Our gracious host, Rochelle,
encourages us to be creative
my writing a story in 100 words
or less using the photo prompt
below. This is Friday Fictioneers
and this is my 100 word story.
Tag: Abuse
A Dangerous Profession: Conclusion
Written for OLWG, FOWC and
Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge.
This is the conclusion to my story.
Another World
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Our host Rochelle
asks us to use the photo below as inspiration
to write creatively in 100 words or less while
making every word count. This is my flash.
Things were easier then, life was different. Kids felt safe in their little bubbles. I’d cycle to my piano lessons, cutting through the empty lot without a shred of fear.
I’d ring the bell for my lesson; if my teacher didn’t answer immediately, I’d wait on the bench. One time I waited so long, I was about to leave when the door flew open and a girl came running out, sobbing, her clothes a disheveled mess. My teacher called out after her.
My only reason for ever feeling fear was the way my piano teacher looked at me that day.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “Wash Away Those Years” by Creed
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for Nancy ~ The Sicilian Storyteller, Nancy (The Sicilian Storyteller), The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk, and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
When Push Comes To Shove: The Continuing Story of Harvey and Fiona
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked
to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo
below as inspiration. This is my 4th story about Harvey
and Fiona; for my previous stories, please click here.
Early each morning on her way to work, Fiona passed the busy bakery in the heart of town. She loved the shamrock-green storefront and the delicious aroma of baked goods, and imagined herself working there.
Maneuvering the heavy pressing machines at her job took its toll on Fiona; she was exhausted and complained of backaches. Harvey barked that she better toughen up because no way was she quitting that job. And for the first time, he slapped her.
On Sunday morning Fiona asked Harvey to bring down the mixing bowl from the top shelf in the kitchen so she could make an apple pie. Grousing, but inwardly delighting at the prospect of dessert, Harvey took a long swig of his beer and got the stepladder out of the closet. As he started to climb, Fiona managed to hoist a five pound sack of apples, grimacing at the awful pain in her back, and bashed Harvey as hard as she could on the back of his head. He fell backwards onto the kitchen floor, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. He would never slap her again.
Fiona tore open the sack of apples, dumped them into the colander on the counter and shoved the empty sack into the trash. She looked at Harvey’s dead body; blood had pooled under his head and she felt sick to her stomach. Fiona vomited in the sink, then washed her face and hands; she lifted the receiver of the wall phone and called the police.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Push Comes To Shove” by Van Halen.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Stench of Cowards
This was written in response to John’s March 14th “Writer’s Workshop Prompts” at The Sound Of One Hand Typing, meeting two of his prompts: an eight-sentence post based on the word “respect”. I write long sentences!
Not too long ago I brought my car to the dealer for routine maintenance and since it was going to be a quick appointment, I opted to wait in the customer’s lounge rather than go home and come back when the car was ready; apparently, quite a few other people had the same idea because the waiting area was quite full.
Sometimes I’ll find myself engaged in conversation with an interesting person but most times I prefer to wait in quiet, reading my emails or making notes for a story; this particular day, since the waiting area was full, I had no choice but to sit next to a woman and her little boy, approximately 3 years old.
The first thing I noticed about the woman was the hostility and impatience that shot out of her like a machine gun and the primary recipient of her nasty temperament was her little boy; she seemed to take great pleasure in taunting and teasing him and reprimanding him, both verbally and physically.
I was very uncomfortable with her behavior and found it extremely difficult to stay out of the situation but if I expect people to respect my boundaries, I need to show the same respect to them, however, this woman seemed to be inviting someone to say something; obviously no one wanted trouble so everyone kept their eyes averted, heads down and mouths shut, but the atmosphere in the room was tense.
The final straw came when the woman reached into her purse, pulled out a granola bar and began eating while her little boy stood at her knees whining because he wanted something to eat, too; the woman told him that was too bad because he already had his snack and the granola bar was HERS, and, of course, the child threw himself onto the floor and began crying at which point the woman bent over in her seat and slapped the boy several times on the side of his head, causing him to scream out.
