Hank walked back to his apartment, his hands full with grocery sacks. Silently, he cursed himself for arguing with the cabbie - now he had to traverse fifteen blocks with the bags weighing him down. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, he absently scratched the melon, opened the bag, and aired his head out.
The crowds filled the auditorium, jostling one another as they crammed their over-sized bodies into paths designed for people half their size. John stood behind the curtain, watching them find their seats, wrestle their coats off, and then sit down, only to stand up a moment later - as another squeezed past. He hated them - with their fancy skins and dress ups. Sighing softly, he moved to the center of the stage, and waited for the curtain to raise. Again, the gasps of shock as the spotlights illuminated his skeletal form, the hot lights amplifying and brightening his already bleached bones.
(Slightly Funny, but Disturbing)
We danced that night. The music was incidental, as we moved to our own internal rhythm, lost in the simple fact that we were finally together. While people stared, we cared not, knowing we were happy together, united at last. The waiting had be torture, but finally, we were joined, just a boy and his blow-up doll.
I just had to know, so I waited until she was gone to start snooping. After checking the usual places, I was still at a loss, but the need to know was just too much. After poking into unlikely places, I finally found what I was looking for in the garage. I had my answer.
If you're at a loss for what these are, I found a suggestion to try and write "super-flash fiction" or stories that are 55 words. The prompts in parenthesis are what I felt the story encapsulated after the fact, following the title of tonight's blog.
The second story violated the 55 word limit by quite a bit, but at the time I was feeling that I would try a more "traditional" flash fiction story, but undershot the mark by quite a bit (flash fiction is usually 250 words).