I opted for the Soulmate At A Funeral. I will write the other later.
The Letter
Prompt by: THE FICTION DEALER: Soulmates & Funerals: You will meet your soulmate at a funeral.
As I stood before the coffin I was wondering why the deceased's tie was askew. I started to bend closer when I heard a voice beside me.
“That’s odd. They usually have everything so buttoned up that it is impossible to get anything in there.”
I looked at the voice. Cute face, curly hair swept back revealing lines and angles that wearing her hair down would have hidden. “Is your knowledge from experience?” I inquired.
Her laughter was instantaneous and infectious. We quickly looked around to see if we disturbed anyone by breaking the somber moment. Seeing none we looked at each other and smiled. “Vicki,” she said. “Long names are boring.”
“Tom,” I replied. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Is anyone looking?” she asked quietly.
I glanced around. Everyone seemed to be chatting amiably. “Not at the moment,” I replied as she made movements to fix his tie.
“I have my thoughts about who it could be,” she replied as she patted his chest.
“Could be?” I faltered “Could be what?”
“Who put this note next to his heart,” she answered waving the note that was in the palm of her hand. “Let’s find a place to sit down and look at it.” she said, taking my hand and walking down the aisle.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other?” stated my Aunt Violet. “Bobby would be so pleased to know that a friend and a cousin were a couple,” she said as she looked at our linked hands.
“We’re not.” I started before a searing pain invaded my hand. I looked at Vicki who smiled as if nothing was happening.
“Vera. Vera. Come over here for a minute.” called Aunt Violet to her sister Aunt Vera.
Vicki pulled on my arm. “Violet, we have to go. We will be back,” and with that she hauled me off to another room before letting go of my hand.
“Sorry about that,” she apologized, “but if Vera got a hold of us she wouldn’t stop until the funeral had started.”
“She does have that way of going on and on.” Vicki was still holding my hand when I asked. “How did you know Bobby?”
“He and I go back a long way. I am surprised that we have never met before,” she replied as she took a good look at me with those eyes that make appraisals quick. She seemed to like what she saw as she stepped forward and graced me with a lingering kiss before stepping back. “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you.”
“Not that I am objecting,” I said as I stepped toward her. Vicki put her hand up to my chest so I stepped back. “Why have you wanted to kiss me since you first saw me?”
“I am usually a good judge of people. I see things that others miss when they are blubbering around in their emotions. You,” she paused as she considered her words, “you have qualities that will balance mine out. We will make an amazing couple.” With that she stepped forward to give me another kiss. This time I put my hand up and she stopped. “This is what I am talking about,” she intoned. “You know your own mind.” She took my hand and led me to a sofa where she sat beside me.
“This note,” she said waving it around, “is in Rachel Anderson’s handwriting.” She sniffed it. “And that gaudy perfume she wears.”
“Shouldn’t you have left the note where it was?” I asked.
“Where is the fun in that?” she replied, “besides, if Rachel can put it there someone can remove it, so I did. Let’s see what she has to say.”
I have to admit that I was curious to read Rachel’s note. I hardly knew any of these people since I lived so far away. Rachel was unknown. My cousin had never mentioned her, but then again, he had never mentioned Vicki either.
“It’s time,” came a voice from the doorway. “The service is about to begin.” Vicki put the note away before leading the way. She chose a seat towards the back of the room.
She looked at me during the service. Each time a larger smile enveloped her face.
“Have you considered getting married?” she asked .
“Let’s wait until after the funeral,” I replied
Vicki snorted loudly causing the Minister to pause. Everyone turned around and looked at us. Aunt Vera had a hurtful look while Aunt Violet gave a knowledgeable smile.
“Bobby would have loved this interruption,” Vicki stated quietly avoiding the glares laser focused on us.
“It would have been one of many he would have started at someone else's funeral,” I commented.
“What’s next?” Vicki asked.
“How about dinner?” I asked.
“As in a date?”
“We can eat first and discuss the date later.”
She smiled. “I like the way you think.”
“Right back at you,” I said as she took my hand.
Years later I did ask my wife what Rachel had said in the note.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“It was a blank piece of paper with a set of lips on it. It really was nothing,” she said as she pulled the letter from her keepsake box.
“If it was nothing then why do you still have it?”
“Because it is how we fell in love,” she intoned warmly.
Write a flash fiction story of less than 1500 words, using the prompt, "A fortune appears on a protagonist’s wrist every morning."
🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠
Grandma’s Secret Imperatives
Joey was more than bummed out. He was more than sad. His parents had recently been killed in a car crash, and he'd had to move in with Grandma. Joey was in a very deep funk.
He'd always been an indifferent scholar, but recent events had put even the smallest thought of doing any schoolwork right out of his head. Joey was sixteen years old and reading at a third grade level. Grandma was worried. She was old, and wouldn't be around forever. Joey needed to find some way to support himself - preferably something that he enjoyed
She tried leaving all kinds of books out for him: Science fiction, fantasy, fables, legends, mythology, nonfiction, but nothing interested him. He preferred television to books. One pleasure he shared with Grandma was a love for good food.
Finally, Grandma had an idea. Joey was a very heavy sleeper. She often joked that he could sleep through a fire. So one night she slipped into his room and used a black sharpie to write a message on his wrist: "This is your secret imperative: Bake some cookies!" When he read the message the next morning, he puzzled briefly about the origin of the message, but wasn't too concerned - he wasn't all that deep a thinker. But he did think some cookies would he nice. So he asked Grandma for some.
"Sorry, Hon, we're out of cookies, and I'm too busy to bake today. But here's a recipe that you might enjoy."
"But Grandma, I've never cooked before," Joey objected.
"You're a clever lad, you can learn. Let me know if you have any questions."
By now, Joey really wanted some cookies, so he took the recipe and headed into the kitchen. He needed to ask Grandma a few questions, but a couple hours later the counter was covered with cooling confections. Joey brought one to his grandmother, asking, "What do you think?"
"Delicious, Joey! I can't believe this is your first time baking! They are so good," she gushed. He really did have a knack for it!
Every night, Grandma wrote a different "secret imperative" on Joey's wrist. Within a year, he had become an extremely competent cook. Even better, he had developed a great interest in reading cookbooks!
Grandma talked to Mr. Jacoby, a friend of hers who owned a restaurant, praising Joey's skills. He assured her that if Joey was as talented as she said, he would happily take him on as an apprentice. That night's message was a bit different: "Your secret imperative: Go talk to Mr. Jacoby."
And so Joey's future was assured. He flourished under Mr. Jacoby's tutelage, and eventually became a great chef. He even wrote a cookbook, which he dedicated to his grandmother: "To Grandma, the magical inventor of the not-so-secret imperatives. Thank you for saving my life!" And they lived happily for the rest of their lives.
Interesting idea.... I liked your story, despite the sad ending. It's funny what you said about people forgetting how to drive in the rain, around here we say the same thing about driving in snow. I think I know what to do with the prompt. It involves cookies... and a grandma! 😁
He was delivered to the correctional reception center on May 4th at 05:00 and exchanged his name, his watch, work boots, a canvas jacket, and his street clothes for a prison-issue orange jumpsuit, underwear, boots, and his new identity: prisoner 9519.
Then he was escorted to the processing center med bay by 4 armed guards, a med tech, and 2 security dogs, both hypervigilant German shepherds with low-slung hips, lolling tongues, and big white teeth. The med tech informed him that he had a syringe of haloperidol at the ready should he, prisoner 9519, engage in any off-regulation behavior.
At the med bay, 9519 was led to a chair at the center of the room. One of the guards shortened the chain that joined the manacles at his wrists and ankles and instructed him to, "Sit here." He sat, and the med tech pushed his head back and fastened a rigid C-spine attached to the chair at his throat so he was unable to view anything that was not directly in front of him. His right arm and ankles were placed in braces attached to the chair. Once secured, the med tech turned 9519's left forearm upwards and locked it down too. The tech swabbed his wrist with a numbing agent, explaining as he did so that he was being outfitted with a device that would track his movements at all times and inject him with a paralyzing agent should he engage in any off-regulation actions. The device would also provide him with digital readouts consisting of daily routine reminders, notifications, and other pertinent information.
"Think of it as your digital fortune cookie," the tech said.
9519 bent his eyes to the left as far as he could in an effort to watch the tech work. He felt a small sting as the tech made a vertical incision on the meaty part of his wrist, directly below his thumb. He staunched the blood as it welled up and inserted a thin strip, like the news banner at the bottom of a TV screen, and sealed it with a foamy line of transparent synthetic skin. The synth skin hissed and bubbled for a moment and then flattened seamlessly to his wrist and sealed the wound. Finished, the tech ticked off a list of things 9519 should expect as the device integrated with his body.
