Musing: Hand Full of Flash Fiction.

Something different today:   Three 100 word stories.   Tell me what you think:



Dresso walked down the alleyway, hands rolling, and scanned the painted stone walls with unease.

He had too many enemies.

The weight of the pistol in his holster weighed down his thoughts.   Shadows drew closer, suffocating.   Fingers of smoke reached from vents and brushed against his face.

He pulled his gun from its resting place and confirmed the bullets in the barrel.  As his eyes turned forward, the scene fell upwards.   Dark hands pulled him to the abyss, invoking a sense of weightlessness.

His body snapped and his eyes went dark.  His enemy was below.



Helga gazed lovingly into Daryl’s eyes.   She fluttered her eyelashes with a gentle blush at her cheeks.   He was perfect.

The way he moved.   The way his hands brushed against hers.  The way she was his in those moments made her shiver.  He ran a hand through his long blonde hair and pushed it behind an ear, letting out a breathy sigh.

He was always so restless, always so irresistible.  Every word that came from him was a song crafted specifically for her.  His eyes settled on hers and Daryl’s lips parted enticingly.  “I said: you’re thirty cents short, ma’am.”



The beast was relentless.   It padded behind me with claws extended and bulging eyes, all because I refused to be caged.   I stumbled onto all fours and pushed forward in desperation.   Hand over hand I regain my uneasy footing and I am away.

But it is futile; it is too large, too powerful.   It scoops me up with huge arms.  Its thick fur tries to suffocate me.   I cry out, incoherent, unable to form words.   My prison seems so fair now.

It twists and stretches me towards the wall to my captors.  They speak.  “I’m so sorry.  He’s a wanderer.”

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