January 24: Flash Fiction Challenge

January 24, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about shards. You can write about the pieces, the item they once were, or who picks them up and why. Go where the prompt leads.

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The Mirror Cracked

The bathroom mirror was still cracked after all this time, a reminder of tempers lost and love destroyed.
Now suddenly the pieces broke free of the frame, crashing and smashing into the sink below. Was it an Omen?
Splinters, slithers and shards glistened up at him, each representing a part of what was.
The whole had been beautiful, reflective, serene. Now all that was left was an empty canvas having ejected the shattered remains.
It was a solid base upon which to build.
Taking the smallest piece, he put it in place.
Always best to start with the heart.

 

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About pensitivity101

I am a retired number cruncher with a vivid imagination and wacky sense of humour which extends to short stories and poetry. I love to cook and am a bit of a dog whisperer as I get on better with them than people sometimes! In November 2020, we lost our beloved Maggie who adopted us as a 7 week old pup in March 2005. We decided to have a photo put on canvas as we had for her predecessor Barney. We now have three pictures of our fur babies on the wall as we found a snapshot of Kizzy, my GSD when Hubby and I first met so had hers done too. On February 24th 2022 we were blessed to find Maya, a 13 week old GSD pup who has made her own place in our hearts. You can follow our training methods, photos and her growth in my blog posts. From 2014 to 2017 'Home' was a 41 foot narrow boat where we made strong friendships both on and off the water. We were close to nature enjoying swan and duck families for neighbours, and it was a fascinating chapter in our lives. We now reside in a small bungalow on the Lincolnshire coast where we have forged new friendships and interests.
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14 Responses to January 24: Flash Fiction Challenge

  1. Sadje says:

    Very good. Loved your optimism at the end.

  2. Forgive me posting this with too many words, I was going to edit it but am too busy. The title came to me when thinking about Winston Churchill and his black dog moods.

    IT WAS A BLACK DOG AFTERNOON.

    I woke this morning in a pool of vomit,
    on standing I lost my footing,
    cracking my head upon the table
    and splitting my lip on the cold stone floor.
    It was another black dog afternoon.

    I crawled my way to the broken mirror,
    to see myself with a cubist eye,
    staring back all black and jagged,
    some one looking, it wasn’t me.
    It was another black dog afternoon.

    I heard a voice say take your medication,
    pink first, then blue and white.
    Stop shouting with your megaphone,
    too loud, too loud, turn it down.
    It was another black dog afternoon.

    Some days the noise won’t go away,
    sharp ones and oblongs too,
    banging in my semi consciousness,
    flashes are worse, I hate that sound.
    It was another black dog afternoon.

    I’m scared to death of bloody voices,
    I need to shelter in my youth,
    the only place where I feel safe,
    snuggled in my blanket, warm.
    It was another black dog afternoon.

    The only way to escape the screaming,
    is the solace of a Prozac haze,
    more and more and more and more,
    until the terror fades away.
    It was my last black dog afternoon.

  3. Charli Mills says:

    Di, the base that can be rebuilt upon gives a sense of empowerment after the shattering. And, thanks for the redirections! You are a satellite ranch this week. 😉

  4. Pingback: Shards « Carrot Ranch Literary Community

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