She lived a life that some would describe as being on edge. Amile rubbed the twins in her red Yves St Laurent coat. She ‘borrowed’ the coat from her one-month-old employer. With minimum wage, Amile was desperate for money. She heard about a game at Vipers, a dingy bar downtown. The stakes were nice and high. Gambling left her habits after Lucas was born, but times were hard.
That night, as the game intensified, all players dropped out except for Snarky Joe and her. Snarky was rumoured to kill at a drop of a hat.
Grandma Magda’s lucky twin coins made Amile fearless. As the dealer began, Amile winked at Snarky and raised all in. Snarky’s hungry eyes lavished her full honey glossed lips, high cheekbones and large brown eyes. His eyes couldn’t go beyond the poker table; instead, he held Amile’s gaze.
Revealing her win, Amile reached for the chips. Snarky pulled out a .22 calibre.
“I win,” he said.
Click on short stories on triblamysticstories blog, to read more 150 word short stories created for Mondays Finish the Story flash fiction.
Mondays Finish the Story is a flash fiction challenge by Barbara W. Beacham. The story requires 100-150 words (excluding the first sentence which Barbara writes). She also provides the picture. The challenge runs from Monday to Sunday. Last week, I was away in PNG and missed this one but the picture inspired me so I went ahead and wrote my story. My son Nathan wanted to write a story for this challenge as well so I hope you like what we did.
“The cemetery spread along the area known as Devils Abode.”
On the edge, Maine, Tony and Boxer stopped. It rained. Cuffed in a hessian bag, Benny struggled. In turns, they kicked him into a bloody heap. The bag came off.
“Leave him,” Tony said. “The animals will get him”.
“Finish him off – Frank’s orders,” Maine growled and kicked Benny in the crotch.
Benny curled, feeling warm between his legs where his urine could not wait.
“Someone’s coming. Run!” – Boxer yelled and drove away.
A car stopped. Footsteps approached.
“I told those idiots to bury the fucker. He’s alive? Pick him up”. It was Frank.
Four hands shoved under Benny’s arms. They drove to the cemetery and stopped.
“Throw him in there,” Frank ordered. Benny hit the fresh grave landing – hard. He waited for the trigger. Instead, soft, dry soil slapped his wet face. Frank was burying him alive, just like he buried his wife, Benny’s lover of two years.
My son Nathan Harris was inspired to write his own 150 words that takes place after my story. This was Nathan’s own writing and I have not changed a word.
“The cemetery spread along the area known as Devils Abode.”
“Seemed a fitting place as any to leave that shit Benny” Frank smirked as he opened his door, escaping the storm. He had just enough time to notice a set of muddy footprints before the crack of a gunshot hushed the rain, and searing pain through his leg dropped him to one knee. As Frank cursed on the floor, the slender form of a dead man dissolved into view; his pinstripe suit was caked with mud.
“Benny?” Frank gurgled, “How the bloody hell did you – ”
“Rookie…” Benny coughed, lungs choking on earth, and emptied his last 5 shots into Frank’s gut.
Frank clutched himself, frozen in pain and fear. As the last moments of his life drained away, Benny strode to the door and glanced back.
“When you try bury someone, you bury them deep…” he began softly, “because a shallow grave won’t hold a vengeful man down.”
Mondays Finish the Story is a flash fiction challenge by Barbara W. Beacham. The story requires 100-150 words (excluding the first sentence). The challenge runs from Monday to Sunday. Here is my short story for this week’s prompt based on the first sentence below and the picture.
“The family had no idea that little Luigi would grow up to be a…murderer.”
The shock was too much to bear as police led Luigi away from the courtroom. He caught his sister’s gaze and his terrifying eyes softened. Martha turned to her mother; they both buried their faces in uncle Dino’s old, smoke-soaked coat.
“It’s not him, it’s not him – I know… I know,” Martha cried. She felt the 65-year-old Dino’s grip tighten as he led them to his car, barreling through the flashing media cameras and the crowd. Many had come to see New York’s District Attorney Martha Luciano’s brother sentenced today.
