#FlashMobWrites 1×22

Welcome to #FlashMobWrites Week Twenty-Two

Come one, come all! This is an open flash fiction challenge with a musical inspiration, hosted by authors Cara Michaels (formerly of #MenageMonday, #WIPflash, and#RaceTheDate) and Ruth Long (of the wicked fun #LoveBites and #DirtyGoggles challenges).

Mob Rules

  • The challenge begins: Fridays @ Noon EDT (Eastern USA)
  • And ends: Saturday @ Midnight PST (Pacific USA)
  • Word count: 300-500 (no less, no more)
  • We love you and wish to heap praises (and random prizes) on you, so be sure to include your name (no, it doesn’t have to be your real name) and a way for us to get in touch (Twitter handles are encouraged)
  • A prompt choice is offered by each judge. Choose one (or both!) and include it in your story as given.
    • The prompt may be split between sentences, but no order change or dropping words.
    • Words may be added before or after, not in the middle.

The Inspiration

For your musical enjoyment only. You do not need to reference the video or song themes in any way for your story.

The Prompts

Cara Michaels: “wide-eyed spark”

Ruth Long: “carry you home”

Now pick your prompt(s) and post your story in the comments below!


7 thoughts on “#FlashMobWrites 1×22

  1. Dylan Chamberlain dated woman after woman, and he always dismissed them out of hand.

    “So, how about the dark haired girl at the bar?” I asked.
    “She’s too tall and her legs are too skinny.” Dylan responded, “And her blue dress isn’t as pretty as your red one.”
    “How about the redhead or the blonde standing next to the redhead in the green dress? They’re curvy,” I stated.
    “The blonde’s hair colour comes from a bottle and the redhead looks snooty,” Dylan griped.
    “Don’t you mean she has a snoot full?”
    “You’re very witty, Carrie.”
    “And you’re very sarcastic just why am I your wingwoman anyway?”
    “Because you’re the only one who puts up with me?”
    “Yes, that must be it!” I answered laughing, “I know the brunette in the corner. She’s perfect for you.”
    “Are you kidding? I’m choosy you know. I’d like a girl with a wide-eyed spark,” Dylan said.
    “Right you end up with one who could carry you home,” I commented.
    “Be honest, you didn’t like them either. Didn’t you?”
    “Those women are staring and talking about us,” I commented nervously.
    “Are they? Let’s give them something to talk about,” Dylan commented.
    Dylan walked over to the DJ and asked him to play “The Lady in Red,” then he came back to me and pulled me close to him on the dance floor. We danced to the song and as it ended he said, “I know who would be just perfect for me.”

    I was surprised to find myself hating this woman. I loved dancing with Dylan for moment it was if he was mine. Who was this woman? I looked around the room and found myself glaring at them all. None of them were good enough for Dylan.

    “Who? Which woman?” I asked.
    “I’m looking at her,” Dylan responded seeming to look over my shoulder.
    “I don’t know who you’re looking at,” I said.
    “I’ve been all kinds of a fool, but I just realized I’ve been looking at this all the wrong way,” Dylan continued.
    “Who is it?” I asked raising my voice.
    “You silly. You are my best friend. I don’t know why I never saw this before. No wonder all those women were wrong they weren’t you with your blue wide-eyed spark and red hair.”
    “Yes, you! I’d like to start romancing you as I should have been all along, but for a lifetime,” Dylan said and then he got down on one knee held out a ring box and asked, “Will you marry me?”
    Before I even thought about my voice croaked out a joyful, “Yes.”
    Dylan and I were married today and as we celebrate with all our friends they asked, “What took you so long? We knew you two were made for each other.”
    Dylan laughed and said, “I was a fool until I opened my eyes to Carrie,” and then he kissed me like it would never end.

    We’d both found true love begins with friendship.

    499 words

    Liked by 3 people

  2. drat that’s suppose to be carry you home ~ “Right you end up with one who could care you home,” I commented. ( I think somehow It was changed can you fix it? thanks)


  3. The God of Business

    Hap Granger was a long-winded fellow. His sermon, if that was what he delivered, went on for half an hour. Large men make imposing messengers. Even from the back of the church, we could see the sweat spilling into the spongy furrows of his forehead, dribbling around the bramble of his eyebrows, coursing through the bulging, wide-eyed sparkle of his messianic furor, sopping down his fleshy cheeks, dripping into his extremely dark suit, disappearing out of view into the pulpits pit.

