Passing Time

“The Devil’s pocket watch had no hands.” Parson Dubois whispers to the pale breeze.

His eyes look for the passage of time or life…Or anything. His wooden bench testament of a barn no longer in use. Much like the rest of the dozen buildings long abandoned that make up Destiny. His world of three dusty rows mistaken for streets.

His mind places people about the store fronts. Ghosts of days gone by. Horses tied to posts. A wagon left half way between coming and going. Sounds of children ring out. Ladies in long dresses meander past lost in conversation about their neighbors.

The church bell clangs behind him. He jumps up to answer. His hands part the brown faded doors. The empty rows of pews lay sleeping. A simple dias with an open book holds service to a lost cause. Yet behind a partial wall there seems to be life.

His stands fast in the middle to gaze out among his missing flock. He knows no-one should have gone past him. His company creates a mystery. Even the ghosts have departed these parts.

From a corner jumps a ten treat old Reggie Whitener. His Amish hat just about swallows his head. His smile lights up the room.

“I waited till I seen Mr Miller..just like you ask of me!” Reggie stands like he is ready to run and chase the wind.

“Well, that’s a good young man.” He speaks faintly while his eyes look upon someone gone to his reward several years earlier. “Now light us a candle and take your place near your momma.”

He gives into the scene. Voices fill a previously empty church. Parson Dubois wipes his eyes of the flow of tears. He is smiling for first time in a long time. His back remains to the church. His pulse kicks up a notch causing a hot flash.

He turns to hear an angel’s voice calling the assembly toward the light. Standing together six and thirty begin to sing. Each face lights up with a soft glow. They all gently sway side to side in rhythm of the hymn. One last beacon of hope from the ashes blown around for a generation.

“You have all come back to me!” he leaves a careless laugh to his words.

The breezes blow past. Through the windows a world grows dark. The faces smile brighter.

“It’s time you came home with us.” They collectively sing.

Parson Dubois falls sidewise on the bench. His pocket watch no longer needs hands either.


FFAW – Good Ole Days

Puff looks over at HR.

“Remember the good ole days…” He pauses turning his head to the sky “We could breath fire and chase a bad child or two.”

“Video games. That’s the problem.” HR Puff’n’stuff looks at his friend “Violence has replaced getting eaten by mystical creatures. Sad. Really sad.”

Puff let’s loose a terrific flame followed by a smoke cloud.

“Knock it off over there!” HR furrows his brows. “They’ll can us for sure. You know open flames are dangerous!”

“Imagination was the key to great adventures.” Puff looks surprised at his friend. “Are we left to be rationalize as irreverent?”

“How’s that rent over in Honalee getting paid?” HR rolls his eyes.

115 words

Faint Memories of Yesterday

Little whisper calls

A flash in the eyes

Nervous energy sparks

It’s the smell of hope

Taste of salt from the beach

Memories make clay of thoughts

Churning inside reaching for daylight

The touch of possible

Stirs lost sensations

Eyes delve for images

Time wisps away from now

Sepia shades of what was once

Crayons outline what could have been

If’s and Why’s dance in circles

Wants and needs choose next colors

Still the whispers persist

Distant dreams vividly wave like flags

Crying out to remind you

Here isn’t a destination but a passage

Faint memories of yesterday

Desperately trying to awaken you

From the sleep we call living

<a href=””>Faint</a&gt;

Do You Have Halloween Stories

This is from… They have been gracious enough to accept my works. Give them a try.

13 Days of Halloween series submission page at

Fill out the form below to submit your literary work for consideration to be published as a part of a series called ‘13 Days of Halloween‘.

The series will run from October 18th through October 31st, and we will be featuring a different literary work everyday for 13 days.

All literary pieces should embrace Halloween, and the spirit of this holiday. It should make reference of Trick or Treating, ghosts and goblins, black cats, superstitions, or any appropriate iconic Halloween character.

We look forward to your literary treats!


If I built a bridge to you Would it be steel and concrete? Would it be paved in dreams? Illuminated by glowing promises Decorated by river called Hope A valley awash in blooming rainbows At night, fog would wraps it arms around Keeping away the cold of darkness Birds would sing to bring the dawn Gentle breezes would lift drowsy Every day could start fresh Thoughts would be free of the past If built a bridge to you Could we meet in the middle?


Cold fingers slowly squeezing

Breath of life from within

Desire for everything deserved

Acceptance never an option

Insatiable want steeps the soul

There are no cures fittingly

They wouldn’t be good enough

Or plentiful in the nice things

Cast by insecurity within wax

The hollow shell, all that remains

A life lived by envy and greed

if only being human was enough

White Sulfur


Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Tuesday.

3. Please credit photo to photographer

4. The story word limit is 100 ‚Äď 150 words (+ ‚Äď 25 words). Please try and stay within this limit.

5. Pingback to the challenge post in your story’s post.

6. This is a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less) and each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Therefore, no serial (continuation) stories. They become too complicated for our readers.

7. Add your story to the InLinkz Link-up (Blue Froggy button). If you need link-up instructions, please email me

8. Remember, half the fun is reading and commenting on each other’s stories.

The warm breeze stirs clouds of dust.   Two men lean against a car. They tilt their hats to avoid eating sand.  The whistle of the wind cries out.

“The creek bed.¬† That’s where it’s supposed to be.¬† It’s been moved.” Riley spits out sand.¬†¬† “This is fourth time we’ve been out here.¬†¬† He didn’t get up and walk off! Ain’t nowhere to go out here.”

Charles stares out across the desert.¬†¬† Scrub plants, and rocks.¬†¬† Nothing but scrub and rocks. “We gonna look over this whole desert?! I mean we’ve been here three times.   What the hell are we looking for?!”

“You tell the boss that!   If we don’t come up with a body, he’ll have two instead!” Riley looks through him.   Spits at his feet.  

The wind relaxes.   The rolling mounds of sand are dressed with pale green and pink.   The desert doesn’t need to keep secrets.   Ain’t no-one to hide them from.

Riley looks to the left.   “Get your ass over there!   It’s there.   Wr hit it this time!   Hot damn!”

Charles runs, tries to run in the deep sand.   At the top of a hill,  a clouds of white butterflies surround him.   “I got a dead theif!  Son of a bitch! How did you know?”

Riley looks at his younger help.   “Butterflies need salt. White Sulfurs can find one anywhere”