Home > Flash Fiction, Random > Life in Process

Life in Process

So I am still working on a couple of different stories. I have submitted to multiple publishers and I am anxiously awaiting responses.

Other than that, I don’t have a whole lot to say at the moment. I was reading a story to review here but I backed out on that. I didn’t feel right posting a bad review for a story that I felt was unfinished.

Which leaves me with nothing much to post here today. I have flash fiction like always but without going into personal life I don’t have much to say.

Do you, the readers want to here about the everyday? I would like to know.

L. E. White


The sword slid out of the new corpse with a sucking sound that reminded Mark of his little girl eating a lollipop. He smiled in grim satisfaction as he turned his attention to the man in the corner, a gangly individual who looked a lot like Ichabod Crane.

“Hi,” Mark said, raising his voice into a horrific parody of a young girl’s. “My name is Mandy and my friend Terra told me all about you.”

Ichabod’s eyes widened and his jaw fell open as Mark began walking towards him. “She said you were really nice and easy to deal with.”

He shook the blood from the sword so that a tiny red rain fell to the floor. “She also told me that you were willing to trade for pills if I wanted to.”

The stork like man pressed his back against the wall as if he thought he could push his way back through it.

“Since she had her accident I wondered if you would want to make the same deal with me?”

The man was shaking his head no as he held his hands in front of him. “That wasn’t my fault man!”

Mark slashed at the outstretched hands. The sharp steel of his great-grandfathers cavalry saber sent fingers falling to the ground as Ichabod howled in pain.

He stood in front of the drug dealer, waiting on bird-man to quiet down enough to hear him. This time, his voice, and not the imitation of a twelve year old girl’s, rumbled through the room. “My daughter died after having had sex with you and your buddy to pay for drugs. If you hadn’t given her drugs, she would still be alive. Now, just like you said, you and I are gonna play so that I can feel good too.”

Categories: Flash Fiction, Random
  1. Clare
    April 4, 2012 at 11:00 AM

    I think your writing is definitely improving with practice. I like reading about your writing progress and adventures, even when it is not something earth shattering. Thanks for sharing your journey 🙂

    • April 4, 2012 at 11:18 AM

      I am glad the stories are getting better. Practice makes perfect, which is most of why I started doing this.
      Thanks for letting me know what you think.

  2. Michael A Tate
    April 6, 2012 at 3:28 PM

    I was really getting into this but the ending seemed to fall a little flat for me. Not sure what it was, but perhaps that it read like a ‘B’ action movie.

    But your descriptions of the dealer were awesome, especially this line: “The stork like man pressed his back against the wall as if he thought he could push his way back through it.”

    • April 6, 2012 at 3:57 PM

      I appreciate you letting me know. I’m not sure what part of the ending failed but I will work on this a bit to see if I can come up with something.

      Knowing that the ball dropped is very important for me. Thank you.

  3. April 6, 2012 at 10:36 PM

    Vivid imagery and tons of story packed in here – felt for the vengeful dad. Perhaps instead of the dad saying all he did at the end – he could go on dropping hints and build Ichabod’s terror – just a thought – I think you rushed the ending -were you on a word count?

    • April 7, 2012 at 10:26 AM

      Thank you. I was shooting for a shorter piece but that really doesn’t matter. I will keep this in mind for the future.

  4. April 8, 2012 at 3:33 PM

    Nice piece, I like the scenario, and the promise of horrific violence to come, also short, sharp endings work for me.

    I think the way the MC gives the drug dealer names in his inner mind, crane, bird man, it sort of adds a slight marbling of humour to the viciousness of the situation.

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