That was it for me and while the other people tsk’d and muttered and winced, I turned to the woman and said in a tone as matter-of-factly as if I was asking what time it was, “Please don’t hit your child” to which she yelled “Shut up, bitch, and mind your own fucking business!”, which wasn’t entirely unexpected but I was prepared.
I got up and left the room, fully aware of eyes on me, glaring at me and I could feel their resentment as if I was the wrongful party in this scenario who let that little boy down while they all sat mutely by and allowed the poor child to be mistreated; what’s more, I could feel that horrible woman’s eyes boring a hole in my back, acting the fool and flaunting her victory over a defenseless child.
When I returned a minute later with a policewoman to show her what was going on in front of people who chose to remain silent, the mood in the room immediately shifted and I was suddenly the hero with people actually applauding for me as if this was some kind of performance for their entertainment; I wanted to scream “Live by example, you fucking bastards!”, but I wouldn’t lower myself to their level and couldn’t get out of that room fast enough .… a room reeking of the stench of cowards with no self-respect.
NAR©2024
This is “Teach Your Children” by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
THE SLOW LEARNER
So that was it, then. She finally left him. After all those threats and tearful rants, she packed a bag and left.
Oh, this wasn’t the first time. Every week she’d get into a tizzy, start throwing things around the place, threatening to leave. But she never did.
She’d get as far as the front door, then stop, turn around and run back into his open arms. They’d fall on the bed and passionately make up, each one promising never to fight again, each one swearing their unending love. Always feeding off each other’s desperation.
It never ceased to amuse him, the look of shock on her face when he beat her each time after having sex. What a stupid, insipid cow. She never learned her lesson. The one thing he hated more than her rants was the fact that she was such a slow learner.
But this time’s different. She actually left him.
On the third morning, alone in their tiny apartment, he lit a cigarette and stared out the window. That’s when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. So, she couldn’t stay away after all. He didn’t even bother turning around when the door opened. He knew one look at her face, he’d want to bash it in.
Just as well. He never saw the gun as she ended his life.
“Police. There’s been a shooting. Send someone round. Yes, the phone booth by Miller’s Road.”
And she hung up and put a bullet in her head.
NAR © 2023
250 Words
This is Cher and “Bang Bang”
SILENT TEARS
Pamela sat huddled in the corner of the school office, her hands tightly clutching the sweater of her school uniform around her. A few buttons on her blouse were missing and the sleeve was torn at the shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes swollen from crying and she chewed her bottom lip nervously. No one paid any attention except to toss an occasional accusatory glance her way.
She ran her fingers through her dark hair, realizing her pony tail had come undone. She sniffled and wiped her nose on a tissue in the pocket of her sweater. Staring down at her penny loafers, she was startled by the sudden shrill ringing of the phone on the secretary’s desk.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir” the secretary said into the phone receiver, then hung up and called out “Pamela, Principal Hoffman will see you now.”
Pamela rose slowly and gathered her school books, still clutching her sweater. “Quickly, Pamela! You mustn’t keep Principal Hoffman waiting!” the secretary snapped at her.
Pamela entered the principal’s office and was shocked to see the drama coach Mr. Booker there. She quickly looked away, her face turning crimson. She felt naked standing there before them, their lecherous eyes staring at her.
“Well, Pamela, do you know why you’re here?” asked Principal Hoffman.
Pamela looked down at the floor shaking her head ‘no’.
“Look at me and answer the question, you insolent little slut!” yelled the principal, aroused by the feelings he was experiencing for yet another woman-child standing trembling before him.
Tears ran down Pamela’s cheeks as she looked at both men, the smug, loathsome expression on Mr. Booker’s face filling her with dread.
