Yup, it’s flash fiction time again!
As always, this is based around Laurence Simon’s weekly challenge for the 100 word-stories podcast. It’s a great exercise for writers – writing a good drabble is a lot harder than it appears, but is still a “small” task so you can get around that idea of it being too much work. And then you get a random (and often bizarre) writing prompt to shoehorn you out of writer’s block! Go read the rules for the Weekly Challenge and participate! Heck, Chris the Nuclear Kid does when he remembers to (and I can drag him away from video games)!
The player below should have the audio for this week; if it doesn’t, you can find the audio here to download. You can also read and hear the rest of the entries at the 100 Word Stories podcast site!
I am now – when I remember to do so – updating these in a podcast feed (dubbed “Radio Free Steven the Nuclear Man” by Laurence). You can subscribe with this link (https://feeds.feedburner.com/Ideatrash) in your podcatcher or phone.
John and Richard stared across no man’s land toward the enemy position.
Richard’s hands flittered, filled with nervous energy, across his weapon.
“We’re in a bad position, sir.”
John gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t talk like that, soldier. We will persevere.”
“But, the enemy is heavily fortified, and-“
“Nevermind that. Ready your weapon!” John gripped his, white-knuckled. “Charge!”
The two leapt together out of the trench and assaulted the enemy fortification.
When John’s mother opened the door to check on the sleepover, a cloud of feathers still floated over the four boys and the shattered remains of the pillow fort.
“I won’t leave,” she said, her voice barely audible over clinking glasses and murmuring diners.
“I… I mean…” His voice splutters, echoing derailed thoughts. “I thought this was nice. Here. Us.”
The soft words of her reply slammed into him. “I have too much back home.” She reached across the table and put her left hand on his twisting fingers. He glanced at her fingers, bare of both wedding band and the ring he’d given her. “I can’t leave there.”
“You won’t leave there,” he said. “You won’t leave him.”
Her silence was that of bloodied feathers falling on snow.