Flash Fiction Friday 2022 – Week 51
Flash Fiction Friday continues in 2022. New pieces appear every Friday on my Patreon throughout the year. The minimum pledge to read them before anyone else is $3 per month. Find out what they’re all about and read some excerpts from the latest update in this post.
Excerpts
Dear Andrew
Dear Andrew,
by the time you read this letter, either you’ve already discovered the truth or you’re about to, so allow me to come clean as I don’t want to do this old song and dance any longer. Yes, it’s true. I’m not your wife. The real Brenda was replaced a long time ago and she’s not coming back.
Before you convince yourself I killed her, let me say I didn’t. Her passing was an accident I had nothing to do with but it was also an opportunity to get close to you. You need to understand that the replacement was scheduled to happen one way or another. Her demise only sped up our timetable, and in that regard, it was for the best. This will give you no real solace, but from what I’ve been told, she didn’t suffer and I honored her memory the best way I could during the time we were together. Forgive me if I didn’t always succeed. I’m only human after all.
(…)
Go Deeper
Devon stopped typing furiously to catch a breather. The writing session had been going on for over five hours straight, a record.
The open Word document was filled with an emotional tapestry, unlike anything he had ever created before. As his eyes roved through the digital pages, he felt the primal flow rushing back to him again and smiled. Where had all that energy come from and why couldn’t he tap into it more often?
Both questions were difficult to answer, yet he could hazard a guess. Melanie was indirectly responsible for his sudden inspiration, sweet Melanie with a heart of gold and a siren’s voice who always had the right words to say even if he didn’t always understand the mesmerizing subtleties hidden in them. As enthralling as she was, she was also the most modest person he knew, never taking credit for her actions, and not asking for anything in return, either. Whenever he asked her what she had done, the answer was always,
“Nothing. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
(…)
Unforgettable Dinner
(…)
Quentin finished his strange bastardization of a holiday classic and looked at his parents as well as the other relatives sitting at the table as if waiting for applause. None came except from his girlfriend Jasmine, the one who had convinced him to perform that night.
“Wasn’t he great?” the busty redhead asked, a mischievous glint on her mistletoe-green eyes.
“Hmmm, dear…” Quentin’s father interlocked his fingers under his square chin. “You’re not a singing instructor like he told us, right?”
“No, Mr. Daniels, I’m not.”
“Then what do you do for a living?” Quentin’s mother intervened, already dreading the answer.
“I’m a Hypnodomme…” she replied, snapping her fingers.
(…)
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