by Michael Seese
(Finally all caught up.)
Speaking with clients around the country, Janet Reid gets to hear about everyone else's weather. So when someone from Flint, Michigan said it snowed last Wednesday (a week ago) she devised the "It Snowed In Flint On Wednesday Flash Fiction Contest."
Of course, it snowed in Cleveland on Halloween.
We had to use
in a 100-word story. I had trouble finding the idea, but then wrote most of "Ashes To Ashes," while driving to retrieve my son from a friend's house.
Hailee shivered, ignoring the heat the fading fire seemed intent on bestowing upon her, and the vulturous onlookers. She fought to not hear their whispers.
He's just the sort I expected would do something like this.
Helen left him. Why didn't the girl?
She stifled a sob, reaching for the nearest hand.
"You OK?" Sheriff Burdett asked, gently squeezing back, returning a small dose of comfort.
"Any idea where your father might be?"
"No. Probably somewhere he'll never be found," Hailee said, burying her other hand, the one still scented of gasoline, deep into her pocket.
A different kind of chill...