A couple of more offerings for Flashy Fiction. Check them out for some great prompts.
It was all an evil plot to driver her mad. She hated all of it; being inside, parading around in a dress, getting pictures taken, old aunts hugging her close, ugh. Being inside though, that was the worst.
Right now there were three boys outside (and one mangy yellow cur of a dog) wondering where she was. They were supposed to be going to the creek today; everything was planned. Jimmy and Bobby were bringing the poles, Sam had the bait and she had the net. If she did not get out of here quick they would leave without her.
Her mother had not told her about this little family get together after church. It had to have been on purpose, knowing she would have snuck off otherwise. Now she was trapped. Father had caught her three times trying to get out a door. Each time he just smiled and headed her back into the gauntlet.
She stood for the picture, even smiled, in the hopes that it would serve as penance and get her released. But it was too late; she had seen them through the window heading down the walk out of town. Bobby had looked back once and the dog kept stopping and sniffing the air, like he was trying to find her.
She settled into the chair in the corner of the room, hoping to be unnoticed. She stared, transfixed, as the room began to change around her. Trees came into focus in the living room and there was a stream where the kitchen was. The door beside the fireplace melted into the garden gate and the sounds of the woods filled her ears.
Her father watched her as she dozed off in the chair, wondering about the playful smile on her sunburned face.
A Night Out
“Wake up! C’mon, let’s go. Need to be movin’ on.”
“What? Oh, damn!”
“Yea, I’m guessing that bright light smarts, don’t it. Get on your feet, pal. I don’t want to be bothered with running you in, but I can’t just leave you here either.”
“Um, yea. Where…?”
“Man, that must have been some night. Been a lot of years since I pulled one of those. Heard the Red Horse will do that to you. Crazy place.”
“The Red Horse? Yea, that sounds familiar. How did you …?”
“Stamp is right there on the back of your hand, son. Kind of hard to miss.”
“Oh, yea. So it is. Where am I?”
“Seventeenth Street, between Downing and West Auburn. Lucky you picked this stairwell too. This place is abandoned. If you had tried to sleep it off one over from here and that little oriental woman would have beat the hell out of you with her broom.”
“No, would not have wanted that. Oh, boy.”
“Steady there, hold on to the wall. Not sure how you got down here without killing yourself. Maybe you do need a few hours in the drunk tank.”
“No, no, I’m good. Just need a cab and a shower. Maybe some coffee.”
“HAHA, I’ll bet. A few aspirin, too. All right, pal. You seem to be harmless. Head on home. Just remember that Atlanta’s finest let you off when the FOP collection guy comes around.”