    I thought he’d made his key point right out of the chute: Whatever God doesn’t do, business will. No one in that Church had any doubt that Hap Granger wanted to be the God of Business in the heavenly city of Crowbar.

    After he wrapped up, the congregation sang two more uplifting hymns.

    Reverend Halop shared a final hope that “the lord will carry you home safely and we’ll see you all next Sunday.”

    The joy of ritual finally ended.

    We stood aside, avoiding the politely pious stampede.

    They were led by the surprisingly fleet-footed Minister and the barreling businessman who rushed to the front to glad hand the departing flock.

    As the throng diminished, John and I approached Granger.

    “Mr. Granger,” Quarry asked, “could you spare a few minutes?”

    Granger was eye-level with John. Though about the same height, Granger took up a lot more space. He still had embers smouldering in his deep blue eyes. Sweat had pooled on his drenched brow. He wiped it away with a white handkerchief. I could see the H.G. etched in its corner as it flopped along his glistening skin. We were in the presence of a monogrammed man.

    “Always have a few minutes to spare, friend,” Granger kicked in to a broad grin. He tagged on a gratuitous, “Even if time is money, which it always is. What’s on your mind?”

    “A confidential matter, sir. Could we talk over there?” John asked, pointing to a bench beneath an emaciated tree.

    “Let’s,” Granger said, wrapping his bulky right arm around John’s shoulder and escorting him to the bench. I followed, amused and suddenly hungry.

    Once Granger deposited himself on the bench, he sucked in some dry, dusty air and said, “Fire away. Who are you and what’s so damn confidential?”

    “My name’s Quarry,” John told him, adding, “And this attentive fellow is my colleague, Woody Staples. We have been engaged to look into the disappearance of Hazel Twigg.”

    Granger nodded, and said, “Hazel’s has been gone a long while. Mind saying who’s footing the bill?”


    Granger chuckled with a deep rolling laugh and flashed his massive grin.”Hell’s bells, I am tickled pink that someone is looking. Hazel was an old friend. She’s been missed. So, how can I help?”

    “We’re reviewing the case. You were the last to see her. Care to go over it one more time?”

    “Happy to oblige.”

    In the next hour, Hazel Twigg, Granger and Crowbar City came fully alive for us.

    500 beads of sweat

    Liked by 4 people

  4. Woe for a Faerie (WIP)

    I reached for the pewter knob, and someone spoke from the shadows. It sounded loud on the third floor landing.

    “Won’t ever get used to you sneaking up on me.”

    “Ready for your first job?”

    The gravelly edge in his middle age voice was startling. “How long have I known you, Jason?”

    He counted under his breath, before starting over. “A long time,” he said finally.

    Wearied, I leaned on the door. The pain was too fresh in the twin gouges between my shoulder blades, and the phantom feelings of wind through my feathers kept me awake at night. “Must you be smug?”

    Coffee stained teeth reflected the dim light. “I had a feeling, and here you are.”

    “Didn’t give me much choice, Padre. I don’t have many options.” The door downstairs opened, and the sound of rain on the pavement filled the foyer. There was a squeak as it closed and silenced the cloudburst.

    Jason stepped out of the dark and nodded. His clergy collar was still too small. “Come on, I’ll show you what we’re working on.”


    When he stepped through the sliding doors, I hesitated. Claustrophobic. Already seated, he waved me into the car. From an adjacent graffiti-covered seat, a little girl watched me. Her brown eyes reflected the neons overhead, black hair swept into a pig tail above each ear.

    “I can’t.” I whispered desperately, and she heard me.

    She hopped up, tilting her head. Like the puppies – when they glimpsed me in Central Park. She took my hand. “It’s scary the first time, but it will carry you home.”

    Meekly, I followed, more terrified of disappointing her. Can’t say no to little girls. Memories of an alleyway pushed close, but I fought them back.

