Halloween ritual

Strange things happen when the moon is full, especially on nights like tonight—Halloween night—on Franklin Street.

Kevin is dressed as a devil. Interesting that the one night we can be whatever we want he chooses to take off his mask.

“You coming to Franklin tonight? It’s gonna be wild.”

The last time I attended a “wild” party with him, I woke the next morning with ripped panties. Post Roe v. Wade, I won’t risk fate again.

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Damned resurrection

The morning my husband drew his last breath, the funeral director came to the hospital to make final arrangements for the service. We talked about life after, of heaven and hell, the resurrection.

“Most people have the wrong idea about the resurrection,” he said. “They pray to an unseen god and await his bastard son’s return on a cloud. Sounds more like drug-induced delusions to me.”

“Blasphemy! I will hear no more of this!” my father shouted and stormed out.

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Wolfman

I never heard my son scream like that—if you could even call it a scream. It was more like a guttural lamentation that escapes from deep within you when you’re forced to witness your own murder play before you like a movie.

It had to be a dream—mine, not his. But when I awoke, he was still screaming.

I sprinted for his room and nearly let out my own terrified yelp when I spotted the man with a wolf for a face standing in the window.

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Ghostly lake

photo of two white ducks on water during fog

He invited me for a picnic on the banks of Lake Menace.

The name alone struck suspicion. Allegedly, it was the scene of a gruesome Civil War battle—word-of-mouth smalltown legend—you won’t read it in the official history books.

Years later, it is said the faceless ghosts of the Union and Confederate soldiers lurk near the still waters of their mass grave, hidden by a perpetual fog.

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Butcher

The thought of it makes me laugh—

It’s really not funny. But laughing keeps me from doing something far more terrifying. So I fold my lips into an expressionless grin that’s reminiscent of a time before animated emojis—

Colon. Closed parenthesis

while he hacks away at the shoulder with a meat cleaver, and blood splatters my face.

#1MinFiction: Reminders

I’ve ignored his calls for two weeks. But he’s persistent.

“I don’t want to lead him on.”

“But he’s such a nice guy.”

I don’t know what it is, but he reminds me of my ex, who was emotionally abusive, manipulative, who stalked me during and after the relationship, called me again and again, said I’d be stupid to end things with him, because he’s such a nice guy…

I turn off my phone.

—Nortina


Monday’s One-Minute Fiction challenges you to write a story in one minute, no more, no less, based on the prompt provided. Last Monday’s prompt was a bit repetitive… again and again

 

#1MinFiction: Thanksgiving Calories Don’t Count

Grandma hobbles around the kitchen, fixing everyone’s plate.

She’s deep fried the cornbread, and the turkey. The yams are mostly sugar. So is everything else on the table.

“A salad?” she says, hand on her hip. “Girl, don’t you know Thanksgiving calories don’t count?”

“Thanks, but no thanks, Grandma.”

I’d rather have both my feet than diabetes.

—Nortina


Do you follow the #ThanksgivingClapBack memes on social media? I imagine that last line could easily be one of them, though I wouldn’t dare say it to my Grandma. By the way, she has both her feet. 😉

Monday’s One-Minute Fiction challenges you to write a story in one minute, no more, no less, based on the prompt provided. All November, I’m giving you Thanksgiving-themed prompts. Today’s prompt is thanks, but no thanks