(Flash fiction dedicated to RR, and inspired by PZ’s amazing picture, Tra Tanti, in Due. Recommended soundtrack Puedes Contar Conmigo by La Oreja de Van Gogh)
Not a thing I long for
Not a place I want to be
If it’s not you
If you are not there with me
(Flash fiction inspired by PZ’s picture Scambiando Colore)*
“Drink it,” he says.
I take the glass from the stem, and I gingerly wrap my fingers around it. The dew condensing on the surface makes me shiver.
“It’s only a sip,” he tries again, and smiles while drinking from his glass.
I raise my eyes to look at him. He is beautiful, and young, and full of promises.
“What you feel now it’s going to last forever; don’t you want to be with me forever?” The final question.
“Well, forever it’s an awful long time to be stuck with you.”
*There are two versions of this flash fiction. The picture inspired me twice; this is the first one.
(Flash fiction inspired by PZ’s picture Roma Fa Riflettere)
There is a bright light coming from outside. I remember when the sun shone for more than five hours a day. Rome was glorious then. I remember people walking by. Romans were proud and always busy. I remember the smells changing every season. Now, it would be roasted chestnuts on open fires. My body is decaying, but my mind is sharp. I stare at the image framed by the window, and I wish I could get near and read what it says. A school of fish swims by and covers the letters on the billboard. There is more and more of them, marine animals, reclaiming a territory that once was theirs. I watch from my submersed capsule as the light flickers and dies.
(Flash fiction inspired by PZ’s picture, Le Corti Tornano)
It’s that time of the month. I can feel it in my skin, crawling. She has already left to find herself. I don’t want to. I struggle and fight. But, it is stronger than me.
I can sense her, around the corner, rejoicing in the power. I hate it. I hate her. I hate myself. I know I am weak, and I’ll succumb to the calling. I’ll do it again, and again, and again, to be with her. The last store shuts off the lights. I shiver. I am alone, defenseless. The Three Moons shine in the dark sky.
(Flash fiction piece written for Austin Briggs’ Write-n-Win! 55 words contest)
“Mommy, Mommy! Look up!” Lucille glides weightlessly, skirting rocks and grass.
“The night is bright,” Mom says, closely following her.
“Look at the round light!” Lucille happily somersaults. “It’s so yellow, and so big, and so shiny. Can you catch it for me?”
“For you, my sweet fry, the Moon and the Stars aren’t enough!”
(Inspired by P.Z’s picture “Viaggi in Arrivo”)
The train it’s late. It’s always late. But, the kid is there, waiting, as usual.
“What time is it?” he asks a man passing by, and shrugs his shoulders at the answer.
Every day the same. The person he asks what time is it is different, but the rest doesn’t change. It’s always late. But, it’s never the right moment. He is waiting for the right late train to arrive.
“Which one are you waiting for?” the man asks.
It’s a first. Normally, the person doesn’t stop. The kid looks at the man with curiosity, but doesn’t answer back.
“Are you alone?” The man is getting worried.
I want to go back,” the kid finally says, his face tired.
“Back where? To your mother?”
To my wife and my daughter. I took the wrong train long time ago, and it hasn’t come back, yet.”
Monica La Porta 
