Like millions of other Americans, my name is on 342,751 mailing and telemarketer lists. As a member of this elite group, I’m entitled to thousands of “special offers” not available to the general public.
Since turning sixty-two, my options have been upgraded to include end-of-life opportunities. First comes low-cost life insurance, followed by a pre-paid funeral plan, and if I act now, they’ll throw in a reverse mortgage—turning the entire deal into a package they call the “Moment of Mortality Trifecta.”
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our sponsor who offers a FREE photo prompt each week just for playing along, is Divinity Smurf Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the ensemble of practicing fic-titioners in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
copyright – Ronda Del Boccio
The stakeout was Blockson’s idea—as was the set-up.
Lowry hated the long hours of watching and waiting, but catching the mime red-handed was his only ticket to reinstatement on the police force.
Blockson had posed as a homeowner and casually mentioned (three times) his rare 1936 invisible guitar to the cable installer, Theo Updyke, a known blabbermouth and cousin to the suspect.
If all went according to plan, it would only be a matter of time until the mime showed up to nibble the irresistible bait.
“There she is,” whispered Blockson. “Let’s move in. Got the invisible handcuffs ready?”
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
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.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
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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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