Captain Ezekiel Talbert mustered his men outside the bastion of Fort Frederick. A war party of French aligned Shawnees had been spied near the Potomac and he and his detachment of the Maryland Forces were going to intercept them before they could get up to any mischief.
His trusty band of volunteers were going to more than enough to deal with the Shawnee threat, after all they were well equipped with the latest Brown Bess muskets from Japan, and most understood the rudiments of Bland’s Manual. Now all he needed was for his sergeant to finish his phone call.
January 14: Flash Fiction Challenge – In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about dressing up. It can be a child or another character. Be playful or go where the prompt leads!
Miranda’s profile on the escort site was constructed in every detail to get the attention of Big Hank McCloud the head of the local syndicate. Weeks of research, and a knowledge of his “tastes” assured that the call would come.
Miranda arrived at the hotel attired in a revealing black dress and some stilettos that were to die for. When she was frisked by the bodyguard, she let out a little moan just to play up the persona.
Once alone in the room with the boss, the assassin struck. Did I mention that the stilettos were to die for?
The name of the photographer and the character are coincidental as the piece was written before the picture was found.
Some called it “the little house on the prairie,” and others the latrine or head. But that little corrugated steel shack was the prime real estate in camp. Yes, the “head-shed” or battalion headquarters might’ve been more prestigious, and the CP tent that served as the chapel might have been more revered. Many would tell you that the chow hall was the most important structure in camp, or the dugouts and bunkers if there was a mortar attack going down. But, truth be told, when several days of backed up C-rations called, no place else was going to compare.
Ferdinando was put simply a party animal. He was renowned for his decadence. For Nando late nights followed by champagne breakfasts, and sirloin lunches were the norm. But when his lifestyle started to catch up with him in his late forties, he decided to bite the bullet and see the doctor.
The medical advice was clear, he would have to get more sleep and eat a more nutritious and balanced diet.
Well after consulting his dietary plan he decided that “avocado toast” sounded a good breakfast option. How bad could a slice of avocado be in a martini anyway?
Did you know that in these very woods is the remains of a cemetery from the French and Indian War? There was a fort here, and a strange disease swept through the garrison, killing over a third of them. Only Captain Nellis was given a headstone, all the others had simple wooden markers. The exact location has been lost to memory, but occasionally some hunter or hiker will come upon the stone. But it’s never there when they return. But not only does move, but whoever discovers it seems to get a fever and an odd rash shortly afterwards.
Six-year-old, Alice was dancing with her doll to the music on the radio. Suddenly, the music stopped and a man’s voice said, “We interrupt this programme with an important bulletin. The United States’ fleet in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii has been attacked by air and naval forces of the Empire of Japan. I repeat, the American fleet has been attacked in Hawaii.”
Alice ran to tell her mother.
“Mother, the Umpire of Japan attacked Hawee.”
Her mother instantly went pale, and stared out into their Nebraska pasture.
“Mother, where is Hawee?” the little girl asked.
“Too close, Darling. Too close.”
Flash Fiction Challenge: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes something heard on the radio. It can be from any station or era. What is heard? A song, announcement, ad? Think of how radio connects people and places. Go where the prompt leads!
“How did this happen? You saw the alert, and should have known better,” the superintendent scolded.
“I did my best, and as far as your message, I never got a chance to read it,” the manager retorted.
“And why, might I ask, didn’t you read it?” the superintendent snapped.
“The wind! You sent a message warning all camp managers to evacuate the campers to the solid structures – based on the weather report back in Capital City. You didn’t take into consideration that those of us on the ground, out here in the west, got the storm five hours earlier.”
Vincent sat at his easel and squinted at the majesty of the queens in his vase. The Paris series had been a success. Now a year later, Arles beckoned. The pot – simple, two-toned, was a perfect tool, as was the plain wall of the studio.
“How many sunflowers?” he questioned to himself. “Ten. A dozen more or less.” He grinned to himself. “The public needn’t know how many are actually in the vase, only the number in my mind.”
With that Vincent picked up his palette and began to mix his yellows, as the lemon queens awaited their day.
Hollywood made it look easy. How hard is it to serve you country? Okay, they shave your head and you have a few weeks of some sadist shouting at you, but then you graduate, and go out and do the job. Well that’s what some people think anyway.
What the films don’t show you is the near sleepless nights as you take watch so others can sleep peacefully. They don’t show you the shivering as you sit soaked to the skin in the face of a steady wind. You don’t feel the sand between your teeth. That’s true grit.