"The nanites in the synthetic skin will copy your DNA and format it into the device so your body won't reject it. It will itch for a few days. Do not scratch or pick at the bandage. You will be escorted back here in 48 hours for a checkup. If you scratch at the bandage or the device, you will be placed in a body security chamber for the duration of your healing process. If you attempt to remove the device, the skin around the device, or your limb, the device will deliver a heavy dose of haldol and a neuromuscular agent that will block the transmission of nerve impulses to your skeletal muscles, resulting in temporary paralysis. Attempts to remove the device will also land you in solitary confinement for 30 days. My advice, 9519, don't do it."
The tech activated his new fortune cookie with a small handheld device. It gave a bright little chirp and went online. The small screen blinked a few times and then a message began to scroll across its face:
Roger stretched and checked his wrist. Ah, there it was, the card. He'd long since given up trying to find out where it came from or how it worked. What he knew was that the little plastic square appeared just on his wrist every morning, right where he'd used to keep his cheap plastic watch. He bought Rolexes now. Hell, thanks to the cards he could buy Rolex.
It was almost time to order breakfast. He was just lingering over the menu when a knock came on his penthouse door. Odd, he thought. He was still getting used to the idea of having personal staff, but he thought he'd made it clear that they weren't to bother him before breakfast.
The elevator door slid open. "Excuse me, sir," said the butler, a fat manila envelope in his hand. "This came for you."
"Huh," Roger said, mildly curious. "Looks important."
"It seems so, sir."
In no hurry he slid it open. The contents slid out onto his table. At the top were two words in bright red: "The Bill."
Forgive my very abridged 100 word attempt! Time was not on my side today.
“Why must you have died?” Asked a grief stricken Rodger. There was no consoling him. Rodger and Simon had been lifelong friends. Growing up in the same household, they became soulmates for life. They were never jealous of one another, in fact both had dated the same girl at different times. They shared each other's deepest thoughts. But that was all now gone. Rodger wiped his tears and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, then giving a nod. The medical team would now attempt to separate these conjoined twins before it was too late for the both of them.
I opted for the Soulmate At A Funeral. I will write the other later.
The Letter
Prompt by: THE FICTION DEALER: Soulmates & Funerals: You will meet your soulmate at a funeral.
As I stood before the coffin I was wondering why the deceased's tie was askew. I started to bend closer when I heard a voice beside me.
“That’s odd. They usually have everything so buttoned up that it is impossible to get anything in there.”
I looked at the voice. Cute face, curly hair swept back revealing lines and angles that wearing her hair down would have hidden. “Is your knowledge from experience?” I inquired.
Her laughter was instantaneous and infectious. We quickly looked around to see if we disturbed anyone by breaking the somber moment. Seeing none we looked at each other and smiled. “Vicki,” she said. “Long names are boring.”
“Tom,” I replied. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Is anyone looking?” she asked quietly.
I glanced around. Everyone seemed to be chatting amiably. “Not at the moment,” I replied as she made movements to fix his tie.
“I have my thoughts about who it could be,” she replied as she patted his chest.
“Could be?” I faltered “Could be what?”
“Who put this note next to his heart,” she answered waving the note that was in the palm of her hand. “Let’s find a place to sit down and look at it.” she said, taking my hand and walking down the aisle.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other?” stated my Aunt Violet. “Bobby would be so pleased to know that a friend and a cousin were a couple,” she said as she looked at our linked hands.
“We’re not.” I started before a searing pain invaded my hand. I looked at Vicki who smiled as if nothing was happening.
“Vera. Vera. Come over here for a minute.” called Aunt Violet to her sister Aunt Vera.
Vicki pulled on my arm. “Violet, we have to go. We will be back,” and with that she hauled me off to another room before letting go of my hand.
“Sorry about that,” she apologized, “but if Vera got a hold of us she wouldn’t stop until the funeral had started.”
“She does have that way of going on and on.” Vicki was still holding my hand when I asked. “How did you know Bobby?”
“He and I go back a long way. I am surprised that we have never met before,” she replied as she took a good look at me with those eyes that make appraisals quick. She seemed to like what she saw as she stepped forward and graced me with a lingering kiss before stepping back. “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you.”
“Not that I am objecting,” I said as I stepped toward her. Vicki put her hand up to my chest so I stepped back. “Why have you wanted to kiss me since you first saw me?”
“I am usually a good judge of people. I see things that others miss when they are blubbering around in their emotions. You,” she paused as she considered her words, “you have qualities that will balance mine out. We will make an amazing couple.” With that she stepped forward to give me another kiss. This time I put my hand up and she stopped. “This is what I am talking about,” she intoned. “You know your own mind.” She took my hand and led me to a sofa where she sat beside me.