“Grim Day for Luciano Family”, headlines screamed across the streets in earlier hours.
Three days later, Martha brought Luigi the aged Polaroid of the family that he had asked for. Her eyes salted as she tried to smile. Trembling, she leaned closer to her beloved 26-year-old brother.
“I can’t Luigi…you can’t go to jail for me,” Martha sobbed.
(You can read my other short stories by clicking on the top menu on Tribalmystic Stories home page)
Flash Fiction Challenge for Mondays Finish the Story with Barbara Beacham.
Picture by Barbara Beacham.
Mondays Finish the Story is a flash fiction challenge by Barbara W. Beacham. The story requires 100-150 words (excluding the first sentence). The challenge runs from Monday to Sunday. Here is my short story for this week’s prompt based on the first sentence below and the picture. (This story is set in Australia where we like to use the term ‘mate’ meaning friend).
“I see absolutely everything.” Oliver said and stopped. Drawn in by a large black shimmering eye, he placed two fat little fingers up his nose and tried to push them as far as he could.
“What are you doing mate?”
“Trying to find cheese”, the three-year-old replied, ignoring his mother.
“Cheese! Where are you going to put it?”
“On my sandwich.”
“Get your fingers out!”
Oliver pulled his fingers out of his nose and poked the large eye on the tree-trunk. The eye was soft. He pressed harder. Something gave and sucked him into the tree.
“Maaa ummmm!”
Then, minutes went by.
“Oliver! Oliver! Wake up!”
The little redhead stirred. He eyed his mother and sister Georgia.
“You fell and hit your head on the tree mate”, his mother said trying to hug him. Pushing her hands away, Oliver said, “my cheese sandwich?”
“Oh Oliver…” his mother said.
“Never a dull moment”, Georgia agreed.
……..
(Note: Oliver is my friend Celise’s three-year-old son. He has fiery hair and large blue eyes and is an inquisitive and mischievous little boy. Oliver also has something to say about everything).
Mondays Finish the Storyis a flash fiction challenge by Barbara W. Beacham. The story requires 100-150 words (excluding the first sentence). Here is my short story for this week’s prompt based on the first sentence below and the picture.
The Red Tomb – short story
“Where did they go?”
The two owls following her seemingly disappeared. Together yesterday, they watched the horizon quickly swallow the sun. Now they’re gone.
The mud on her feet lifted a coat of ochre from the red track. Dusk soaked and chilled her body, while blood from cuts drawn on her bare arms and legs marked her run through the arid country in search of the Red Tomb.
Tia stopped. The wind tapped her silky hair gently against her waist. Beyond the treetops, the sun stretched the shadows of the peaks, reaching to clutch her.
At last, she had reached the Red Tomb. She must borrow from her ancestors to save her five-year-old daughter.
“Go to the Red Tomb. Collect red dust from your ancestors’ graves. Their spirits will travel with you. When I bath Luhana in that dust, she will return to us”, the witch doctor whispered, before Tia left her dying child.
……………………………
(Click on short story category to read my other stories)
Mondays Finish the Storyis a flash fiction challenge by Barbara W. Beacham. The story requires 100-150 words. Here is my short story for this week’s prompt based on the first sentence below and the picture.
“The team employed the use of Nightshade to get the information they wanted from their captive.”
Viola smiled to herself as she finished the paper and her coffee. “Nightshade”, her ‘weapon’ was right next-door, she thought. All this time, her plan to make his death appear subtle, wasn’t working.
Wearing her garden hat Viola strolled to her neighbour’s yard, pretending to tidy her garden beds. Her blood roses were peeking at her, but she won’t pick them today, the day was fading fast and in a few hours, Greg arrives.
Crouching, she reached through the fence and cut a few shoots and flowers off her neighbour’s nightshades. A dog barked loudly and so close that Viola leaped, dropping her hat and all the cuttings. She ran back into her house. Shaken, she watched the large doberman sniffing where she sat, seconds ago.
