Today’s Daily Post prompt was to write a story with an open ending and invite my readers to finish it. So, I’m going to do just that. If anyone would like to finish the story, please, leave it in a comment. :)

Daily Post prompt: Write a story or post with an open ending, and let your readers invent the conclusion.
Flash Fiction 365 prompt
: chance.



“Oh my god. I can’t believe you just did that.”

“What? It’s not like I killed her or anything. She’ll be alright in a minute.”

“No she won’t, David! She’s dead! She’s clearly not breathing and blood has stopped gushing out of her head wound. You killed her!”

“She’s just faking it. She’ll be fine. See?” David bent down and rolled the prone body that was lying in a pool of blood onto its side. Two vacant eyes stared back at him. “Oh, shit.”


“What if she doesn’t come?”

“We’ve got enough information on her to send her to jail for the next twenty years. She’ll come.” Felicity only hoped her words would be true. She heard a noise. She and David both looked towards the barn door.

“Well, hello, lady and gent. What’s with all this skullduggery then? I wouldn’t have worn heels had I known this was an actual barn. When you said ‘the barn,’ I thought it was one of those kitschy restaurant names that city folks who need a change of pace are so fond of bestowing on country buildings that are nothing like barns.”

“Hello, Scarlet. Watch the manure.”

“Thanks. Now, what’s all this about then? Why are we meeting in an actual barn with actual animal droppings that’s 40 kilometers from where we live in the middle of the night? This all seems so French gangster movie. Wait, do they have barns in French gangster movies? Probably not…”

“We invited you here to discuss your part in the Harrister deal.”

“Oh, that old thing? Please, that was ages ago.”

“Don’t be coy. We know that you took money under the table. We know that instead of giving the money to the needy children or whatever, you pocketed it. We have proof.”

“What proof? Show me.” Scarlet held out her upturned hand.

“Don’t be daft. We didn’t bring it with us, ” Felicity pulled out her smart phone and pushed some buttons, “but here’s a picture.” Scarlet opened her handbag and put a hand in.

“Stop right there. You make another move, so help me, I’ll hit you with this.”

“Don’t be silly, David. I’m only…”


“What are we going to do? I think we better call the cops.”

“David, seriously, stop being an idiot. No, we’re not calling the cops. What are we going to say? ‘Hello, police? We were doing a bit of blackmail in the barn over here and it all went terribly rake-to-the-head. Can you send someone over to clean up the mess, please? That’s a dear.’ And what do you mean by ‘what are we going to do?’ You are the one who killed her.”

“You are just as much to blame for this as I am.”

“I am not the one who hit her!”

“Well, you are the reason she was here to be hit at all. If it weren’t for you and your cockamamie blackmail scheme, she wouldn’t have a rake wound.”

“Do not pull that shit with me, David. I did not kill her. You did.”

“Fuck you, Felicity. Fuck you. I was protecting you. She had a gun.”

“She very much did not have a gun!”

“Well, what do you call this then?” David picked up a pair of reading glasses that were covered in blood on the ground. “Oh. Well, I saw her reaching into her purse and I figured that she was fishing for a gun. It was random chance.”

Felicity sighed. “Chance, my ass. Once again, your figuring is all wrong, you idiot. She did not have a gun. She was reaching into her purse for reading glasses. She was not threatening in any way.”

“Well, it seemed that way to me. What are we going to do with her then?”

“She’s not a sack of potatoes. She’s a person. Or she was a person until you clocked her on the head with a rake.”

Version A continued by jaschmehl and ponderingspawned.

Version B continued by djmatticus.

Version C continued by draliman.

Version D continued by eof737.

Please feel free to continue any of  the versions or start your own.

Ten Minutes: Three Reasons

Cary Grant in Arsenic and Old Lace.

Flash Fiction 365 prompt: three reasons.
Daily Post prompt: Set a timer for ten minutes. Open a new post. Start the timer, and start writing. When the timer goes off, publish.

“Rachel, will you marry me?” Will said from the one knee he was leaning on.

“Why would I do that?” came the unexpected reply.

Will obviously hadn’t thought that far ahead. He should have. Rachel was a lawyer. This would have to be a negotiation.

Cary Grant in Arsenic and Old Lace.
Cary Grant in Arsenic And Old Lace.

Will stood up and began pacing like Cary Grant in Arsenic And Old Lace. “OK,” he said, “reason one.” Rachel sat down on the sofa. “Um,” Will was just full of pregnant pauses today. “OK, reason one. You love me.”

