New Year’s Eve Flash Bash from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie 31.12.16

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New Year’s Eve Flash Bash: Here’s what you’ll find if you visit Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, and check out my Flash Bash. A buffet table of 5 sorts of flash fiction to sample. Why not stop by and join the party – it will go past midnight to be sure.

Welcome to a New Year’s Eve Flash Bash. Tonight, I’m offering up a buffet table of flash fiction for you to sample from. I hope there is one that piques your interest.

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Flash One: In 25 words or less: Using one of the photos provided, write a story in 25 words or less. Beginning, middle and end.

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Or Flash Two: Tweet-tweet: Using one of the photos provided, write a tale of no more than 142 characters (thanks to Kat of like mercury colliding and her Twittering Tales for inspiration). Use this handy character counter when composing.

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Or Flash Three: Selfies from the Edge: Take a selfie, post it and a piece of flash fiction (100 to 150 words) based on your picture. Include the selfie in your post.

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Or Flash Four: Traditional Fare: Using one of the photos provided, write a story of 100 to 150 words. (Thanks to Priceless Joy of FFfAW, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Friday Fictioneers, and Al of Sunday Photo Fiction for inspiration)

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Or Flash Five: Pot Luck: Choose a photo (yours or someone else’s – give accreditation) and write a piece of flash fiction 75 to 200 words based on the photo.

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You’ll be able to link up to the prompt page and click on a Mr. Linky connection.

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Since this is my party, my rules, you can submit your flash bash entries after midnight. And, one more champagne-induced indulgence: 75 to 200 words will work fine tonight – I’ll be counting down not up!

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The idea is to have fun with a few different forms of flash – only a sampling of the many that are out there in the creative blogosphere.

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Wishing you a bright, brilliant and flash{y} 2017. Let’s write together.

All photos: (c) Lorraine (click on some imagines for larger versions)

 

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#noirwednesday: the halfway house

Picture by: Stephen Tanham

If you would take a hot air balloon ride with me over the intermountain valley, the geography below is like a crazy quilt wafting on a clothesline. Bright colours of villages; special patterns of different crops; shades of woods green; aqua of lakes. The cross-stitched thin line of fences, embroidered spider web of roads; lattice work of canals and rivers. The activities of man against the backdrop of a still existing natural world.

As we take our ride, birds salute, farmers’ wives and children wave, wind carries us close enough down to smell the wildflowers. Below us a cacophonous kaleidoscopic landscape. Except for what would appear, in this metaphor, as a 1/2 white 1/2 black square exactly in the middle of our quilten land.

That square represents the Half Way Coffee House – halfway between heaven and hell where God, Satan and their minions meet to discuss matters concerning man.

Visitors from Hell feel at home with the steaming espresso makers and acrid coffee grinds. The hissing and pounding perfect ambience.

Guests from above appreciated the whipped cream Frappuccino’s; slim soya milk lattes, the “do something good for the world posters”

Soft coaches and chairs covered in a discreet black and white check are scattered around the room.Tables are set up for games such as cards and chess as they really do play  for the souls of the dead and all that.

From the out side the Half Way Coffee House crumbling customs house when, in medieval times, the town was two municipalities. The idea was a man in trade going to check on his shipment would pay for the privilege to cross over without getting wet, and pay the same upon return, or only duty stamps that ran in the rain would be affixed. In those days of climate change, it rained a lot. And since money is the root of all evil; giving the way to grace, when the building became available Satan and God signed a monthly pact concerning ownership, behaviour, devils or angels nights out, renting to death metal bands or choirs.

As for that unwitting tourist now that folks from beyond the mountains or visitor from another municipality or burg, enticed by the aroma of coffee wanders in, it all depends upon the door they enter as whether their prospects are looking up or down. It is said only those with a pre-determined date can smell the chia latte macchiato, and go in.

As we float our balloon, just that much closer, I smell . . . is that a caramel Frappuccino?

I need to thank Michael Grogan for creating Wayne and Greg, his denizens of heaven and hell. You’ll find their hilarious stories at his blogsite: Morpethroad. I riffed heavily off his idea! And to Chris de Burg for Spanish Trains and other Stories. And, special thanks, of course, to Steve Tanham for hosting #noirwednesday.

© tale weaver phylor