Flash Fiction ~ One Perfect Shot

August 29th, 2012 by Theresa

‘One perfect shot,’  I thought, ‘ and I take my name and horse again.’

Taking calming a breath, I nudged Snowwind  into motion.

I practiced this move many times in my old village before their terrible raid.  Day, night, injured or blindfolded – the bull’s-eye was mine. It took a challenge to the Chieftain himself for the chance.

“I play for keeps, woman,” he snarled then. I smiled. I did too.

I didn’t hear the beat of Snowwind’s hoofs or the distracting cries from the hecklers.  I didn’t hear my own breath or heartbeat. There was only a slight rustle of my chemise as my body took over. Arms a blur, the arrow let fly.  Snowwind took his head and galloped around the arena again. I didn’t bother looking at the target. I knew hit it.

I came to myself as Snowwind slowed to rear at the Chieftain’s dais. I bowed my head as my horse knelt. He knew his training as well as I. All looked to Chief Vale for his final decision. He only had one choice.

“From this day on,” he intoned grimly, “You ride at my side, head of my archers. Snowwind is yours, Evony.”



As appeared on Menage Monday with Cara Michaels


Flash Fiction ~ Say Hello to my Little Friend

August 22nd, 2012 by Theresa

Sabrina gasped at the headlines. “Friday the 13th   Is Bad Luck for Prominent Lawyer Indicted on 300 Counts of Fraud – Email Records Exposed.”

Shaking her head, Sabrina set down her newspaper. With their divorce final, there was no way she could have known about it.  Only Sophie could have guessed. That cat spent more time on Brett’s laptop than he did.  She missed that cat. Hearing a faint scratching at the door, Sabrina opened it to find Sophie sitting there washing her paws.

“Serves him right for hurting you,” said the cat. “My name was a terrible password. Is there cream?”

Flash Fiction – Telling Time

August 16th, 2012 by Theresa

“I don’t want to kill you bastards! Fine! Die then!”  Paul always liked to hear himself talk.

Gunshot echoed everywhere. Spraying blood mixed with the rain. Teeth and claws glinted in the small flashes of light. My hands ached from squeezing the trigger and reloading. Bodies stacked up around us in the dark of day. We had enough silver ammo to take down a pack twice their size.  We were in the wrong spot in Central Park at the right time.  Hours later, it was over.

I looked up through the rain.  The storm and ash cloud that covered the earth the month before looked the same.  Who would believe that Mt Everest would blow? None knew how long we would be in the dark.  None realized that werewolves were just as scared as the rest of the humans. We quickly found the control for the lighting system and got the park lit.

“This is insane,” Paul muttered. “Why the hell would they all attack now? The Lieutenant ain’t gonna like this.”

“He’s gonna love it,” I said finally.

“You drunk?” Paul hitched up his gun and began to stack bodies.

“Nope.” I rolled a few bodies over and found my shovel. Finding a wide open space I began to dig. Had to get the bodies under dirt fast. Who knew what else was out there?

“So why is he gonna love it?”

“It must be a full moon,” I said between shovels of dirt. “We can tell time again.”



As appeared on  #ThursThreads – The Challenge That Ties Tales Together – Week 34 with Siobhan Muir on August 16, 2012


Is He Serious? ~ Flash Fiction

August 13th, 2012 by Theresa

Is he serious?  I thought looking up from my bloodied knees.  I stood slowly with shaky hands out to my side.  “Honey?” I said softly, “Don’t do this.”

“I’ll be fine, love,”   he said. Hands down to his side, my lover merely smiled at the gun pointed to his face.  “He pushed you down, stole your purse is now demanding that I give over the ring I want to marry you with.  When I’ve taken care of this nuisance, we’ll have to finish our conversation. You were going to tell me something, remember?”

He was serious. Oh hell.  Was all that talk about being a super soldier and a spy true? Was he delusional? I took a breath. His confidence poured off him like fountain of cool water.  Only crazy people were that calm under pressure – or he was telling the truth.

“Fine,” I said.  “You take care of this, quietly, without killing anyone AND with no trace back to you?  I’ll tell you whatever you wish to hear.”

It was over in less than twenty seconds. Before I knew it, our assailant was disarmed, knocked unconscious and tucked behind a dumpster with the gun dumped in another bin. He retrieved my purse and handed it back to me.

“There,” he said dusting himself off. “No prints, no fuss, no muss. Now, I believe we were right about here.”  He got down on one knee and pulled out ring with a giant ruby. “Will you marry me?”

As appeared on Thursday Threads with Siobhan Muir


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