The Word Worker

Category: Modern/Realistic

  • Purgatory

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    by

    wordworkerrussell
    in ,

    The harsh brightness of the midday square angered him. Even the fountain stood dead before the theater, colorful banners hanging breezeless above it, hallmarks of the latest empty dance of gauze and orchestral cacophony. Sweat beaded in the furrow above his eyebrows, daring him to mop it away with the napkin crushed in his grip.…

  • Checkers

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    by

    wordworkerrussell
    in ,

    He sat down across from old Fred, legs dangling even in the spindly little chair, and watched the old man with owlish eyes. As if his gaze exerted some sort of force, Fred raised his hat brim enough to peer under it at the boy. “Well?” “How ’bout a game?” The boy leaned back and…

  • Blog Thursday Prompt: The Kettle

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    by

    wordworkerrussell
    in ,

    “It’s not my fault! The kettle began it!” “Please, do go on. How exactly did the kettle begin it?” “Weelll… it just sat there so… so… sitty!” “I see. It was ‘sitty.’ And the problem with that is what, exactly?” “Sitting is just so boring! How could it just not do anything?” “So, you decided…

  • Candles

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    by

    wordworkerrussell
    in ,

    The dried up, decomposing vines brushed her skin, tendrils of the darkness that protected what was left of her soul and crushed the breath from her lungs all at once. The candles in front of her flickered, pitiful against even the promise of wind in a trembling leaf at the edge of vision. Only three.…

  • The House

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    by

    wordworkerrussell
    in ,

    She trailed her fingers along the wooden bannister, stepping carefully to avoid tripping over the litter of decay. The air smelled faintly musty, but the open front door lit up the foyer with clear sunlight. She turned and grinned at her companions. Chuck groaned. “I know that look,” he told the real estate agent with…

  • The Row

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    wordworkerrussell
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    The Grand Experiment, the village council called it. Marigold sniffed; Mayor Belfast always did tend toward the dramatic. Bunch of nonsense, in her opinion. What folk were thinking electing that bunch of nincompoops she would never know. Six months they had wasted building the stupid things. A whole row of cottages made entirely of turf.…

  • The Proposal

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    wordworkerrussell
    in ,

    “Who’s that trip-trapping over my bridge?” “Connor!” Emily leaned over the rail, her voice hushed but quivering with laughter. “What do you think you’re doing? They’ll kick us out!” “Not if the bridge troll eats them first!” Connor growled, then coughed as his vocal cords protested. He ducked out from under the boards and hopped…

  • The Beach

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    wordworkerrussell
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    “Saul, wait!” Lily laughed breathlessly as her bare feet slung sand behind her. “I lost my sandals and the sand is on fire!” “Not as hot as the boardwalk,” her brother yelped, dancing on his toes from sand to board and back again. “Hurry up, it’s too hot to be out of the water!” “Well,…

  • Dry

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    wordworkerrussell
    in ,

    Color surrounded her, the brilliant yellows and reds and greens of summer in the garden. The sky glared blue overhead, and she glared back at its near cloudless face. Her hand closed around the nearest white spray, twisting involuntarily, the crushed petals releasing their nauseatingly sweet scent as they fell from her fingers. She took…

  • The Garden

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    by

    wordworkerrussell
    in ,

    I wasn’t feeling inspired, so as I often do I asked my kids what story they saw. Today’s flash fiction is therefore brought to you by twelve-year-old Sarah (edited and embellished by me). Becky, Malcolm, and Josephine were emotionally broken people, so broken that they were sent to an asylum for healing. While there, the…