Just Between Friends

Mondays Finish the Story prompt for this week is, “Are you laughing at me?”

Below is the picture prompt.  If you would like to participate click the link here.

Thanks to Babso2you for the Monday Finish the Story challenge.

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

Just Among Friends

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Well, you are the one swooning like a school girl over yellow orchids. They are not even roses.” Juanita says as she sits at the table drinking her coffee, and watching her best friend, Vernice, place the orchids in a vase.

“Roses are overrated.  I’d rather have an orchid any day.”

“Umm… Hmmm…..” Juanita says peering over her mug.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Vernice says as she eyes her friend while arranging the flowers.

“I’m enjoying watching you squirm. Ms. We’re just friends. I’m too old for a serious relationship, you said. You made it sound like you had one foot in the grave. And now you are sprinting around like a teenager”

“I am not.” Vernice’s cell phone rings. She answers in a high pitch voice, and her face lights up.

“Hello Henry. Yes, I love the orchids.”

Juanita bursts out laughing.

*149 words



A Performance of a Lifetime

It’s time for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers again.  I didn’t intend to, but it looks like I have a series going on.  It is about a girl who has found herself kidnapped, and thrown into human trafficking. Human trafficking knows no age limit, gender, or socioeconomic boundaries.  It is modern day slavery.

I am thinking about expanding these stories, but haven’t decided yet.  Let me know what you think.  I love your comments.  Having a blog has been such a positive experience for me. I have enjoyed each, and everyone of you.

If you would like to participate please click here.

If you would like to read the first story in this series, click here.

You will find the second story in the series here.

© Vanessa Rodriquez

A Performance of a Lifetime

Women and men dressed in business attire rush past me. At the train station, everyone is rushing to make their commute. I’m walking with our caravan clad in the finest fashion has to offer.

Our cover is, we are models headed to a shoot. My name is Giselle (it’s really Olivia). Every day it is instilled in me to walk like a model, and talk Italian. I watch as Pietro, my John, takes care of transportation for us.

He purchased me for $10,000.00 on the island. The other girls tell me that’s the rate for a virgin.

During the day I am tutored in Italian, and at night I am mauled by businessmen, and celebrities. I am always at someone’s apartment. Most of the girls are at shanty brothels.

“You are fortunate.” Natalie, my roommate, said.

“Being home is fortunate. This is hell.”

I board the train, and take my place beside Pietro.

“Take this.” Pietro hands me a pill. I don’t know what it is, but I know better than to say no.

I don’t remember the train ride. Later, Pietro hands me another pill, and I begin my night.

*191(I went over a little.)

© 2015 All Rights Reserved @Silverstein Potter and Other Fictitious Ramblings

Never Trust a Writer


*It’s time for Monday’s Finish the Story. If you would like to participate in Monday’s finish the story click on the picture above.

Thanks to Barbara W. Beacham for hosting it.

The prompt beginning sentence is-” They followed the buffaloes and their babies along the trail heading into the woods.”  The picture prompt is below.  Here is my story.

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

They followed the buffaloes and their babies along the trail heading into the woods. The writer wrote in the next scene.

“Whoa. I’m not following buffaloes and their babies. I know what happens in stories to people who follow buffalos.” Henry, the writer’s character, said.

“Is that so? What happens?”

“They get attacked by Indians.”

“It’s my story.”

“I lost everything I had in Chapter One. I had a gunshot wound in Chapter Four, and now I’m following buffaloes in Chapter Eight. Let me write the next scene.” Henry said.

“Absolutely not.” The writer said.

“What’s the matter? Scared you’ll get attacked by Indians?”

“Why don’t you just follow the buffaloes like the rest of the characters?”

“Why don’t you just write a scene without buffaloes?” Henry said.

“Very Well.”

They couldn’t follow the buffaloes because their beloved cowboy, Henry, was stricken with Cholera.

“Note to self, never trust a writer.”


First Friday Fictioneers Post is my Twenty-First Post (Woo-Hoo)

This makes my twenty-first post.  I am having so much fun taking part in the flash fiction challenges.  It is has been great being able to interact with many other like-minded bloggers.  I look forward to interacting with many more of you while continuing to grow as a writer.  My goal is to compose 365 post this year.  If I continue at this pace I will have shelled out many more than that goal.  No matter what,  I want to make it enjoyable and continue to meet many other wonderful bloggers.

Below is the photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers.  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the creator of the group as many of you know better than me.  Much thanks to her for continuing to provide prompts and assemble this group of writers.  I look forward to interacting with the Fictioneers in the future.

If you would like to take part in this Flash Fiction Challenge, you can click here for more information.  Below is my contribution to this challenge

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot


She tripped running up the stairs. She had to reach him. He took a nap every afternoon when he arrived home. It didn’t matter that he was fifteen. He was her blue-eyed baby boy.

The smoke was suffocating. When she reached the apartment, it was fully enflamed.

“Mam, you have to come with me.” The firefighter said as he grabbed her trembling arm.

“My baby is in there.” She screamed.

“Let me do my job.”

She didn’t remember the firefighter carrying her down the stairs. All she remembered was the sound of her baby’s voice.

“Momma, I made it out.”

99 words

Nosy Neighbors

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

Monday Finish the Story Challenge. The link is here.

The neighbors were not happy about my choice of yard art. Monday morning I awoke to the sound of someone pounding on my door. I hurried before whoever it was broke their hand.

When I opened the door, I think every neighbor within two miles was standing there.

“Mrs. Cortines, you are in violation of code 62 of the Homeowner’s Association agreement.”

“Why Mr. Hines, not on your daily rendezvous I see. Does Mrs. Hines know about that?” Mr. Hines started to shift his feet and divert his eyes.

“I didn’t think so. It’s so nice to see you, Mr. Fulton. How is your black market sales going from the garage?” Mr. Fulton glared at me and then turned around and walked away.

One by one my neighbors turned to leave. They didn’t linger around to see what else I would say. Strange thing is, they never mentioned my yard art again.


Let me know what you think. I love hearing from y’all. I’ve put the link again below if any of you want to participate.


I’ve Been Watching You

Flash Fiction for Inspiring Writers has a flash fiction picture prompt every week.  Below is the picture for this week(I’ve caught the tail end of it-I’m such a newbie 🙂 ).  I thought it would be fun to participate and to share it with any of you that are interested.  As always I love comments, so feel free to leave me one.  I will comment back. If you want to participate their site is here.

flash fiction April
Dawn M Miller

The white van has already made four trips to Mr.Palmers house. Each time girls, no older than thirteen, are dropped off and shuffled inside the house.

This isn’t the first time the van has appeared. Ever since Mr. Palmer moved in, there’s been a lot of traffic.

I inch closer trying to get a better look, and hit the wind chimes.

Mr. Palmer looks in my direction. He makes a phone call. Someone hits me from behind.


I hear moaning. I realize that I’m the one moaning. I touch my head. It’s bleeding. Where am I? Has my mother figured out I’m missing yet? Has she called the police?

The door opens and Mr. Palmer strolls in.

“I’ve been watching you for a while. You’ll make me lots of money.”

He closes the door and I start to cry.

*141 words