    Once settled in the seat next to Jason, she still held my hand, her kid-rough thumb moving back and forth. After a nod from an elderly woman, she took the seat beside me. The dark skin contrasted my pale. I’ve never felt anything so soothing.

    Jason leaned over. “And a child shall lead them.”

    I snorted. Words from that book never mended my wounds.

    He sighed. “We’ll find your wide-eyed spark again, Woe. I promise.”

    The doors closed with a hiss, and the lights winked as the car moved away from the platform. The little girl pulled her hand away, but turned her head toward me.

    I thought nothing of it until she repeated the movement twice more. “Are you alright?”

    A bashful grin broke below her round cheeks. “Yes.” She had a slight lisp, and she scooted closer. “Are you an angel?”

    A thrill burst in my stomach, but hope dashed against reality. How do I answer? Horrified she might see my truth, I only managed to stutter. “I – I – I –”

    “It’s okay.” Her breath brushed against my ear. “Your wings are beautiful. I can see them when I look away. Like at night when you’re trying to see the monsters under the bed.”

    496 Words

    Liked by 3 people

  5. Kick-ass Adventure with Hot Sex

    The third man rested with his eyes closed and she got a good look at him. His arm wore a stabilizing brace that could be removed to tend the bandages and a sleeveless hospital gown covered his torso above the blankets. Dark brown, nearly black, hair matched arching brows over a straight, pert nose. She’d consider him a beach-bum pretty boy except the muscles in his other arm spoke to his strength. Normally she didn’t stare at the physique of the injured men, but the curve of his smooth pectoral peaking from the gown was too beautiful to ignore. He’d look good with a little ink there.

    “Howdy, Zamora. Whatcha got in your wagon today?” Lance Corporal Harrison’s voice cracked as he levered himself up on his elbows.

    “Howdy yourself, Harrison. How are you holding up today?” Zamora smiled as she pulled her wagon to his bedside.

    Harrison shrugged as he waved at his leg stump. “Not bad all things considered. I could still carry you home even if I am missin’ half my leg.” He grinned. “When are you gonna let go of your cares and run away with me?”

    She snorted. “Neither one of us will be doing much running until you get your prosthetic and get good at wearing it.”

    He winked. “You just give me time, darlin’, and I’ll be runnin’ circles around all them other boys.”

    Zamora laughed. “I’m counting on it, marine.”

    “Oorah, ma’am.”

    “So what did you bring?” Petty Officer Third Class Sikes winced as he sat up with his amputated arm. He hadn’t talked to her the first few times she’d been in the room because he’d been embarrassed by breaking his arm while trying to change a Jeep Willy’s tire. He’d ignored it too long and it had turned septic. Now he had his own prosthetic to look forward to, and her company.

    “I brought that beef jerky soaked in garlic you like so much, Sikes.” She smiled as he licked his lips like a hungry toddler and pulled out the treat. “But you have to promise to hide them better. I got in trouble for bringing in contraband last time.”

    “I promise, Zamora.” The fingers of his good hand twitched as he eyed the jerky.

    “Good.” She nodded. “I also brought those romantic suspense novels from that author you liked so much, Harrison.”

    “Aw man, how can you read that romantic shit?” Sikes groaned and rolled his eyes.

    “It’s not shit, it’s kick-ass adventure with hot sex. What’s not to like?” Harrison snorted as he accepted the books. “Beats gettin’ shot at and the guy always gets the hot girl. Can’t go wrong with that. Thanks, Zamora.”

    “Somebody getting shot and getting the girl?”

    Zamora turned and met the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She damn near fell into them, her body tingling like she’d touched a live wire, but she mentally shook her head. She didn’t believe in the wide-eyed spark of love no matter what Harrison’s novels said.

    500 #WIP500 words

    Liked by 4 people

  6. How drunk you get depends on how much you weigh and how much you drink. Lucky me; my friend is the skinniest guy in town and drinks like a fish.


    Did I mention he’s also the most obnoxious drunk in town?

    “I am showing you the way, dumb ass. The car is over here.”

    I covered my face with my hands when he took off running.

    “Jimmy! Get back here!” I shouted.

    I grabbed him right before he cornered some poor guy. The man’s eyes were wide and he mouthed ‘thank you’ at me before darting away. Jimmy turned to me, lips in full pout, blue eyes all pupil. I turned him around. He swayed, his eye lids fluttering.

