by Michael Seese
Janet Reid's 100th flash fiction challenge has come and gone. The prize, I must say, was a pretty slick-looking book.
I'll skip to the end. I made the long list, but not the finals. Bummed? Sure. But it's hard to argue with the winning entry.
The words to incorporate (offered by her "Reiders") were:
A "scapegrace" is a rascal. But my mind began playing with the word's possibilities, leading me to "Grandma."
Grandma didn't tolerate no lip.
“Some people have grace, and some just don't, dear,” she said, pouring a crisp cup of tea.
Grandma was sharp as a tack, though occasionally she'd fall prey to this faraway gaze that left her thoughts mired mid-order between scrambled and poached.
“I'm fine, dear. I --”
The banging beneath my feet startled me. As always.
Grandma got down on all fours, most unladylike.
“You can't escape, Grace!” she yelled through a crack, rattling the fortified box below the floor. “So give it up!”
She glanced up and smiled.
“Now where was I, dear?”
As always, please share your thoughts. And by all means, check out the winning entry.