“This note,” she said waving it around, “is in Rachel Anderson’s handwriting.” She sniffed it. “And that gaudy perfume she wears.”
“Shouldn’t you have left the note where it was?” I asked.
“Where is the fun in that?” she replied, “besides, if Rachel can put it there someone can remove it, so I did. Let’s see what she has to say.”
I have to admit that I was curious to read Rachel’s note. I hardly knew any of these people since I lived so far away. Rachel was unknown. My cousin had never mentioned her, but then again, he had never mentioned Vicki either.
“It’s time,” came a voice from the doorway. “The service is about to begin.” Vicki put the note away before leading the way. She chose a seat towards the back of the room.
She looked at me during the service. Each time a larger smile enveloped her face.
“Have you considered getting married?” she asked .
“Let’s wait until after the funeral,” I replied
Vicki snorted loudly causing the Minister to pause. Everyone turned around and looked at us. Aunt Vera had a hurtful look while Aunt Violet gave a knowledgeable smile.
“Bobby would have loved this interruption,” Vicki stated quietly avoiding the glares laser focused on us.
“It would have been one of many he would have started at someone else's funeral,” I commented.
“What’s next?” Vicki asked.
“How about dinner?” I asked.
“As in a date?”
“We can eat first and discuss the date later.”
She smiled. “I like the way you think.”
“Right back at you,” I said as she took my hand.
Years later I did ask my wife what Rachel had said in the note.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“It was a blank piece of paper with a set of lips on it. It really was nothing,” she said as she pulled the letter from her keepsake box.
“If it was nothing then why do you still have it?”
“Because it is how we fell in love,” she intoned warmly.
Not the way a fortune should turn out!
That's a really fun idea! 😎👍
Write a flash fiction story of less than 1500 words, using the prompt, "A fortune appears on a protagonist’s wrist every morning."
🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠🥠
Grandma’s Secret Imperatives
Joey was more than bummed out. He was more than sad. His parents had recently been killed in a car crash, and he'd had to move in with Grandma. Joey was in a very deep funk.
He'd always been an indifferent scholar, but recent events had put even the smallest thought of doing any schoolwork right out of his head. Joey was sixteen years old and reading at a third grade level. Grandma was worried. She was old, and wouldn't be around forever. Joey needed to find some way to support himself - preferably something that he enjoyed
She tried leaving all kinds of books out for him: Science fiction, fantasy, fables, legends, mythology, nonfiction, but nothing interested him. He preferred television to books. One pleasure he shared with Grandma was a love for good food.
Finally, Grandma had an idea. Joey was a very heavy sleeper. She often joked that he could sleep through a fire. So one night she slipped into his room and used a black sharpie to write a message on his wrist: "This is your secret imperative: Bake some cookies!" When he read the message the next morning, he puzzled briefly about the origin of the message, but wasn't too concerned - he wasn't all that deep a thinker. But he did think some cookies would he nice. So he asked Grandma for some.
"Sorry, Hon, we're out of cookies, and I'm too busy to bake today. But here's a recipe that you might enjoy."
"But Grandma, I've never cooked before," Joey objected.
"You're a clever lad, you can learn. Let me know if you have any questions."
By now, Joey really wanted some cookies, so he took the recipe and headed into the kitchen. He needed to ask Grandma a few questions, but a couple hours later the counter was covered with cooling confections. Joey brought one to his grandmother, asking, "What do you think?"
"Delicious, Joey! I can't believe this is your first time baking! They are so good," she gushed. He really did have a knack for it!
Every night, Grandma wrote a different "secret imperative" on Joey's wrist. Within a year, he had become an extremely competent cook. Even better, he had developed a great interest in reading cookbooks!
Grandma talked to Mr. Jacoby, a friend of hers who owned a restaurant, praising Joey's skills. He assured her that if Joey was as talented as she said, he would happily take him on as an apprentice. That night's message was a bit different: "Your secret imperative: Go talk to Mr. Jacoby."
And so Joey's future was assured. He flourished under Mr. Jacoby's tutelage, and eventually became a great chef. He even wrote a cookbook, which he dedicated to his grandmother: "To Grandma, the magical inventor of the not-so-secret imperatives. Thank you for saving my life!" And they lived happily for the rest of their lives.
