To call or not to call?


She used to be proud.

He said he would call her, so she would wait, but never call him before he made the promised call.

A day passed and no word from him. 2 days, 3, 4…. She has hurt, thinking he didn’t care.

She meets a friend at the mall, who asks about him. She says they’re not together anymore.

A few more days pass and a common friend calls her asking about it and saying he heard the ‘news’ from someone else and was very hurt himself.

She calls him and decides never to be proud again.



Many years pass and she’s on a relationship with someone else.

She has never forgotten the lesson from her past. Never forgiven herself for having hurt her first love.

So, she’s still living by the rule of not being proud, and even if her new current love said he’d call, if it takes too long, she just goes ahead and calls him herself.

A bit too much on his opinion, tough.

He gets tired. He says the spark is gone.  She’s too pushy, too much, too insisting. Sort of suffocating…

They break up. And humiliated, she’s hurt once again.


This post was written for the Flash Fiction Rodeo Contest #4.

The rules for contest #4 are to write 2 chapters of 99-words each (198 words total), telling a story that shows a scar. It can be memoir, other forms of creative non-fiction,  any genre of fiction or a BOTS (based on a true story).

This one is based on a true story. The first part at least. The second is fiction, as it never really happened, although it portraits a very real fear…

The winner for this contest was announced yesterday at the Carrot Ranch.

Congratulations to D. Wallace Peach!

Good job to all the participants!


Portuguese version: Ligar ou não ligar?

Fiction: Busy Bee

Thursday morning. Wake up.


Get up. Wake up the kids. Have breakfast. Get kids ready to school. Walk them to school.

Work from home. Automation won’t work, do it manually.

Stop to go to the doctor.

Come back to a meeting. Work non-stop until 3:25.

Bring suitcase down for hubby.

Pick up kids at 3:30.

Have lunch!

Drive kids to sports practice.

Stop at dry cleaner.

Back home, iron hubby’s shirts.


Fix dinner. Do the dishes.

Help hubby pack for his trip.

Read a bit. Go to bed.

And that migraine is still there until end of day Friday….

This post was written in response to the September 7th: Flash Fiction Challenge, hosted by Carrot Ranch


He is crossing the desert after the man who killed his father. The crossing is though, but the need for revenge keeps him going.

After days in open desert, he finally reaches a village.

The story of the murder and his seek for revenge travelled faster than he did, though, and the townsfolk knew who he was as soon as he entered town. They’re a peaceful folk and afraid of gunslingers.

He came armed with 2 Colt pistols and an  incredible amount of hatred.

They all run to hide inside their houses, waiting for him to pass and go on with his business.

When he entered the town’s Saloon, all he saw was an empty room. Not a single soul to serve him.

He poured himself a pint of beer, grabbed some jerky and sat down to eat before continuing on his journey.

“Coward pricks! It’s not them I’m after…. Well, at least I get free beer.”


This post was written in response to this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers , with photo prompt provided by myself, and contains 156 words.

The picture is of a saloon in Virginia City, Montana, which is an authentic wild west city, that had the buildings preserved to this date.
Today it’s more like a touristic attraction, but much more authentic than the “fabricated” ones.
The guys from our party all sat down and ordered beer.
They didn’t have jerky, though, just peanuts. And the shells were supposed to go to the floor. I guess it added to the spirit of the place. ;o)


Gunslinger is a word I learned recently. Having had watched the wild west movies all in  Portuguese as a child, I simply didn’t know the English word, until last year when I started reading The Dark Tower series by Stephen King. And that’s what inspired the crossing the desert image

“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.”
– Stephen King

To see other stories inspired by the same prompt,  click the blue frog below. 

The view

This has always been the view from my room. A pretty walled garden, full of roses. I can’t smell the roses, but that’s actually good, as I can’t stand their sweet smell. But I still like to view the view.

Last week, a new person moved in. It’s a lady who likes to paint. She’s now blocking my view!

Who does she think she is to block my view like that, standing all day in ‘my’ garden to paint her silly ugly paintings?

I’ll file a complaint! That cannot happen! This view is mine and I don’t want it changed! No painting ladies standing on the garden!


The nurse comes to check on Bathilda. She seems troubled lately. Ever since a new patient was admitted at the hospice.

This post has been written is response to the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, with photo prompt provided by Graham Lawrence, and contains 128 words.


To check other stories inspired by this prompt, click the froggie below.


It is her first hike ever.
Alina is in awe.

A funny butterfly crosses her way and she goes after it.
After a while, she reaches a clearing with a stunning waterfall. Fluttering all around the place are thousands of the same funny butterflies.

Then she realizes they’re no butterflies. They’re fairies! She knew they existed!
She’s excited, but suddenly notices she’s not close to her family anymore.

She starts crying and a fairy comes to help, taking a vial and pouring its contents onto Alina, who shrinks to the size of the fairy and gets tiny shiny blue wings.
They flutter over the trail searching for her family.

Mom is in tears when she finally finds Alina coming from behind a bush. She hugs her tightly.
Looking the girl’s back, she spots some blue glitter and tap it off.
Alina looks at it and dismisses saying:

“Oh, maybe just some… er… dust”

She looks at the fairy who has been waiting. The fairy blinks at her and flutters away. Their secret is still safe.


