This week’s story weighs in at 127 words, classifying it as Featherweight as opposed to the Mini Flyweight guideline of our guild. But I figured, “Hey, if Perry can get away with it, so can I.”
I’ll be leaving for North Carolina before daylight Thursday morning and won’t return until after 10 pm Friday night. So, I’m apologizing in advance for not replying to your comments or visiting other author’s blogs in a timely manner, but will do my best to catch up over the next twelve weeks.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the bouncer responsible for maintaining order in this establishment is Bella “Bone Crusher” Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. After which, scroll down to the blue In links critter and follow the links to other author’s blogs.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to cut you off.”
“Whaddya mean? I just got here.”
“Well, I’m sure it seems that way. Time really flies when you’re having fun.”
“Who said I was having fun? There’s more life at the county morgue than in this dump.”
“Now, now . . . let’s not get testy and resort to name calling. You can stay until you sober up—as long as you behave yourself.”
“Sober up? I haven’t ordered yet.”
“Ma’am, you were fuzzy-headed the moment you walked in. Now the whole room is blurry and starting to spin. You’re clearly intoxicated.”
“Who is this guy?” she asked the waitress.
“That’s Joe. He always stops in for a few shots before work.”
“What does he do?”
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
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I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
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