He slowly walked up to Pamela until he was close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. “You filthy liar. You know exactly why you’re here” Booker spat out. “You came to me backstage after play rehearsal, rubbed up against me and ripped open your blouse.” He reached out and grabbed her chin. “Admit it now before you get in more trouble!” and obscene thoughts of all the things he’d like to do to Pamela raced through his mind. He was repulsive.
Pushing his hand off her face, Pamela cried out “No! I didn’t do anything! You did! You’re the liar, not me!”
Mr. Booker caught hold of her wrist in his large hand. “Then explain why some of your buttons are missing?” The teacher dared her to speak.
Pamela said nothing at first, then looked into Mr. Booker’s dark eyes and yelled “Because you’re the one who tore my blouse, you pervert!”
Booker raised his hand to slap her but Principal Hoffman banged his fist on the desk. “Pamela, this is a Christian school and we do not tell lies nor do we act in promiscuous ways. Now admit what Mr. Booker said is true.”
She remained silent and shook her head in defiance.
“Fine, Pamela. You’re dismissed. We will be calling your parents this evening to inform them of your disgusting behavior. How disappointed they will be to hear you are following in your sister’s salacious habits. Now, get out!”
Pamela left the office and ran home. She knew her parents wouldn’t return from work for another few hours. She threw herself onto her bed and called her older sister. “Mia” she cried into the phone.
“Pammy, what’s wrong?” Mia asked.
All Pamela said was “Mr. Booker.”
Mia’s heart sank and she felt sick to her stomach. “That bastard! Listen, Pammy” Mia said. “Mom and Dad didn’t believe me and they won’t believe you either. There’ll be hell to pay when Principal Hoffman and Mr. Booker spew their lies to Mom and Dad. Listen, Pammy. Change out of your uniform and toss it in your backpack with some clothes. Don’t take too much. We want it to look like you were never home. Walk as calmly as you can to the bus stop on the corner and use your school pass to get on the bus to Journal Square. From there, switch to a PATH train to the end of the line in Hoboken. I’ll be at the terminal waiting to pick you up; you remember my car is a blue CRV? Someone might be able to ID you getting on the bus to Journal Square but they’re likely to lose track of you after you switch to the train to Hoboken. You’ll be safe with me and Ronnie, Pammy. Don’t worry; we’ve got big plans to get out of this hell hole. where we can be safe.”
Pamela did exactly as her sister said. She left her house and got on the bus to Journal Square. She didn’t see anyone and she never looked back. When she finally arrived in Hoboken, she spotted her sister’s car across the street. She ran to it and jumped into the passenger seat in front.
Without even a glance in her sister’s direction, Pamela buckled her seat belt and breathlessly exclaimed “Oh, Mia. I’m so glad to be here.” When the doors locked automatically, Pamela looked up. To her horror her sister Mia wasn’t in the driver’s seat; it was her boyfriend, Ronnie, and he was waving a very sharp knife dangerously close to Pamela’s face. Pamela always had a bad feeling about Ronnie when her sister first hooked up with him but Mia wouldn’t listen to anything people had to say.
“Why, hello Pammy. I’m so glad you’re here, too. Look at you, all grown up now.” Very slowly Ronnie traced the outline of Pam’s neck with his knife and popped off the top button of her blouse, then the second and the third. He stared at her exposed bra as he rubbed his hard crotch. “Oh yeah, sweetness. You’re getting me all excited. Yes sir. We’re leaving here and driving down south where no one will find us. We’re all gonna have us a whole lotta fun.” He reached over and ran his rough hands across her breasts. “I bet you taste like sweet Georgia peaches.”
It was then that Pamela heard moaning coming from the back seat and turned to see Mia on the floor; she was bound and gagged and wearing only her underwear. Just as the sister’s terrified eyes locked, Ronnie tossed a blanket over Mia and drove off.
Ronnie flipped on the radio and started singing along to a country song as Pamela looked straight ahead and wept silently.
NAR © 2023
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