Lacking Inspiration (fiction)

(Note from the Author:

The original story inspired by this prompt hit 2k words before I looked up to check. It’ll probably be submitted to an anthology somewhere because I didn’t have the heart to chop it in half, or rather, thirds since it wasn’t quite finished at that 2k mark.

That is why I like to participate in flash fiction rounds once in a while. I’ve discovered longer stories within the confines of a thousand words. Man Whore, for example, absorbed Double Trouble, as its opening chapter, and the flash piece, NyQuil Dreams, will be expanded for the third book in the Personal Demons series.

I doubt today’s flash fiction piece will go any further, but we can’t win them all. Or, can we?)

Not so long ago
You were more important
To me
Than that first
Cup of coffee in the
Morning, now that coffee
Mug holds a bitter brew that
Scalds my heart.

At one time
I would’ve given
To stop the hourglass of life
To hold you forever,
And then you became that sand,
Not counting time,
But scratching
And itching
Like wet feet drying at the beach.

Sand. Lame.

Hourglasses used to be cool analogies, but I can’t make the words work right.

I set down my pen and grab a highlighter, scratching over the few good lines in the poem. You broke my heart without even telling me you were angry, and now I cannot even string together words to explain how I feel.

The door opens and I tense, wondering if today is the day you tell me I offended you and how. I want to make things right between us, even though until this afternoon I did not know these things needed fixing. Your lips brush over my ear and I shiver despite my anxiety. Your sister already told me you accused me of sleeping around. She believed you.

I didn’t. I wouldn’t.

I still am not, even though you’ve turn your back to me each night, in our bed, for two weeks.

I still want to believe you wouldn’t make such accusations without confronting me first, without telling me to get out, without giving me a chance to defend, or explain, or love, you.

You ask how my day was and I, in turn, set down the highlighter and mentally turn over the hourglass. But, I can’t turn back time, and if I could I wouldn’t know where to start since you won’t talk to me. You talk about me, around me, behind my back, but not to me.

“I ran into your sister today,” I say slowly, watching your eyes. You look away. Guilt and shame fill your eyes but… “Why, baby? Why would you spread these rumors?”

You shout accusations. I fire back, defend myself. I am outgoing and you are shy. Every friend I have comes under fire as a thief of my heart, though my heart is bare on my sleeve, in your hands, dripping on your feet. It has always been yours and, even now, I cannot take it away.

“You’re the one I love,” I say softly, even as I realize I was never meant to win this argument. You are jealous of things beyond my control and you twist them to suit the bitterness you collect in your heart.

Like an hourglass
Dropped from a great height,
My heart shatters,
Scattering sand
Over the floor.

You will never
Pick up every last
And I will
Be whole


Like free flash fiction? Check out some of my fellow Silver Publishing authors also planning to flash you throughout the day Wednesday.

Manlove flashers:

Diane Adams – LM Brown – Lily Sawyer – R J Scott – Sui Lynn
Pender Mackie – Julie Lynn Hayes – Ryssa Edwards

Het flashers:
For more free fiction, check out my weekly serial, CRANK.

9 responses to “Lacking Inspiration (fiction)

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