    “Sing all you want, but don’t make me carry you home.”


    I shook my head. His parents kicked him out so he was coming back to my house. My parents didn’t like Jimmy and thought sixteen was too young to date. If they only knew the half of what we did in their basement…

    “Come on Pavarotti, in the car.”

    I shoved him into the front seat, wincing when he bumped his head. He rubbed the spot, and bits of dried gel flaked onto the seat. I blanched. Ignoring the mess he was making of my seat with his hair gel, I buckled him in and slammed the door.


    He’s also a huge fan of Whitney Houston. I blame his mother for that one.

    Resisting the urge to plug my ears, I navigated my way to the house. With Pavarotti in the car, the drive took forever. I tried turning up the radio to drown him out, but he sang along with every song and commercial jingle. I almost wanted him to pass out.


    Oh Karma, whatever I did to piss you off, I am deeply, deeply sorry.

    I was relieved when we pulled into my parent’s driveway. I hopped out and unlocked the back door, then got Jimmy out of the car.


    “Shut up! You’re going to wake the neighbors.”

    I dragged him inside. We made it to the landing before a light flicked on in the kitchen. My mother stood in the doorway, bright pink bathrobe draped over her shoulders, bunny slippers on and curly blond hair sticking up all over the place.


    “Uh, hi, mom. Just heading to bed.”

    I gave Jimmy a shove. Thankfully he found his feet and the railing and didn’t fall. I smiled at mom, waved, then darted downstairs.

    “Now, shut up and go to bed,” I told him.

    He swayed on his feet, dangerously close to my bed. Then, quiet as could be, he darted over to my bathroom. I rubbed my face, hoping he’d get it all out so we could sleep. And maybe mom wouldn’t ask too many questions in the morning.

    500 words

    Liked by 4 people

  7. – Finding Her Footing –

    [England / 1942]

    Most evenings, while the other girls were knitting or writing letters, Phoebe snuck out to the barn for a smoke in the hayloft. She’d push open the shutters and stare at the stars. For those few stolen moments, she was back home, on the roof with her brother. Smokes and stars. That’s all she had left of Tommy.

    It was during one of those starlit nights that she was able to avenge his death, if only in some small part. She was in the loft when a volley of gunfire echoed across the meadow. Soldiers chasing someone near Raleigh Hall. Could be anyone out there. One of those grubby travelers Mr. Phillips had driven off last week. Or, worse, someone who’d survived when that plane had been shot down this morning.

    The barn door burst open beneath her and she peered through the slats of the loft floor. Directly below her stood a man in a dark coat, hair and face hidden by a cap, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Quiet as she could, she eased down the ladder and launched herself onto the intruder’s back. They landed in the hay and tumbled across the floor until his head thumped into a horse stall post.

    When she rolled him over, intending to bind his feet and hands before calling for help, the gravity of her mistake stared up at her with the wide-eyed spark of someone newly awakened to a change in circumstance. But before either of them could speak, a second man burst through the barn door and this one was unmistakably the quarry half the estate was hunting down.

    To the German swine, she must have appeared an easy hostage. But six months of conditioning in the fields made her a fair opponent. Fast thinking and faster feet gave her the upper hand. The wrongfully incapacitated man was out of view, behind the stall door. The enemy only had eyes on her and she intended to keep them there.

    Flashing him a look of what she hoped was horror, she ran from him. The moment she heard his feet thudding after her, she grabbed a pitchfork, turned, and ran back towards him, prongs out. Puzzlement flashed across his face, he slowed for a moment, and in that instant, the first man lashed out with lead rope, whipping the enemy around the knees and yanking him to the ground.

    She joined her ally and helped bind the German’s wrists and ankles. “About earlier, my Lord -”

    “Shame your considerable skills are wasted on the Women’s Land Army,” he said, suppressing a grin.

    She tried again. “It’s just that I wouldn’t want your mother to have me dismissed.”

    “Miss Harlow, by the time I finish relaying what happened here tonight, Churchill himself couldn’t remove you from Raleigh Hall.”

    – – – – –
    @bullishink / 474 ineligible words

    Liked by 3 people

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