Flash! Friday Micro Fiction Contest Entry 8-1-14
De Words Jus’ Won’t Come
160 Words without title
“Yes, James, Harold is waiting for me beyond the door. Don’t you worry your little head about me, I’ll be fine.”
“Aww, ma’am, I done tolt you b’fore, my head ain’t little. It holds all dem mem’ries of takin’ care o’ you and Mr. Harold for nigh on to 65 years. You needed dis ole man. It’s hard to stop worryin’. Who’s gonna need this ole man now?”
“I know, James, you took good care of us. We never had any complaints.
“I have to go now, James. Thanks for everything you’ve done for Harold and me. I will never forget you.”
“Oh, Miss Lucinda… de words jus’ won’t come.”
“Good-bye, James. I’m walking on, now. I can’t keep Harold waiting.
“Do you hear the singing? The house is just as I remember it—Harold, where…”
“Lucy, you’re here at last! I’m in the garden.”
“Oh, Harold, It’s all so wonderful!
“The angels are singing our song.”
By Martha Jane Curtis
Flash!Friday Micro Fiction Contest Entry 9-12-14
The Battle Looms
158 Words without title
“Stupid bird! Can’t you take a break, already?”
One final coo, then all was silent. Too silent. Dread washed over me as moon light flooded through the window, illuminating two empty cots, one on each side of me.
I leapt from my cot and out the open window, stopping for nothing. Shoes will slow me down, anyway. No matter they left before me. The two figures zoomed in toward me as the space between us narrowed.
Stretching into the jump, I eliminated the space between us and landed between Philip and Juan. Now we ran as one—the battle lay before us—just over the next rise.
One final burst of speed carried us up the hill and propelled us over the top as we raced for the bunker and our weapons.
Back to back we stood, guns loaded. We walked ten paces, turned and emptied our airsoft pistols at each other.
Me one—them zero. Round two.