This post was written in response to the FFfAW, which this week features a picture of my own. Yay! Thanks Joy for taking my suggestion. 😉

It’s been interesting to see how my picture inspired so many people is no many different ways.

But although I was the one suggesting the picture, and although I had an idea of what I wanted to write about, this was the hardest so far.

Maybe because it was my own picture and I set even bigger expectations to myself???

I don’t know. All I know is that it took me a while to create the story and then, when I wrote it, it had 400 words, which is more than double the goal here.

Then, while trying to cut it down, power went off for a fraction of a second, but long enough to restart my computer and make me lose my unsaved work. Nooo…. 😦

So I had to do it again, cutting a lot (reference to the bridge?? gone!), to get to exact 175 words in the story.

This here was the result in the end. I hope you like it.

(and I may – NOT a promise, though – try to rewrite it longer again some day ;o)



Click the froggy below to see the other stories


Fiction in 50: Public Enemy Number One

The public was in awe.
The tricks performed by the magician were unbeliveably amazing.
Some were trying to explain the tricks, some were just accepting that magic may even exist.
Then it happened.
The mice chewed the loops that held the curtains, and the secret to the tricks was revealed.


This post was written in response to the Fiction in 50 July Challenge.


They were best friends ever since they can remember. It started at toddler years and their friendship only grew with time.
They would laugh together, cry together, suffer together, be happy together.
But time went by and their lives parted.

Each had their own families and had a great happy time with them.
She had a loving amazing husband and 3 wonderful kids.
He married the best wife of the world and with her he had two awesome boys.
But time was still going by and at some point, the time came that their families dismantled.

The best wife got sick and time was up for her.
The loving amazing husband was suddenly not so loving anymore and decided to spend the rest of his time loving someone else.
They had a hard time after that. Though times, actually.
But, as always, time went by and they got over the pain and back into their ordinary lives.

But all the time, they still had each other at the depths of their minds.

Then one day, they meet again.
It was the birthday party of one of her daughter’s best friend. The birthday girl was dating a new boy and the families were all invited. Actually, in boyfriend’s case, just the dad, because mom’s time on earth had ended long ago.
They look at each other and see time flying backwards all the way to their childhood together.
“Hey, long time no see”.
“Yes, I missed you big time.”
“Me too.”

They held hands for the first time in ages, and from that time on, they never went apart again.
Their time had finally come!


This post was written in response to the Literary Lion writing challenge, with the week’s word being Time.

Forever mine

Summer used to be on my great-grandmother’s house. A few miles from it there was a beach. It was a rocky beach and at the end of it there was a promontory that was covered up with water at high tide, leaving a few rocks surface like islands.

The last island was my hideout. I would walk there just before high tide and wait until water would isolate me from the beach.

Time passes and so does my great-grandmother. The house is sold and I don’t go back for several years.

Adulthood comes and life is tough. I have no one, I feel solitude. I want to hide again.

One day I’m on a business trip, driving by the beach of my childhood, and see that the promontory is for sale. For sale?

Well… I buy it. I build a fortress in there. That’s my new-old hideout. Forever mine now.


This post was written in response to the FFfAW Challenge of this week and the story contains 150 words.
Photo prompt provided by TJ Paris.


Click on the froggie below to see other entries

Even if briefly

Rain has filled a big pail in the backyard with water.
Then the frost comes and the water becomes a big, cilindrical block of ice.

One day, we need the pail inside. I drag it in and warm it up a little bit so the ice comes out.

I look at the beauty of that crystalized water, and that’s when I notice it.
It’s looking back at me.
I don’t know exactly what it is at first, but it pleads me to set it free.
I go to the toolbox, grab a hammer and chizel and start working at the ice block.
I do it carefully. I try to follow the outline of the shape, as it continues to look at me begging to be set free.
I finish my work and the swan inside the ice can now fly, even if briefly, until spring comes and melts it away…


This post was written in response to the FFfAW Challenge of this week and the story contains 150 words.
Photo prompt provided by Sonya.

Click on the froggie below to see other entries.

The King is Down

Trying on a writing challenge once again (have I ever mentioned that the only occasion when I write is when I decide to take these challenges?).

This time, it comes from the Literary Lion and the word of the week is King.

I never lived under a King or a Queen, I don’t like war and battle histories and movies too much. But I have been listening to Imagine Dragons a lot and for some reason, the song Battle Cry came to my mind when I saw what was the theme for the challenge.

So I went for it, with the image in my mind that’s created when I hear the song.

I didn’t really try to tell the story of the song (where the king is actually crowned ;o), but was still influenced by it somehow.

So here it goes, I hope you enjoy.

Henry Tudor kills King Richard III in the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485

The invading horde came crashing down.
They are fierce.
They are strong.
They are heavily armed.
They are determined.
Our king was in the front line.
He needs to protect his kingdom, his people.
But the numbers were off.
They were much more, much stronger.
The king knew it would be in vain, but he stands up for his land and his people.
There is fierceness on him too.
And strengh.
And determination.
But the numbers were off.
They came crashing down.
The king tried.
He resisted
He fought.
But they were bigger, stronger, better prepared.
And the numbers were off.
The king is down.
The enemy is upon us.
The king lies lifeless in the battle field.
Our land is not ours anymore.
Could this be?
Nobody can save us now.
Time stops for a while.
Feels quiet, silent…
The only sound is the battle cry.