White Knight

Hello Hello, and welcome to the event that will be Genre Flashfiction February. Yes, I am a little early on this one, but week one launched on Romance. This is the response to round one prompt: Write a piece under 300 words about the moment the character realizes they are in love. Follow Dan, as she realizes that Clive is a keeper. Enjoy!


He cringed when he heard the knock on the door, not looking forward to telling Clive that dinner was off, and that he had forgotten to call him to tell Clive dinner was off before he had schlepped all the across town to meet him.

He opened the door, and before he could say a word, Clive was in, waving a bag of what looked like takeout as he spoke. “I come bearing sustenance, for what I assume is going to be two hours of watching you try and finish your paper. Take five, eat this,” Clive jammed a sub into his hand, “and I will start looking over what your have so far.”

Dan gaped, looking down at the sub, from his favourite shop, a 45-minute detour at least by bus, then back at Clive who didn’t seem the least bit bothered to spend his only night off reviewing Dan’s homework and he knew, in that moment, that he was in love with this man.

This Year, I’m Me

This story is this week’s response to the weekly picture prompt challenge on the Writer’s Mess, and it heralds in the beginning of a new year.  Follow our narrator, as they celebrate New Year’s, and pull a full on Whoville moment where they understand it’s not at all about WHAT you have.


They couldn’t have fireworks, not within city limits, and even if they could, it wasn’t really in the budget.  They were sharing a three-bedroom apartment with five people, and they were small bedrooms. 

It was perfect though, they could be themselves here in this place, where their room barely fit a twin bed, and a good stretch would end with broken fingers.

It was better than the room they used to have, that was bigger than the entire apartment, and filled with the best of everything.  Everything from the carpet to the curtains in shades of pink, and closet filled with dresses for a girl that wasn’t who they were.

Here they could be who they were, be named as they were, and that made the small overcrowded space more of a home than that place where she used to live.

Here there weren’t fireworks, there were dollar store sparklers held out the window to keep the fire alarm from going off, and it was the beginning to a new year, a new life, more than they ever could have hoped for.


I will probably be taking a bit of a step back now in the New Year.  I have two courses, as well as some personal projects that I am working on.  I am going to try and keep up with Six-Sentence story, but it is more likely that I will just be doing biweekly short stories, and biweekly short fiction. I am still kicking though, so don’t go anywhere, because I will be back on full time before you know it!

All-American

No idea where this one came from, just another unhappy child moving away to become who they are. I honestly believe you can’t quite make that transition into the person you are meant to be until you leave your childhood home. This is the story of Sam, who left home and became their own person.


She looked down at the pictures of the child dressed up as as the all American little boy, in blue jeans and a red flannel shirt, and it made her squirm. There was a smile on the child’s face, and it wasn’t from happiness, it was from relief that they were allowed to go home.

An entire summer trapped on Uncle Jeb’s farm, and there wasn’t a single moment of it that the kid didn’t hate. It was all about the act of “toughening” the boy up, as though at ten years old, the threshold for masculinity was not being met. That there was some thickness of skin that hadn’t been achieved, and the act of crying at the injustice of it all was taken as the proof that the entire exercise was required. That picture was the day that a countdown was made, and while college was always a long shot, it was a freedom that couldn’t be passed by.

Teachers marveled at the new found studious nature, never before had a student made such a change in a single summer, not without some sort of accident of tragedy occurring, but they knew of no such event. A single summer on a farm should not have been such a thing, but in this case it was everything, it was the last straw in a pile of sticks, and it was too much to bear.

High school came and went, and in the end, the grades were enough. There were better schools, closer schools, if education had been the aim, but it wasn’t. The goal was the city, the goal was somewhere big enough to disappear, the goal was being far enough away that this place would be a memory buried deep enough that no one would ever know that it was a place of origin in the story being told.

There were a lot of cities to chose from, and the one the now teenager chose was so liberal that someone like Uncle Jeb would shudder to step foot in it, and it was perfect. It was a place where dreams came true, and no one was forced to toughen up, or be a man. That was where Samuel started to be known as Sam, and graduated as Samantha.

Her parents never called her, followed up, even though she kept the old beat-up flip phone for 12 years, paying a phone bill long after she replaced it, just in case. She didn’t call them either, but it was the principle of the thing. Four years in sociology had taught her a lot about people, and she knew that unless she reached out with a wife and a son, or fulfilled the promise to take over the family farm, they wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her. That was just the way some people were, and there was nothing she could do that would change that.

She became a social worker, and eventually, she did get that wife, and even the son, but she wouldn’t be taking on the farm. Even if she did show up with her new family, they wouldn’t understand this, her, as she was, it just wasn’t their way. She had made a good life for herself, and when the flip phone broke, she had the line rerouted to her phone, just in case.

Her son was 11 when she got the call. Her family of three spent five hours on a plane, and three hours in a rented SUV to get to the house her parents had called home. It should have been a few years further out, but car crashes happen, especially with drunk drivers and missed red lights.

So here she sat, still in her back suit, looking at the picture of a child, who looked so much like her own, and yet was so much sadder. She walked out the door, her wife and son following, and they got in the car, not stopping till they hit the airport. No one broke the silence until the return tickets were paid for, and it was her wife who asked.

“What about the house?”

“Sell it” She whispered, voice hoarse.

“But the things, the memori-” Her wife tried again.

“Sell it all. There isn’t one thing in that house, that I want to remember” She half yelled, and then wanted to cry. Her wife didn’t look angry, just sad. Helena pulled out her phone, and called a friend, who would get a hold of someone local and take care of it.

Samantha was going home, for good this time.

Wreckage

There was recently a rather large storm in my area, which took out a lot of trees, and a few houses, which is what inspired this weeks response to the Friday Picture Prompt Challenge on the Writer’s Mess. That and apparently a preoccupation about getting what you deserve, that will return again later in the week. This is the story of a woman whose life has fallen apart, but in the end things might not be quite so bad as she thought.


She sat in the car, in the pouring rain, looked out at the remains of her house and started to laugh. Wasn’t just the perfect representation of her life right now?

Her husband of 15 years had left her, having knocked up the secretary, and he had the gall to blame her for it.

He had tried to claim infidelity on her part, and that was what had hit her the hardest. She had always thought that he understood what he was signing up for when he married an openly ace woman, but it turned out he was just waiting for her to change her mind.

When she hadn’t, he assumed that she she was seeing someone else, and that it was only fair that he get his own action. He said he wanted kids that were actually his, and not her lover, and the blows kept raining down.

He said he knew that she would want kids eventually, and had completely ignored her warnings that she had no intention of reproducing. She had finished out the day staring across the room at a stranger, and let him win.

She signed away the house, she got her stuff, some money, and her dahlia’s from the front garden. As she sat there staring at the wreckage from the storm, that used to be their house, she couldn’t help but laugh.

The only thing untouched, her front garden, where a single red dahlia bloomed. It seemed she had won after all.