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Flash: 50-Word Prompts (6 & 12)

February 26, 2017August 16, 2026 Erin Penn

This is the second of four postings related to a 50-word Flash Friday, where 12 prompts were given to writers for mini-flashes on a Facebook group. The prompts were words or photos, and the flashes were limited to fifty words.

Today’s flashes are stand-alone flashes based on the photo prompts. Sorry the original photos are no longer available.

The first photo – whoa! I had been struggling to come up with a flash from the pretty photo, so I thought I would concentrate on it by clicking on it and only seeing the photo. …. After a few minutes, when I could think again, I came up with something. The full view went way beyond a man in the clouds.

I admit, I broke the 50-word rule for prompt twelve. I tried to trim the story down, but nothing kept the full feel. And it was the last one of the day – so I decided to plead tired and gave myself permission to “cheat”.

PROMPT SIX: Photo of man against blue sky

Title of flash “Optimization of Humanity Serum”

He had often been accused of having his heads in the clouds. Back before … when he had been a nerd. Since inventing Optimization of Humanity Serum and learning to fly he could sleep in the clouds … Maybe he should get a superhero costume. (words 45)

PROMPT TWELVE: Photo (?) of naked man in woods

Title of flash “The Ginger Moon”

“Come on guys, not funny!” Derek yelled. The full moon hunt was finished and his clothes were missing.

“Wrong gender, should be singular, and agreed.”

Derek shaded his eyes as the pack’s only alpha female stepped out of the rising sun.

“In case you didn’t notice, I am about to go into heat.” declared Ginger. Pulling the beta close, she whispered, “Tag, you’re it.” (words 64)

(first published 2/8/2013; published in new blog format 2/26/2017)

Series: 50-word Prompts

Flash: Up the Steps

February 12, 2017April 19, 2018 Erin Penn

Rating: Mature

I could not believe my luck when I ran into Bret on the stairs while moving into my new apartment. Maneuvering the full size mattress from my pickup into the building had taken far too long and the narrow stairwell made me want to cry defeated. Then Bret bounded down the steps on his way out and voluntarily stopped to help. Between the two of us we managed to drag the dead weight up two flights. Delights of delights, I find out he has the door across from mine. Together we have the top floor alone.

After getting the box spring up and tipping the mattress we had left leaning against the wall on top, Bret collapsed on the makeshift bed. “Please tell me the frame is lighter.”

I shake my head. “Don’t have a frame. In fact, that is pretty much it except for the bag of clothes in my front seat and about two dishes.” I find myself focusing on his abs and try to drag my eyes upwards to his kind face, but instead they drift down . He shouldn’t look so right on my bed.

(189 words – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 10/21/12 – The original photo of a hunky guy on a bare mattress on the floor was of unknown copyright so did not put on my site – published on old blog 11/11/2012; republished in new blog format on 2/12/2017)

Flash: A Selkie Wife

January 27, 2017January 12, 2022 Erin Penn

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“Muireall.” Feargan breathed.

His wife froze leg out at the water’s edge, the other safely tucked inside her seal skin. Fear and longing poured from her.

“Come back to us.” His voice twisted with the request.

She glanced to the children, their children, playing in the gentle waves as the tide went out. They said they had seen Muireall, but he hadn’t believed them. Why would she come back for them and not him?

He approached cautiously, wishing for the fishing net he originally caught her in, or a spear to keep that horrible skin from stealing her away again.

“No Feargan. No further.” She pushed the other leg inside the fur.

He stopped, dropping to his knees in the shifting sand. Brown eyes to ocean eyes, he said “I love you.”

She bit her lip and looked at the sea again, inserting an arm into her skin.

“I love you.” He repeated.

“Would you give up the sea?”

Feargan pushed his hands into the earth as a wave lapped over his legs and feet, cooling his burning skin. “I…” He pulled the hands out, feeling the water-laden sand pour from them. His tongue darted, licking his lips as he searched for anything to capture her again, tasting the salty sea kiss. Inevitably, his eyes dragged to the foam and infinite horizon. A second hole opened up in his heart, the one which existed whenever he wasn’t on a boat.

“I can’t.” She pulled the hood over her face and instantly she was completely a seal. Two quick thrusts of her tail and she was in the ocean. She circled the children, little better than seals themselves with their innate love of the water, and headed out into the endless blue.

(words 291; first published 1/27/2017)

Flash: Half-Empty

January 8, 2017April 19, 2018 Erin Penn

Stock Art of Man Holding Woman

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

Jeremy was safe. He had always been safe from the time they met at the orthodontist in sixth grade getting their braces tightened through Junior Proms for their respective high schools to today, when Anthony let her know he was leaving her because she was the ice queen of the Queen City. She wasn’t an ice queen; God knows, they had sex often enough. She just wasn’t into the weirdness he started introducing after they had moved in together.

It was good to feel safe again after the last six months of Hell, before she had to go back for her things and figure out where she was going to live. Maybe she shouldn’t have drunk the half bottle of wine. She pushed a little away from Jeremy to stare into his black eyes for a moment, “I did it again didn’t I.”

