Transport Me

A Flash Fiction Story
All Rights Reserved

My movie theater always requires a walk to the door. The icy rain is running down my neck, it causes a chill and my speed to pick up, all to get to the heat within the door. Grabbing the wet handle I rush into the warm air; I am hit with the smell of stale popcorn and sugar, it is strong enough I almost taste it.
The silence of the winter now lost to the noise of people who didn’t want to spend their weekend at home. I look around and see a bunch of kids, many crying, and groan. I hand over my money for my ticket and quickly buy a bottle of water and rush to the theater to avoid the noisy children.

The floor is always sticky with slushies and popcorn, and I can hear how my foot sticks to the ground. I feel a shudder go through me. Why can’t they for once clean these theaters? But I promised a friend I would come see this movie with them.

I spot them quickly. Their smile hurts my eyes. They are so happy to see me. I quickly sit in the leather seat and they push a button to put my seat up. I hear them speaking, but the words are lost as the lighting is dimmed and the sound of the first trailer hurts my ear drums. But accept the handful of popcorn. It is stale upon my tongue.

When the movie starts I am transported from the sticky, smelly, stale, cold, wet, and crowded with screaming kids, theater and enter the world of hero.

I can almost taste the food he is eating, smell it cooking, hear the pin drop in the background of his location, see him almost in 360 degree vision, it is like I can reach out and touch him.
With the movie, I remember why I brave the sticky, smelly, stale, cold, wet, and crowded with screaming kids, theater.
When the movie ends and the credits roll I come back to reality. The water I had bought warm, the popcorn now soggy in and the butter and grease can be seen destroying the bucket, the floor now a stickier mess as we stand to leave, the ripping of our soles from the floor as we walk echo as we just watch the people rush back out into the cold icy weather. They are all in a hurry now to get home. The warmth of the heater is beating down upon us, if possible the sounds and smells stronger than before, the salt and butter of the stale popcorn still on our tongue, even after we have finished our drinks, and we just look up at the board to see when another movie plays.

We look outside and see the icy rain has turned into snow; we shiver in thought of how that would feel across our skins as we tried to cross the huge parking lot. We smile and buy another ticket. After all, through all the faults of a movie theater, there is nothing quite like a good movie to transport you into another world.


Twitter VSS365 Prompt

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She felt nothing would pacify her soul.

She shuffled into the room, wrapping the worn out quilt tightly around her.

Shadows of the night still fading.

Her sleep crusted eyes twinkled in happiness when they zeroed in on the lone package under the tiny tree.

She had never, in her life, gotten a present.

What she did not know, the moment she opened the box, and gave her loyalty to the man who was raising her, she was signing her death.

She closed her eyes that night with a smile, holding on to the black teddy bear.

Her first ever gift, for her first true Christmas.

As she held that black teddy bear close to her chest, she sold her soul to an evil greater than the devil himself.

She just did not know it yet.


Twitter VSS365 Prompt

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I stand silent.

As to speak would mean my own death.

I stand silent.

As the rivers run with the blood of the innocent.

I stand silent.

As my fellow women hang from the trees.

I stand silent.

As their screams ring out.

I stand silent.

As they drag them from their homes.

I stand silent.

As I face my own judgment.

I stand silent.

As they condemn me to death.

I didn’t stand silently.

As I faced my death.

I cursed them all.

I showed my truth.

I stood silent.

And now we are all condemned.


A Flash Fiction Story

All Rights Reserved Copyright 2019

I make cakes, grand, perfect, amazing cakes. I am one of the best in the world. It is why they hired me. Though he should have said no. Because she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that the cake design she choose was the one I designed for what should have been my wedding cake. But he knew. He knew because it should be me walking down that isle today, to become his wife.

Yet, I stand here staring out of the skylight in this kitchen watching the rain clear away into a perfect Iowan June day. The cooks behind me chopping, yelling, crashing, as they make the wedding meal. I stand staring out the skylight that I begged my father to put into the kitchen, on this date, which should have been my wedding day was now hers, just as he was now hers.

I remember that day, just six weeks ago, I had come home, so happy, I was pregnant, to find him sitting with her, my cousin, who was more my sister, holding her hand.

“Jamie! I want you to meet my fiancé! He proposed today! And I am pregnant! You will do the wedding cake right?!” Beth jumped up and down.

My world tilted at that moment. It made sense now why he had wanted to wait to meet my family. “Jamie.” I stated and held out my hand.

“William.” He took my hand and shook it as if we didn’t know each other. That we hadn’t been talking marriage and moving in together, if we hadn’t been talking children.

I played the hostess while they were in my apartment, my sister having a key. I was in the kitchen alone when he walked in. “Don’t. Just don’t. Leave the keys to my place by the door.” I told him.


“No. You are marrying my cousin. My cousin. Out of the all the people I could have been the other woman for, you had to make it her? We are done.” I stormed out of the kitchen to find Beth looking at my computer. Where my design for what was going to be my wedding cake was displayed. It was a seven tier, white and black, classic, 1920’s inspired outlined in gold.

“O.M.G!” Beth yelled. “A 20’s themed wedding! That is brilliant! I want this! Can this be my cake?”

I wanted to scream. Say no. But he walked in and smiled. “Money is no object.” He told Beth.

And I couldn’t say no to my cousin. So I just nodded. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t do anything. But I made the cake.

So six weeks later I am standing with my head tilted back and looking at the skylight. My flowing maid of honor dress hiding my eleven week pregnant stomach, thankfully I hadn’t popped yet. I turned when a throat cleared. I turned and it was my father. “Daddy.”

“Poppet, Beth is asking for you.”

I nodded and turned to look out the skylight one more time. The Iowa summer storm gone, and in its place, was a perfect June day. I turned from the view and walked out of the kitchen; turning my back on the cake and wedding that should have been mine, and put the fake smile on my face as I walked down the aisle to stand by my cousin’s side to marry the father of my child.

She got my life. Was all I could think as the minister asked if there were any objections. But I stayed silent, for she had my wedding, my husband, my cake, my life…

And now I could only watch, like looking through the skylight, as her storm turned into the perfect summer day, as my storm raged on…