The short fiction of j hardy carroll
This beauty. Her beauty, the beauty of the night, of Barcelona in May. He ran his finger along the rim of the wine glass until it began to chime. “My father will not be moved. I am sorry.” Her eyes glistened, but he saw no tears. Another time he would have said this was because…
Friday Fictoneers for this week is a tough one. I stood staring at the picture of the Keck Observatory for a long time. The colonel’s blotchy face turned salt white as he watched the screen. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Are you sure this is real?” “Absolutely certain, Colonel. We wouldn’t have enacted the protocol if we weren’t. Both of…
Only the pain was real. His daddy standing over him wasn’t, dead years gone, dead of some fool accident that made this one look minor. Yeah, minor. He laughed, more of the pain arriving along with the laugh. He wondered again why he didn’t bleed out. There was blood enough, clinging cold on what was left…
Anther prompt from Rochelle, 100 words based on the picture below. The foreman cursed and screamed. Jesús understood little, but he took the meaning. The foreman eventually lost all composure, taking Jesús up by the straps of his overalls and fairly lifting him off the ground. His reddening face now inches away, flecks of spittle landing on Jesús’ cheeks…