Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction: Love is a Battlefield

This month’s flash fiction story tells the story of my characters’ past. It was fun for me to explore the history that set them on the path that would lead to the story in my book, Love is Elementary. I hope you enjoy it, and next month, we’ll be headed to the Kentucky Derby–fancy hats and mint juleps.

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Cissy’s eyes drifted up from the dull words of her reading assignment—Killer Angels. No hope for a romantic thread on the battlefield at Gettysburg. She dug her toes under the warm sand. Her surreptitious gaze expertly hidden behind the oversized sunglasses.

As Parker strolled up the beach, he brushed his blond bangs away from his tanned face, revealing his easy smile and eyes the same color as the June sky. Droplets of seawater trailed over his toned chest. High school boys posed no competition.

Cissy’s heart pounded like the marching drum leading General Lee’s army. But she forced her eyes back to the page. At this rate, it would take her all of summer vacation to read about a three-day battle. And if Paisley caught her ogling her brother, she’d never let Cissy hear the end of it. But she glanced back.

Two little girls giggled and nodded as Parker knelt near their beach toys. Together they dug sand, filling a yellow sand castle mold. Parker flipped it over, creating a tower. The girls applauded as Parker stood. So sweet. Too bad she turned down that babysitting job.

“Cissy … Cissy.” Paisley nudged her knee.

“What?” Cissy turned her head, giving her full attention to her friends.

Blair rolled onto her side, striking a pose she’d problem seen in a swimsuit ad.

Paisley adjusted her floppy sunhat. “Good grief. You must really be into that book. Parker loves Civil War History too. Click here to read the rest of the story.

Flash Fiction – Prom Date?

It’s getting close to that time of year for millions of high school students–Prom. What do you remember most about your Prom? What do you look forward to most? For Sarah, she just wants to go with her best friend, but will he ask her?

I hope you enjoy this story and share it with a friend.

Sarah applied a fresh coat of gloss to her lips and checked her teeth for stray strawberry seeds. Why did she put herself through this every morning? Forest never noticed. Almost four years of sitting in the desk next to him—Mitchell and Miller. On the first day of freshman year, he’d declared they would be best friends, and that’s exactly what they’d been—friends. Occasionally, he paid her a compliment, but usually, he discussed his fluctuating relationship status with Jenna. During the breakups, Sarah would have him all to herself, but Jenna always managed to lure him back.

Sarah opened her planner. Activities and deadlines filled the boxes of the calendar. She drew another jagged line around the starburst on the last Saturday of the month—Senior Prom. Last night, during one of their marathon texting sessions, Forest assured her that someone would ask her this week. Why couldn’t it be him?

The door crashed against the metal cupboard. “You’re not going to believe this!”

Sarah jumped in her seat. Several students snickered, accustomed to the routine.

“Dude, she’s not that hot. Cut her loose.” Sam rolled his eyes to his brother.

“Yeah. College girls.” The Nolan twins slapped hands.

“Classy, guys.” Forest strode across the classroom and dropped into his desk. “She expected me to miss the G-day Spring Football Game in Athens to go dress shopping with her.”

“Hmm.” Sarah doodled in the margin. Why was he surprised? Jenna spent more time learning to manipulate Forest than any other subject in high school, which explained her mediocre GPA. But she had an “A” in drama. Jenna could produce more tears than Niagra falls. For a smart guy, Forest didn’t seem to catch onto her games and couldn’t stand to see her upset. He was empathetic to a fault. One of the many reasons Sarah loved him.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” He rested his elbow on her desk.

Sarah glanced up at him. Their faces inches apart. Her heart fluttered. Flecks of gold radiated in his hazel eyes. What if she told him the truth?

Her stomach knotted. “My mom said not to say anything if you couldn’t say something nice.” She’d had enough of Jenna.

Forest slumped back into his seat. “She’s already crying and told me ‘to go if football was more important than her.’ But she doesn’t mean it. She’ll hold a grudge. Why does she need me to look at dresses? I even offered to go another day. But she insisted this was the only time. I told her I’d made plans with you. She said you’d understand.”

