Hi everyone! I’ve been working on a few projects that aren’t ready to be shared yet, but I realize I should resume regular posts here until I’m ready to make the next big announcement. I thought it might be fun to revisit the project that started it all: The flash fiction writing challenge over at Frankie’s Wining Room. This incident resulted in some serial pieces which were previously posted as separate blog entries, but today I am reposting a collection of related pieces—a box set, if you will—which includes a brief synopsis and the photo that was the focus for each series.

Photo owned and copyrighted by Katie Johnson. Photo credit: https://katierenejohnson.

For this series, the assignment was as follows:

[W]rite (3) flash fiction scenes (less than 750 words). Describe the picture above using one of  the following Points of View with each post without telling us which one [you] chose by using any of the descriptor words provided:

1 a 19-year-old female student, art major, currently planning to create a series of paintings of townscapes, keenly aware of colours, and shapes.

2 A retired health and safety inspector.

3 A hobby gardener with a keen sense of smell.

4 A security consultant assessing the place where a high ranking daughter will be visiting.

5 An architect whose hobby is local history.

6 An 80-year-old man with painful arthritic knees which get worse in cold weather.

7 A professional musician with sharp ears and a keen sense of rhythm.

Episode One: The Bridge

A bitter wind swept cross the water, carrying an acrid scent of decaying flesh and putrid slime to every unfortunate soul who suffered its ravaging blows. It hammered every immovable building, wailing around every corner and whispering through the seams between each mirrored pane that ascended into the atmosphere. Few braved the elements on this blustery Thursday, choosing instead to order in and have some other stalwart soul deliver lunch to them. Or by sticking close to buildings, they ducked from one low overhang to the next as they made their way to a nearby eatery instead of strolling to a favorite deli located a few blocks farther away.

Even fewer, while navigating the brisk chill of oncoming winter, thought to turn their faces upward. The glare of the noonday sun, though significantly tempered by the overcast sky, still reflected brightly off the glass-and-steel highrises whose sparkling surfaces were kept artificially clean by the employment of window-washers several times per week. The window-washers clearly hadn’t come yet today. Assuming they would come at all, the weather being what it was at present.

Had any thought to turn their faces toward the sky, they could have seen bright points of color dancing above their heads. On the bridge’s steel cables was a small bouquet of balloons, perhaps escaped from a passing vehicle bearing party decorations, or let loose by a young child who could no longer retain their grip on the ribbons in the face of prevailing wind. Innocuous and cheerful, dancing in the swirling eddies of air between each girder, they dipped and bobbed—and held suspiciously to their improbable location.

Lucy dialed and raised a hand to shield their connection from the wind.

“What’s the verdict?” Frank’s voice, focused and professional, enveloped her senses through the earpiece.

“Reroute the motorcade. There is a suspicious item on the bridge.”

Episode Two: Shades of Perspective

Grey. Everything around her was grey, from the choppy water’s surface to the cloud-strewn sky above it, to the glass-and-chrome structures perforating that same sky with a million different shades of grey. The fingers of one hand tapped the slate leather seat beneath her heathered grey leggings as she shifted the notebook on her lap, careful to prevent its coil binding from snagging on her dove-grey angora sweater. Even her pencil was grey, its graphite tip shimmering in the soft light filtering through tinted windows.

She furiously scratched every impression on her page, not wanting to leave out a single detail of her visit. Only a brief amount of time was available to record everything—sounds, sights, smells, tastes, colors. The specks of color dancing amid the steel girders of the bridge across the way drew her eye. Sunny yellow, petal pink, and a rosy shade of apricot performed a delicate dance against an industrial backdrop of architectural wonder.

Turning to ask Frank if they would be driving closer to those specks of color, she suddenly realized he was on a phone call. Absorbed in thought and scribbling inspiration, she hadn’t even noticed his phone vibrate. Maybe it’s his agent. She returned to the task at hand—her whole purpose for being in this city in the first place—and let her fingers fly across the page once again.

Episode Three: Allegro

Wind howled about the car with unsettling intensity, obscuring the hum of its well-tuned engine. The jarring thrust of its fury prompted his driver to slow slightly, which Frank appreciated very much. His eyes drifted to the bridge across the way, its steel girders nearly obscuring the cars traveling across it. Between those ties was Lucy. He would recognize her form anywhere—even from this distance.

He saw her in a different light today, hair strung into a knot so tight his fingers itched to loosen it. Her lips softly exhaling a sigh of wordless pleasure meant for no other ears to hear—save his own. He could already sense the suss of his calloused fingertips against her silken strands and hear the faint, erratic echo of her heartbeat.

Erratic. That was not an accurate descriptor for Lucy’s heart, its unwavering cadence never leaving any doubt where her true feelings lie. Frank glanced sideways to see the culprit—her fingertips erratically tap-tap-tapping against the fine leather upholstery, with a pulse just inconsistent enough to irritate. Good thing it only lasted for a moment, as she shifted her notebook and returned to scribbling furious sketches across her lap.

He heard the buzzing of a cell phone on vibrate, then felt its sensation against his thigh. Removing it from his pocket, he checked the call display before lifting it to his ear. “What’s the verdict?” he asked, of a connection humming with traffic sounds, muffled wind, and stilted exhalation.

“Reroute the motorcade. There is a suspicious item on the bridge.”

Frank startled, his own heartbeat turning erratic. “Move,” he fairly barked at her, surprised at the timbre of his own voice. “I’ll tell the driver—get yourself to a safe place.” Without moving the phone or disconnecting the call, he signaled the driver. “Logan, Plan B. Take an alternate route.”

Logan shifted, and the car sprang into action. “Lucy.” Frank inhaled deeply, attempting to rein in a symphony of emotion. “Are you moving?”

Silence. Then, “You can’t expect me to respond on your every command, Frank. I am not one of your third-chair flunkies.”

“No,” he sighed, “you are not. Which is why I love you so much—and why you terrify me. Please stay safe.”

“I love you too, Frank. Be careful. You are in even greater danger.”

She had disconnected the call. Frank returned the phone to his pocket and his wildly galloping heart back into some semblance of its normal tempo. He flashed a crowd-winning smile at his scribbling companion. “How would you like to see my office?”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Are you allowed to do that?”

“As long as I take proper precautions.” Retrieving his phone, he sent Lucy a new message. “I’m going to give her a behind-the-scenes tour. Want to meet us on location?” He closed his eyes to envision her—the annoying, electronic chirp of her phone, her soft smile as she opens and reads his message—she would be there, all right. He had no doubt of that.

Now it’s your turn. Can you tell which character I chose for each episode? Let me know in the comments below.

Until the next time…