Nodding vaguely, she turned to the almost-burning garlic. Pasta boiled; news blared. When her teenager returned with candy, she nearly wept.
“But, mum, you said we had toilet paper!”
This is my entry for day 17 of the Writers Victoria Flash Fiction competition. Today’s prompt: vague.
Focus—one goal to reach the finals.
He charged, fearful excitement gripping his throat. Beyond his peripheral vision, something glinted in the setting sun—he missed, slipped, and—
Game over.
This is my entry for day 16 of the Writers Victoria Flash Fiction competition. Today’s prompt: peripheral.
Strutting into the optometrist, “Hi—” she stopped, noticing the receptionist. A genuine smile reached his almond eyes.
Swallowing hard, she turned away. They didn’t sell glasses for race-clouded vision.
This is my entry for day 15 of the Writers Victoria Flash Fiction competition. Today’s prompt: glasses.
Eager eyes and nervous smiles converge on the street, desperate to make friends. They’d always sought joy elsewhere, isolated from each other. Now in isolation, they only had each other.
My entry for day 12 of the Writers Victoria Flash Fiction competition.
Driving by the supermarket, Mrs. Richard saw the middle-aged couple scanning their receipt and recounting cash. She snorted. Even her custom-made corrective eyeglasses couldn’t fix her myopia.
This is my entry for day 11 of the Writers Victoria Flash Fiction 2020 competition. Today’s prompt: myopia.
The Chaos Within 