Flash Me (Week 3)


way·ward [wey-werd]
turned or turning away from what is right or proper; willful; disobedient: a wayward son; wayward behavior.
swayed or prompted by caprice; capricious: a wayward impulse; to be wayward in one’s affections.
turning or changing irregularly; irregular: a wayward breeze.

I love this prompt. Do it some justice and rock those words.

Be sure to use the word prompt in the caption.

The deadline for this flash is Sunday at 11:59 PM (MST), and I know I said it’d be a Sunday-Tuesday thing now, but I’m a big believer that words=creativity; we need to keep the writing muscles stretched out.

The same rules apply (100-200 words, please comment with your twitter handle and word count).

Please share this link with all your friends, and if you know any other writers, please get them to join us.

((Shout out to AnnaLund for being an awesome pimp. 😉 ))


6 thoughts on “Flash Me (Week 3)

  1. Word Count – 200 on the nose.

    = = =

    He watched her; he always had. Watched her smile and draw the notice of everyone in her vicinity. It was almost as if she had a superpower.

    “Going to the Sadie Hawkins Dance, Emma?” Ethan inquired. They passed a cigarette back and forth. He was the shadow to her sunlight, twins though they were.

    “Thought I’d ask Tyler…”

    “Ah, the wayward son.”

    She smiled, her dimple drawing a shadow into the perfection of her skin. Ethan shook his head. “Using your powers for good, are you, to reform the guy?”

    “Who, me?” With a laugh, she snatched the cigarette from between his fingers before dropping it to the ground. “I haven’t decided.” She raised one golden brow. “You think I could?”

    “Could what?” he countered, not wanting to give her the opportunity to best him.

    “Think I could reform him?”

    There was a light in her eye that drew even him, her closest relation. He fought against the allure before catching her chin with one finger. “Either that or he’ll run away with you, Em.”

    “Tempting. I’ll think about it.”

    Shaking his head, he pushed away from the tree they’d both been leaning against. “Let me know when you decide.”


  2. Word count: 100 words, on the nose
    Twitter handle: @AnnaLund2011


    Red lipstick. A smoke. A cute dress that fooled everybody, except me.

    The girl had it all, and she could blow the world to pieces. Hers was the power to do anything, be anyone.

    She could go straight, or veer into my broken arms.

    Not that I’d deserve someone like her.

    I—an evil, wayward daughter of a preacher man—did not deserve her.

    She turned. Her devilish little smile showed me just how good her evil could be.

    Using her power for good—and using her power for me.

    We ran away, in high heels both.

    Never looked back.



  3. @jdifrans 172 words

    Runway models have nothing on her. She is sex personified.
    An hourglass made of full hips, long legs, a slim waist, and cleavage I’d gladly drown in.
    Her hand holds a cigarette to her lips, while the come get it look in her eyes holds me.
    She draws me in, makes me think of going wayward. Do I really need to be a faithful husband? Will a night with her be worth it?
    She glances at the ring on my hand and cocks her eyebrow in question. She isn’t quite sure if she should use her power for good or evil. Send me on my way or negotiate a price.
    I gather my nerve and ask,”How…how much?”
    She blows smoke from her lungs, flicks her cigarette into the street, and says, “Darlin’ you need to keep walking. Go home and do to your wife and do to her what you were planning on doing to me.”
    With a nod, I head home as quick as my legs can carry me.


  4. Word Count: 200 on the dot

    11:37 p.m.
    Penny: age 15

    “You know what’s hard?” She squints at me through the dark and I shake my head.

    “Being a girl,” she exhales, wilting like a flower in a midsummer heat wave. “Being torn in half, like you’re the Grand Canyon and you can’t stop your edges from drifting apart or your bottom from falling out. Like you’re a big fat gash in the fabric of the sky and all the light has nothing left to do but leak through it.”

    She kicks at the ground when she speaks.

    “You know those girls? The ones who smoke cigarettes and hike their skirts up and paint their lipstick on? Those girls will wrap a guy around their finger like a ribbon to remind themselves of all the things they better forget. They do that, and suddenly being a girl ain’t so bad after all.”

    “What do they have to forget?” I ask and she opens her mouth twice before she answers, as though she doesn’t think I’ll understand.

    “How badly you ache when you’ve gone too deep. Or how alluring the darkness is when you finally admit that you secretly love the wayward feel of it.”


  5. @lakermom37. It’s under 200, but not by much. Lol.

    The heat of the summer was oppressive in 1969. Becky and I had been going steady for three months, and I never knew how perfect life could be until that glorious summer. The summer that Bryan Adams wrote so fluently about in the eighties.

    To the outside world, Becky Johnson was a beautiful, all-American girl. Her hair had been carefully styled, and her dress demure, yet she was hell on wheels. A beautiful wayward angel placed on earth to tempt and pleasure me.

    Smoke curled in wisps of gray, as she took a drag from her cigarette.

    “Wanna take a swim with me?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye as she began to unbutton her white summer dress. “Last one in the water is a rotten egg!”

    I undressed in hot-blooded awe as her decadent body was revealed to me in the pale moonlight. Soft curves, translucent firm skin over long limbs, and a blonde tuft of hair beaconed to me as her form disappeared under the cool water.

    God, I was a lucky son of a gun.


  6. She was teetering on the edge of being a woman. Her shape had begun to soften from knees and elbows to curves. She noticed how the looks from boys were becoming long, lingering. She felt warmth, a growing power curling inside her with each second glance.
    Her femininity was taking hold, and a decision had to be made. Would she take this new found power, this possible weapon, turn way ward and use her body to get what she wanted? Or would she be the good girl her mama raised, don her pearls, button up her cardigan and find a good man to settle down with?
    Testing the waters, she unbuttoned an extra button from her top. Wore her just a smidge too tight skirt from last summer. As she passed by the boys and men sipping their sodas at the bar, she saw them stop and stare.
    When one hoped up to give her a seat.
    Another rushed to buy her a milkshake.
    Her decision was made.
    Her mantra born.
    “If you’ve got it flaunt it.”

    177 words


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