A rueful smile crossed Jeremy’s boyishly handsome face, “You seem to pick them just like your mom.”

For a second Gwyn leaned her forehead against his. They used to do that as kids trying to exchange thoughts. Jeremy had been determined to learn telepathy, sci-fi geek that he was. She dropped her eyes to his drenched shirt, “And you warned me, like you always warn me.” A sob-laugh escaped. “I always look for guys that live on the edge, the rebel. I should let you choose my next boyfriend.”

His arms tightened around her back for a moment, making her feel even more secure. “Maybe you should,” his tenor voice dropping.

“I just don’t want to hurt any of your friends’ feelings.” Gwyn explained, glancing at his face a moment before focusing on the drying herbs over the stove. “I know it will happen just like that time in college when I tried to date a nice guy and I ended up jumping into bed with his roommate. I just am not safe for good people.”

Jeremy’s grip loosened in a manner that made her naturally step a little back. “You could try dating me for practice.”

Surprisingly her nipples tightened at the offer and she felt a twinge in her pussy. Gwyn licked her lips before responding. “We dated already, remember.”

Tipping his head to the side to try and capture her eyes that were darting around his immaculate kitchen. “Group dates for pizza don’t count as dating.”

She shook her head, focusing her eyes on the recognizable mortar and pestle among his more exotic kitchen gear. Whispering she said, “I don’t want to lose you. I destroy everything, and you are such a nice person.”

“Not as nice as I should be.” The twenty-six year old said as his hands slipped down a moment to grab her ass before letting it go. “Let’s go get your things from Tonedeaf; you are going to move in with me.”

Gwyn’s head spun a moment. Maybe from the wine, maybe from the surge between her legs when he grabbed her ass, maybe from Jeremy’s sudden taking over the situation. “No, no Jeremy, you shouldn’t. Anthony will still be there. You could get hurt.”

He smiled, evilly, protectively. “Somehow I doubt that.” He picked up his man-purse. Okay, leather-satchel, but Gwyn knew it was just another part of Jeremy’s being a peaceful, kind, safe guy. The purse was filled with stuff from his florist cum health food shop, including ointments he always offered to people when they were out in public. He called it marketing; she called it helping people where you find them.

Jeremy stood by the front door, holding it open so she could see the Gaelic welcome mat and his bright green Prius. Giving up, Gwyn followed him out the door. She guessed it was time to destroy him, as she had every other guy that she had ever touched.

(633 words – originally appearing Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 10/28/12, adjusted slightly and published on old blog on 11/11/2012, republished new blog format 1/8/2017 ** May become base for first story in Novella series on Queen’s City Coven)

Flash: Love on the Line

December 11, 2016May 30, 2016 Erin Penn

A gay couple dancing at the Chelsea Arts New Year’s Eve Bal

A gay couple dancing at the Chelsea Arts New Year’s Eve Ball. Photograph by Tony Linck. London, January 1947

Fran dragged Leslie onto the dance floor for the Chelsea Ball. It worked despite Leslie being taller, stronger and having a military background for two reasons. One, Leslie was overwhelmed by being in the middle of all the money, fame and demented people that showed up every year for the artist gentleman’s club New Year’s Eve Party, and, secondly, Leslie was not letting go of his hand. He was on shore for the holidays and did not want to miss a second with Fran.

Fran curled into his lover’s arms, ignoring the stares. Enough of the artists had brought their lovers to the party that one more gay couple did not matter. The stares were for Leslie being a sailor. Some artists were anti-military, but the majority of London still remembered the sirens. Only a year had passed since the war ended. Most were staring because they were trying to figure out a way to approach Leslie to thank him for serving.

Unconsciously Fran clenched Leslie’s hand tighter. They had met during training, but Fran’s family money had gotten him an officer position on shore and a quick muster out after serving his time. Leslie’s more plebeian descent had him on the front for over five years. Fran did not want to remember how often he nearly lost the love of his life. Ships were safer than ground pounding, but it also meant everyone died on the same bullet instead of an individual.

One more tour and they could be together forever.

Fran hoped that Leslie’s flamboyant style will allow him to overcome the status differences. Fran cared less about his personal wealth, but sometimes, like tonight, Leslie was clearly intimidated. The duke, whose title allowed him to disregard certain social requirements such as introductions, did express his gratitude to Leslie and had left his lover speechless.

The artist part of Fran’s mind started thinking about how to capture both an ostentatious and terrified attitude in one painting. On first pass, they do not seem to go together, but anyone who has been on the front could tell you both the sheer terror and the pure courage needed to be there.

***

Leslie guided Fran off the dance floor towards the bar when the song ended. He recognized the look that had seized Fran’s face. They would need to get home soon to Fran’s paints.

Leslie squashed the green monster from long habit when jealousy tried to sneak in. He only had two more days before pulling out and he had nearly ten days of Fran’s undivided attention. When he got back next time, he would need to decide if he could live as the second love of Fran’s life.

(words 449 – I believe the copyright on the photo is expired. If anyone knows that the copyright is different than public domain, please inform me – first published 12/30/2012; republished new blog format 12/11/2016)