Oh well, if that dog is going to guard the damn nightshade – the rat poison will have to do, she decided.
This is a unique flash fiction challenge where Barbara W. Beacham provides a new photo and the first sentence of a story each week. The challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words. This challenge runs from Monday to Sunday.
The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.
The old man’s eyes widened. He blinked from the petroglyphs and stared into the sky. The interpretation led to the present. Something was happening. Yawing, seven, could sense the fear in his grandfather’s voice.
Yawing followed Old Manu’s eyes; the clouds gathered into a thick dark cover.
“What is it, grandpa?”
“There’s no time”
“No time for what?”
“Go! Get your mother!” Old Manu ordered Yawing. “We need to move quickly. It is coming for us”.
“What is coming for us?”, Yawing asked, wide-eyed. He reversed to the door.
“Go!”
Yawing quickly turned and ran to find his mother among the women at the river. He tripped and fell.
“Mother! We must leave, now”, Yawing shouted with a mouthful of sand. He spat.
“They are coming for us!”
Yawing’s alarmed voice chilled into silence, his three little sisters, playing outside their house. As they watched, he ran to their mother.
Mondays Finish the Story is a unique flash fiction challenge where Barbara Beacham provides a new photo and the first sentence of a story each week. The challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided. This challenge runs from Monday to Sunday.
At first, it looked like an ordinary marble, but it was far from it. Magda got to it, reached down awkwardly and picked it up. It was big and heavy.
Years of factory work damaged her back. Magda longed for an easy way to survive. The ball was larger than a cricket ball yet smaller than a soccer ball.
“Perrr-fect!” she smiled to herself and wiped off the red dirt.
This was a sign. She closed her eyes in prayer. She has seen it done in the markets with no truth in it and told Chek. Besides, who would know? Her husband Chek died last year.
With her gypsy olive skin, a pair of wild gooseberry eyes set against her greyish black hair, Magda was ready.
She pushed her Coles trolley to Brisbane’s West End markets. Already she could predict her own future. Her years of struggle are about to end in a few hours when she starts her new career – predicting people’s futures.
Mondays Finish the Story is a flash fiction challenge by Barbara W. Beacham. Here is my story for this week’s prompt in the first sentence below and in reference to the above picture.
Zeus was not having a good day and he made sure everyone knew it. Mack was a mess as soon as Zeus got going.
“Get me a cleaver…”
“Nooooo! Pleease! Oh god – I’m sorry!” Mack sobbed and gurgled as I ran to boss’s collection for a blade. I almost dropped it; my legs could barely keep up.
As Zeus’ knuckles tightened to white around the knife handle, I desperately avoided his predatory gaze, leering at me through the lightning bolt tattoo across his right eye.
“Now, get out” he growled. I didn’t linger.
Mack had hidden Zeus’s package as well as the money. He lied. I warned him that Zeus would not buy it. The kid messed up.
I wondered why you’d risk losing some fingers for a few bucks, and then I heard a chop. Mack’s screams battered the walls of the warehouse, and the echoes shook my bones. I guess you never quite get used to working for a psychopath.
“The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.” Uncle Joseph said.
A tear rolled down his wrinkled tired face. The Eastern Belt explosion left several hundred dead last week. The town was evacuated. I watched another tear form and my eyes salted.
“My first thoughts were Josepha, Maria, and Antonia”.
“Where were you?”
“We sat for dinner. I went down to get a bottle of wine from the cellar – only minutes away”, he covered his face with bloody bandaged hands and wept.
My 50-year-old uncle cried as I rubbed his shoulders.
“I…I heard a single explosion, it sounded so far away. I thought it was the daily blasting at mine site. I should have come up. Antonio wanted a Carménère to celebrate Maria’s first communion. I couldn’t read the labels…suddenly I heard the crumbling, screams upstairs and everything went black”.
“Don’t cry, please uncle. They are with God now”, I whispered, as I cried with him.
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