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  1. Lilly James Haro
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    Lilly James Haro The Grey Warden

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    Flash fiction contest #24 - "bread" - extended

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Flash Fiction Contest Archives' started by Lilly James Haro, May 24, 2015.

    The theme for Flash Fiction Contest #24 is “Bread” which was chosen by previous winner @-oz. Remember the word limit is 150-450 words and all entries must be posted anonymously in this thread by 6:00 pm EST June 13th. Make sure to include the number of words and any warnings. You can also make your entry private simply by clicking more functions before posting, and click the box that makes the post viewable by "Members Only."

    Good Luck!
     
  2. Lilly James Haro
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    Lilly James Haro The Grey Warden

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    This competition has been extended for 3 weeks due to lack of entries. It will now end on the 4th of July.

    -Lilly James Haro, Contest Admin
     
  3. bumble bee
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    bumble bee Member

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    Esme's Gift [word count 449]

    Esme pressed her thin hands into the dough. She had learned the art at her mother's side in happier times, years before. Anger surged through her arms and into the heels of her hands as she folded her resentment into the bread, along with herbs and slithers of caramelised onion. She pounded it for several minutes, muttering under her breath as she did so.


    She was baking for Saturday’ Fete at St Agnes Church. The three bright-eyed women who asked her to contribute seemed to have missed the irony. For Esme, the memory of her failed business was a painful collection of high hopes, hard work and ultimately humiliating poverty, but for the rest of the congregation it had already been forgotten. After everything she had contributed to the annual summer picnic, people had assured her that they loved her baking and would be sure to come to her for any future events. But as the months wore on, the orders never came, her cupboards emptied and the mortgage on her little cottage went unpaid. She lost everything. And now they came with the expectation that she would donate her services to the church for free.


    She wasn't even a Christian, in the traditional sense. She went to church to stock up on conversation and calories in the form of tea and biscuits. She sat in the pew with a peaceful smile on her face as the vicar told stories of our Lord on the cross. Rather than listening, she was remembering better days: weaving ribbons and flowers into her sisters’ hair to celebrate their maidenhood; listening to her mother's instructions on when to gather plants; dancing in the light of the Beltane fires. The villagers understood that a favour must be acknowledged with a gift in those days. If she was called upon to dance the fields back into fertility during the dry season, she could be sure of finding a sack of corn, a fat goose or even a golden coin on her doorstep in the following weeks. It was a world away from the self-satisfied housewives who’d arrived at her flat the day before. She pummelled the bread again.


    The following Sunday the pews of St Agnes were empty. The entire congregation and clergy had been struck down with what was politely termed “stomach troubles” and no-one felt safe venturing too far from a toilet. The only visitor was Esme, looking a little tired, and limping as if she had twisted her ankle dancing on uneven ground. She radiated a sense of satisfaction that had been lacking for months past, as she sat at her pew and sang out Bread of Heaven to the empty church.
     
  4. Hubardo
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    Hubardo Contributing Member Contributor

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    Think I've Seen Your Bread Here

    [430 words]

    I’m not driving all the way home for 79 fucking cents. Fishing through her purse, the image of her wallet came – she left it on the kitchen counter.

    Tamara flipped off the security camera and pocketed the packet of baker’s yeast. Nobody’s watching those things at one in the morning.

    Past the zombie clerks, past the on-sale back-to-school crap, past the anti-theft beepers that never actually go off.

    Out the door, easy.

    “Hey lady!”

    You’re fucking kidding me.


    “Excuse me! Lady!”

    Cell phone to face, actress mode. “Of course dear, I’ll hurry home right away. It sounds extremely urgent. I am rushing as fast as—“

    “Lady—“ the man’s hand touched her shoulder.

    “Get your hands off me!” Tamara quickened her pace.

    “Lady, I’ll just give your license plate number to the cops. You want me to do that?”

    Tamara spun around and jammed a finger into the security guard’s chest. “Do you have any idea who – Casey? Casey Carvallo?”

    “Tam? High school Tam?” the man said.

    She squealed and threw her arms around him.

    “Holy shit, hey,” said Casey. “The fuck you doing stealing spices from a grocery store in the middle of the night?”

    She laughed. “Casey, what are you talking—“

    “Jesus, obviously you can afford whatever you took. Fancy coat, fancy nails… fancy bag,” he said, nodding toward her purse.

    Her voice became musical. “Yes my dear, it’s Chanel. And,” she pointed toward the only Mercedes in the lot, whispering “that’s mine.”

    “Tam, last I saw you, they were cuffing you behind the gym for baking weed cookies in Home-Ec. How the fuck’d you go from that to—“

    “A lot happens in eight years, Casey. I played trophy wife with a rich douchebag for three, divorced well, kept the goodies and connections, and now…” she plucked a business card from her purse.

    “Yeah, well it’s my job to—“

    She shoved the card in his face.

    Tamara’s Wholesale Artisan Breads
    “Too Good To Be True”
    CEO Tamara Woodrow
    (818) 555-5555


    “Huh,” he said. “Think I’ve seen your bread here.”

    “Yeah, we sell everywhere,” she said. “It’s a good front. Look, Case. I was trying a new recipe ‘cause I couldn’t sleep. I forgot my wallet. Here’s a better idea than you calling the cops. How about you take my card, you give them your two weeks, then you call me. I’ll pay you double what they are to do security for my operation.”

    “Wait, what?”

    “Good catching up, sweetie,” she blew a kiss and from the driver seat, shouted “Call me!”
     
  5. Dagolas
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    Dagolas Banned

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    Bread is nice. Bread is power. But then again, it's just water and flour.
     
  6. criticalsexualmass
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    criticalsexualmass Active Member

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    181 words...

    Crust

    It was the first time we had been home in five days. The first time since…

    We had been gone from our own home long enough that it smelled strange upon our arrival. You never notice the smell of your own home, until everything changes.

    Kim walked through the great room to our master suite, eyes open, seeing things I would never see. The world felt empty. Our house was a drum, already beaten, silent as a vacuum.

    The kitchen table had a single plate, untouched during our absence. He chewed his sandwiches away from the crusts when we didn’t cut them off for him. I guess most six-year-olds do the same thing. The crusts sat stale on the plate now, the little half-moons of his baby teeth still visible in the bread. Peanut butter and grape jelly had hardened with the passage of time. I couldn’t bring myself to clean it up, not yet. His last meal would sit on the table another day, a monument of peanut butter and hardened bread to mark the passing of our only child.
     
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