Flash the Boys…I mean Sandi. (Week 5)

image

ob·ses·sion
noun
1.
the domination of one’s thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire, etc.
2.
the idea, image, desire, feeling, etc., itself.
3.
the state of being obsessed.
4.
the act of obsessing.

Welcome host Sandi Layne, our winner from last week’s flash contest. Here’s a little about her:

Sandi’s an award-winning author of Celtic fiction, with her latest being the historical romance Éire’s Viking, book two of the Éire’s Viking Trilogy. You can find her @sandyquill or sandyquill.com 

The deadline for this flash is Thursday at 11:59 PM (MST).

The same rules apply (100-200 words, use the word prompt, and 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.

Advertisements

9 thoughts on “Flash the Boys…I mean Sandi. (Week 5)

  1. The O’Malley’s down the block were my obsession. They were six cousins all close in age that lived on my street.

    They all shared the same smile that made my knees weak and my eyes shine. And they were all heart stoppingly handsome.

    But, they didn’t noticed me when I would walk past them, their heads bent beneath a car, their hands covered in grease. Most girls would be disgusted by those greasy fingers, but not me. No. By the light of the moonlight I would pretend my fingers were one of theirs as they ghosted acrossed my skin until they reached the spot I so desperately wanted them to touch.

    Most girls would be ashamed about their late night explorations. But again, not me. No. Because I knew I would get one of those O’Malley boys to marry me, I just had to be patient.

    Checking my appearance in the mirror I applied my red lipstick and prepared myself to walk down the block again.

    Today was the day I would get one of them to notice me.

    @TinsleyWarren
    Word Count: 179

    Like

  2. @DasBaiyo
    Word Count: 116

    The voice.

    I hear it.

    The clapping I feel it.

    All the hours spent slaving away.

    All the minutes spent alone amongst my thoughts.

    I see my friends, my family,

    all who were there for me when I wasn’t there for them.

    All the dates blown off.

    All the dinners missed.

    All the games left unwatched.

    All the concerts left unattended.

    And I see her, the one I sought for the last decade.

    I feel her.

    Her scent creeping into my every thought.

    I give her a quick smile, but no more.

    Tonight is my night, the summation of 5 years of work.

    Five years of everything I am.

    This is what I was born for.

    Like

  3. “No way. You need a few more degrees rotation,” Bob said with authority, pointing to the picture.

    Ben shrugged dejectedly. “Tried that. Just shuddered, wouldn’t turn over. Like she was close, but no joy.”

    “Wait. Maybe it’s the oxygen level. She’s getting enough air?” Could have expected that feedback from Cameron; he was a runner and always aware of his lungs.

    “Hmm—” Ben’s brow remained frozen with concern, unconvinced.

    Tom was persuaded. “Yeah, I’m with Cam. Maybe more air, but maintain current rotation.”

    “Hey, maybe increase pressure here, too. Easy, though. Too much and you’ll kill her progress,” said Stevie, gesturing lower with his finger. He’d been around the block a few times; he might actually know what he was talking about.

    David, the gang’s youngest member, just nodded his head vigorously, like the fake dog in the car’s back window during a turn.

    “Got it. Hold this position, more air, increase pressure slightly.” Ben’s face slowly resolved into firm resignation as he stood straight and tall, rolling up the glossy magazine they’d been pouring over.

    Bob patted his back. “It’ll be okay, Ben, trust me. Don’t let this become an obsession. Eventually you’ll give Evie an orgasm.”
    __________
    @femme_mal
    198 words

    Like

  4. @jdifrans
    200 words

    “I’ll take you shopping for a new dress,” he said. “We’ll go to dinner and a show,” he promised. But once again, a car came first. This time it was Joey D’s 55 Chevy.

    “Come hang out with the guys,” he said. “I won’t be long. He needs me.”

    So I went. I watched him and the other monkeys wrench on that damn car. I fetched them drinks, smokes, and even car parts.

    As “not that long,” went from one hour to six, my annoyance turned to rage.

    “Hey, Babe, we’ll go out tomorrow. Why don’t we go for a ride tonight? Sound good?” he said with a smirk, as he tried to wrap his greasy arms around me.

    “Do. Not. Touch. Me,” I said as I shook my head side-to-side. “No, it doesn’t ‘sound good’. You live for these cars. They’ll always come first. So I’m going to do you a favor and leave you to your obsession, so I won’t be in the way.”

    “Don’t be like this. Come on, Babe.”

    “Sorry. ‘Babe’. Hire a errand-boy and a hooker. We’re done.” Being sure to sway my hips, I walked away without looking back. I am no man’s play thing.

    Like

  5. @lovelybrutal
    177 late words

    Valentines’ Day is bearing down like a storm, and it’s so hard to pick a gift for my new girl.

    Flowers, candy … as lovely as they are, seem so cliché. I want to stand out.

    Lingerie seems too personal, and I’m afraid to guess at her size.

    I could choose a perfume if I knew what kind of scents she likes best.

    She doesn’t go out much, so a fancy restaurant seems out. I’d make her a romantic dinner for two at home, but I do that so often.