Interesting idea.... I liked your story, despite the sad ending. It's funny what you said about people forgetting how to drive in the rain, around here we say the same thing about driving in snow. I think I know what to do with the prompt. It involves cookies... and a grandma! 😁
Snow is a huge obstacle for drivers here too, but it rarely snows anymore.
He was delivered to the correctional reception center on May 4th at 05:00 and exchanged his name, his watch, work boots, a canvas jacket, and his street clothes for a prison-issue orange jumpsuit, underwear, boots, and his new identity: prisoner 9519.
Then he was escorted to the processing center med bay by 4 armed guards, a med tech, and 2 security dogs, both hypervigilant German shepherds with low-slung hips, lolling tongues, and big white teeth. The med tech informed him that he had a syringe of haloperidol at the ready should he, prisoner 9519, engage in any off-regulation behavior.
At the med bay, 9519 was led to a chair at the center of the room. One of the guards shortened the chain that joined the manacles at his wrists and ankles and instructed him to, "Sit here." He sat, and the med tech pushed his head back and fastened a rigid C-spine attached to the chair at his throat so he was unable to view anything that was not directly in front of him. His right arm and ankles were placed in braces attached to the chair. Once secured, the med tech turned 9519's left forearm upwards and locked it down too. The tech swabbed his wrist with a numbing agent, explaining as he did so that he was being outfitted with a device that would track his movements at all times and inject him with a paralyzing agent should he engage in any off-regulation actions. The device would also provide him with digital readouts consisting of daily routine reminders, notifications, and other pertinent information.
"Think of it as your digital fortune cookie," the tech said.
9519 bent his eyes to the left as far as he could in an effort to watch the tech work. He felt a small sting as the tech made a vertical incision on the meaty part of his wrist, directly below his thumb. He staunched the blood as it welled up and inserted a thin strip, like the news banner at the bottom of a TV screen, and sealed it with a foamy line of transparent synthetic skin. The synth skin hissed and bubbled for a moment and then flattened seamlessly to his wrist and sealed the wound. Finished, the tech ticked off a list of things 9519 should expect as the device integrated with his body.
"The nanites in the synthetic skin will copy your DNA and format it into the device so your body won't reject it. It will itch for a few days. Do not scratch or pick at the bandage. You will be escorted back here in 48 hours for a checkup. If you scratch at the bandage or the device, you will be placed in a body security chamber for the duration of your healing process. If you attempt to remove the device, the skin around the device, or your limb, the device will deliver a heavy dose of haldol and a neuromuscular agent that will block the transmission of nerve impulses to your skeletal muscles, resulting in temporary paralysis. Attempts to remove the device will also land you in solitary confinement for 30 days. My advice, 9519, don't do it."
The tech activated his new fortune cookie with a small handheld device. It gave a bright little chirp and went online. The small screen blinked a few times and then a message began to scroll across its face:
"Cell #503, lockdown 18:00 hours, wakeup 05:00, breakfast escort 05:30..."
Roger stretched and checked his wrist. Ah, there it was, the card. He'd long since given up trying to find out where it came from or how it worked. What he knew was that the little plastic square appeared just on his wrist every morning, right where he'd used to keep his cheap plastic watch. He bought Rolexes now. Hell, thanks to the cards he could buy Rolex.
It was almost time to order breakfast. He was just lingering over the menu when a knock came on his penthouse door. Odd, he thought. He was still getting used to the idea of having personal staff, but he thought he'd made it clear that they weren't to bother him before breakfast.
The elevator door slid open. "Excuse me, sir," said the butler, a fat manila envelope in his hand. "This came for you."
"Huh," Roger said, mildly curious. "Looks important."
"It seems so, sir."
In no hurry he slid it open. The contents slid out onto his table. At the top were two words in bright red: "The Bill."
Roger blinked. "Oh sh-"
At Margaret's funeral her daughter in law rushed over to me and cried 'Cuddles I've lost my soul mate, I'm an orphan now'.
Whilst cuddling her I ventured 'She's actually in heaven, looking after all of us, all the time and her legs are okay now'.
That's all that happened.
Forgive my very abridged 100 word attempt! Time was not on my side today.
“Why must you have died?” Asked a grief stricken Rodger. There was no consoling him. Rodger and Simon had been lifelong friends. Growing up in the same household, they became soulmates for life. They were never jealous of one another, in fact both had dated the same girl at different times. They shared each other's deepest thoughts. But that was all now gone. Rodger wiped his tears and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, then giving a nod. The medical team would now attempt to separate these conjoined twins before it was too late for the both of them.