Sarah pressed her pen into the paper. Heat flowed through her veins. Forest might be oblivious to Sarah, but not Jenna. She clenched her jaw.

“And I know you would—”

“That’s it!” Sarah slammed her hands on the desk, sending her pen flying across the room. Click here to read the rest of the story.

Sometimes you need a little inspiration from Taylor Swift. Here is a video of Libby in sixth grade singing the song that gave me the idea for this story.

 

Croquet Kiss

It’s the first week of the month, and I’m excited to share my first published flash fiction piece. Croquet Kiss was first published in the August edition of Spark magazine. It is set on Jekyll Island during the time when millionaires holidayed on the Island. They often visited during the month of February, fleeing the cold winters of the Northeast. I hope you enjoy.

Croquet Kiss by Leslie DeVooght

Tap.

Clarice’s yellow ball rolled to a stop beside John’s black one. With her precise putt, she’d created an irresistible target.

John pulled back his wooden mallet and swung with gusto. His competitive spirit vanquished his manners.

Thwack.

John’s ball smashed against her ball, sending it sailing over the manicured lawn. It rested in the rough under a sweeping oak. His shot went beyond defense and social graces, but her ball couldn’t have landed in a more perfect location.

Rowdy cheers rose from the gentlemen, entertaining her friends on the veranda of the Jekyll Island Club House.

Jekyll Island Club

Clarice glanced to the spectators.

The ladies paused—their glasses of lemonade suspended. They breathed a collective sigh, while their wide brim hats swayed like sailing yachts on an undulating sea.

With a smug grin, John tipped his hat to his friends. His chest swelled, confident of his skill. Surely this surge of masculinity would encourage him to act on the sparks that flew between them.

Clarice bit down on her lip, a smile pushing at the corners. Before John caught a glimpse of her expression, she tossed her white, lace sunhat and marched across the croquet court. She swung her mallet like a drum major’s baton, feigning irritation.

Last night, she’d tarried with John in the beam of the moon on the stoop of her uncle’s vacation cottage. And when John leaned into her, she tilted her chin, lips puckered—ready. But instead of warm lips on hers, he’d lifted her hand and politely pecked the back of her fingers—merely childhood friends.

Ire rose in her, warming her cheeks—time to take matters into her own hands.

“Tsk, tsk, Clarice.” John fell in line behind her. “What will you do now?”

“Hmmph.” She pulled her shoulders back and dabbed a renegade bead of perspiration daring to escape her hairline.

“Come on, please don’t be mad. I was simply following our President’s advice—‘speak softly and carry a big stick.’”

Undoubtedly, Teddy Roosevelt wouldn’t approve of his words being used to describe a lawn sport. And of course, John focused on the stick and not the speaking softly. Besides why were they discussing politics at all—certainly, a twist she hadn’t anticipated. What else could she do to show her willingness and still be called a lady?

She spun and faced him. “I—”

John nearly collided with her, as he waved to his cohorts. He snatched his hand down, and his fingers tangled with hers, then their eyes entwined.

Maybe he’d stop dawdling and draw her to him. Shivers dashed up her arms.

“Sorry.” He broke the trance, pulling his hand from hers.

Her cheeks burned—maybe not.

Click here to read the rest of the story.

Fiery Christmas

Merry Christmas! This month, my daughter Libby wrote a Flash Fiction piece. It is her first try at writing fiction this way. She worked hard on it and endured her mother’s edits. I hope you enjoy it. For more Holiday flash fiction, check out Splickety magazine’s most recent issue.

As my gaze fell upon my seat at the dinner table, my joy for Christmas fell like the shepherds in the field.  “I can’t believe you’re making me sit between the crazies.”  I faced my mother, flipping my hand at the chair.

She didn’t even bother arguing, we both knew she agreed.  My mother’s sisters, Kelly-Anne and Barbara-Jean, were crazier than sprayed roaches.  It’s a wonder my logical, mild-mannered mother is related to them.  I mean, Kelly-Anne thinks she’s Scarlett O-Hara and Barbara-Jean’s still livin’ in the fifties!  It may have made sense if she’d been alive in the fifties, but she was born in 1973, so she had no excuse.  Nevertheless, they’re family, so I took my place and prayed for patience.