    It has to be so special.

    I’m not ready to say those three little words just yet, but I want her to know I feel them. I want her to know I’m close, and I’m all hers. Just like she’s all mine.

    The nagging little voice in the back of my head says the one thing she’d really like best of all is for me to untie her and let her go home.

    I know it’s right.

    But that’s never going to happen.

    So flowers it is.

    Like

  6. Hola. My twitter handle is @warrencbennett. My word count is 198. – Warren

    The cursor blinks.

    On, off, on, off on…

    Fingers hang above the row of keys, square with letters partially worn and faded. Music bounces around the room, soothing and mellow. Thoughts come and are quickly discarded. A phrase is needed. A word. The perfect phrase filled with the perfect words.

    The heart beats in time to the music. The mind drifts, foggy with too much work and not enough sleep.

    The cursor blinks out in to the room. Off, on, off, on, off…

    The phrases won’t come. The word, the perfect word is needed. It isn’t there even after a fitful night. A deep sound of wind being inhaled. The silent whoosh of that breath being exhaled. Slowing the heart down and calming the mind. Pretending a life isn’t riding on this. That the landlord won’t evict if this doesn’t happen. The room is silent for a moment as one song fades in to another.

    The cursor blinks, taunting and vicious in nature. The pearl white screen lacks definition and description. The color of words isn’t painted across the lines.

    With a grimace and a sigh the fingers go down. One word is needed, one phrase is wanted.

    Like

  7. @hardwurkindaddy and word count is about 300, by three different count tools with three different answers. I wrote this on a galaxy note 3 so I’m just going to trust the tools are right…lol! Anyhow here it is.

    He walked the block. He past the Jones brothers and friends working on the jalopy they bought last week from old man Stewart. He rounded the corner and saw her.

     

    “Frank. Go inside. Go see her. See what she has to say.”

     

    “I can’t Lou…I can’t go in there.”

     

    “Frank if you could just control yourself these things wouldn’t happen.”

     

    “I know Lou, but it’s the same thing every time. I go in there and see her. I hold her. She sings sweetly to me in that unmatched voice of hers. I take her back home. At first it’s all roses and candy. Then in a day or two we get bolder…we start back into the old ways and she gets louder. Pretty soon the neighbors are coming over to find out what the noise is about. Then we start getting really loud…it’s almost embarrassing but by that time I don’t care anymore! All I want, all I can think about is her. I think maybe I’ll quit my job, maybe her and I will go on the road. I’ll buy a Harley and a sleeping bag and that’s all we’ll need. Then one day the cops come over and the fairy tale ends. I’m in jail and she’s back to doing whatever she has to do to pay my bail. I can’t do it to her again. Lou…she deserves better than I got to give her. She deserves a man, not an obsessive creep like me.”

     

    Lou watched him turn with a tear in his eye as he walked past the shop. She turned and looked at the window and the 1968 Gibson guitar that hung there so often.

     

    “He’ll be back dear, don’t you fret”

    And she laughed at Frank, and at her pun as she finished sweeping the front walk of the pawn shop.

    Like

  8. @Lakermom37
    Word Count: 199
    Feminist, per the Merriam-Webster dictionary, is the belief men and women should have equal rights and opportunities. Of this, I was a firm believer. This is my story.

    From the tender age of twelve, when I first saw the black and white photo of my grandfather and his five brothers bent under the hood of a big-block 1949 Plymouth Special Deluxe, I dreamed of a vocation as a classic auto restoration specialist. Oh, I found discouragement at every turn, from my well-meaning mother, to the archaic ‘no girls allowed’ belief of the auto shop teacher from high school, but I wasn’t to be deterred. I knew what I wanted. Sadly, most of the boys in school picked on me for my choice, so my dating prospects were bleak at best.

    After graduation I moved from my rural Tennessee roots to Kansas, where I enrolled at McPherson College, renowned for its auto restoration program. After four years of sweat, tears, grease behind my nails, and bloody knuckles, finally my dues where paid. I graduated top of my class, alongside my sexy, new husband, who happens to be a registered nurse.

    I am woman, and I always get what I want.

    Like

  9. @Deebelle1
    Word Count: 196

    The humidity hung in the air that hot August afternoon like the freshly laundered clothes that were pinned on line in the backyard, still damp though it’d been up for a few hours. I sat on our front stoop once my chores we done; sipping on an ice cold bottle of Coca-Cola I’d commandeered from Dad’s stash the icebox while watching my brother and his friends admire the new automobile our parents had purchased for him.

    They all had their heads stuck under the hood and I couldn’t hear a word they were saying, not that I cared, because I couldn’t see what the big deal was. It was just a car to me.

    I didn’t understand what was so important about the size of the motor or the number of horses it pulled.
    I wasn’t a boy obsessed with the power it possessed, so none of those things mattered to me.

    I was a girl — just a simple, young girl — who wondered what the big deal was.

    I was only a girl who only wanted to ride in that new car so I could get a new pair of saddle shoes…shoes were everything to me.

    Like

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s