy couch. Photographs appeared faded in their frames. I picked up the closest one. Father and I at a baseball game. His body language spoke volumes as he stood a small distance from me, no warm hand around my shoulder. Mother hovered in the background, her fake smile just as beautiful as the real one she rarely revealed.