“How lovely you look this evening darling,” Kelly-Anne commented in her syrupy Southern accent.  “Barbara, would you be a dear and pass the preserves?”

Barbara-Jean leaned forward for the sweet peaches, tilting her cotton candy bouffant over grandma’s candles. Just a slight wobble and the outdated style caught on the flickering wicks.  The fire ringing her head reminded me of an angel’s halo, but Barbara-Jean was no heavenly being. She shrieked loud enough to scare the birds further south for the winter.

My father ran to the kitchen for the fire extinguisher.

Kelly-Anne flapped her arms. “Gracious darling, your hair’s in flames!”  Apparently, she forgot Southern Belles don’t shout.

Mother attempted to douse the flames with the water from her crystal goblet. However, the hairspray Barbara-Jean covered her hair with every morning fueled the fire.  By the time the inferno was extinguished, the bouffant was little more than a poodle cut.  It took grandma three days, seven vanilla scented candles, and two bottles of Febreeze to remove the stench.  Barbara-Jean gained a little sense that day and never wore her hair in a bouffant again, moving to the sixties with a beehive.

Just Jack – a Flash Fiction Story

This month’s flash fiction piece presents a meet cute, a first meeting.  Will it turn into more? We love to remember the experience of meeting the person that makes our heart do somersaults and tingles dash over our arms. I met my husband on a blind date, and we were talking about engagement rings within a month.  What attracted you to your love? How did you meet? I’d love to hear your stories. Please comment below.

Here’s a snippet from Just Jack. To read the rest, click on the link at the end.

Brady flipped his truck keys in the air as he sauntered across the tarmac. His buddies played cards in the open bay of the firehouse. The clank of a metal door slamming shut, pulled his attention to the nearby hanger. Bright sunlight bounced off the white paint of a medivac helicopter, stinging his eyes, but the woman with her hands on her hips and two perfectly toned legs held his attention. The woman slashed her hand through her short, dark hair as she circled the helicopter.

Energy surged through Brady, as he turned to the burly guys hunched around a piece of plywood on an overturned five-gallon bucket scattered with poker chips and cards. “Wow. Who’s that? Y’all been holdin’ out on me.”

“That’s just, Jack.” One of the medivac pilots he recognized tossed over his shoulder as he drew a card.

“Doesn’t look like any Jack I know.” Brady shaded his eyes as he surveyed Just Jack’s ripped arms tugging a bag from the rear of the chopper.

“Dude, you don’t want to mess with her, especially not today. We just found out we’re stuck here waiting on a part for our bird, and she’s not happy.”

As if on cue, Just Jack kicked one of the landing skids.

“Obviously, but that’s never been a problem for me. I don’t mind being her shoulder to cry on.”

“Dude, she doesn’t cry, she punches. I’m warning you, steer clear. She’s not like the sweet, southern girls you’re used to.

Click here to read the rest of the story.

Flash Fiction: A Surprise in Seat Two

 

Happy Fall, Y’all. Now, if the weather could get the message.  Since this is the first week of the month, I have posted a flash fiction piece on the website. The title is A Surprise in Seat Two. It takes place in the summer, as Cammie works with her Nana giving tours on the antique wooden trolley. Just as boredom sets in, Cammie is surprised by someone from her past. I hope you enjoy it. Please follow the orange link below.

A Surprise in Seat Two

Flash Fiction: Coming Back from Forty Love

Welcome back, friends. It is the first week of the month, so I will be posting a Flash Fiction piece, Coming Back from Forty Love. This was my first piece of this length, and I wrote it last year as part of a character study for an upcoming novel. I hadn’t planned to publish it, but with the U.S. Open going on this weekend, it seemed like the perfect time. I hope you enjoy it.

Here is the link: http://lesliedevooght.com/flash-fiction/coming-back-from-forty-love/