“Well, of course, I do, Will. Otherwise I wouldn’t have spent the latter half of my twenties with you. But is that a good enough reason? My parents loved each other, too. They divorced only three years later.”

“OK, Rachel, I still think it’s a valid reason though. People who love each other and spend seven years dating should get married. It’s what humans do. And for the record, I love you very much. Reason two. We would have beautiful children.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Rachel said, “But we haven’t decided to have children yet.”

“Well, it’s an important part of marriage. Reason three. Financially, emotionally, socially, culturally, educationally and in every other -ally way, we are a good match. We could each support the other if one of us lost our job. We believe in the same things. We have the same core values. Your parents didn’t. He wanted to be a rock star and she wanted a house in the suburbs and three kids.”

“Now you’re speaking some sense. That is an excellent point. Alright, Will, I will marry you if that’s what you really want, but don’t expect me to get all sentimental about it and I am certainly not planning a wedding.”

Where Will It Be Found?

Portland Quarry. Image from Wiki.

Triple challenge combo achievement unlocked!
Daily Post prompt: A sanctuary is a place you can escape to, to catch your breath and remember who you are. Write about the place you go to when everything is a bit too much.
Flash Fiction Challenge: Where will it be found?
Trifecta Challenge: 33 to 333 words featuring the word Crush:to reduce to particles by pounding or grinding <crush rock>

Pete just wanted to get back to the bed that he had lately come to think of as his. It was the one place that made him feel better about his current lot. All day long, he thought about the moment, hours later, when his shift and the hour-long commute would be behind him and he could finally crash-land on his bed. Whenever he got back to quarters, he fell diagonally on his bed and didn’t move for a long while. It was his favorite moment of the day: the longest possible time from having to go back there again.

He couldn’t wait until this job was done and he could leave this forsaken landscape. If he had known, he never would have signed on for six months of this. The boys all felt the same. This was a private job and his union had been very angry with him for taking it, but the money was great.

The foreman was a back-breaker. He never let up. He kept saying that the sooner they find it, the quicker they get out of here. It was true, but there’s only so much a man is willing to do for an hourly rate. It’s not like he and the boys got to keep it once they finally got it. They all kept wondering where will it be found? They had a betting pool going. Pete’s money was on finding nothing. They’d been hauling rocks for three months already and hadn’t found a thing.

Pete sipped his last mouthful of cold coffee, suited up again and went back out to crush the earth. Eventually, they had to find it, right? Unless it just wasn’t here…

Portland Quarry. Image from Wiki.
Portland Quarry. Image from Wiki.

Can’t Be


Nate got out of the car haphazardly parked on the edge of the shoulder where he had barely managed to careen when his car died again. He opened the hood, peered into the massive engine compartment’s depths and failed to see any particular problem. Sadly, there wasn’t a neon sign pointing to the broken part. He half expected a naughty gremlin to jump out and scurry away.

He pulled out his cell phone to search his recently called list. He didn’t have to look too far. There were twelve calls to and from Travis in the last two days. He dialed the number. One the fifth ring, Travis answered.


“It’s Nate. She died again. Same symptoms as last time.”

“Can’t be. We replaced the part.”

“Well, whether it can or can’t be, I’m currently dead on the side of 95 by the car wash.”

“Huh.” There was a pause. “OK, I’ll send Johnson out there with the tower.”

Twenty-three minutes later, the kid pulled up and parked in front of him. “What’s the problem this time?” he said.

“Same as last time.”

“Can’t be. We replaced the part.”

Nate let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, try her for yourself.”

The kid gently slid behind the wheel and tried starting the car. It let out a rumbling guffaw and died a slow, painful death. “Huh. OK, we’ll get her back and take a look.”

Effortlessly, Johnson eased the chrome and steel, cherry red 1949 Cadillac Coupe DeVille into the stirrups and raised the front off the ground. He delicately slid his hand along her haunch and half to himself he said, “They just don’t make them like this anymore. She’s a beaut.” To Nate, he said, “Don’t worry. We’ll get Betsy right as rain.”

When they arrived at the garage, Travis had obviously cast aside the Toyota he had been working on to make room for Betsy in the garage front and center. He took on newer cars to eat, but his real love was the classics. He loved Betsy as much as Nate did and treated her like his own daughter.

“Well, Betsy, did you miss me that much?” Travis popped the hood and peered into its depths as Nate had done. “Start her up,” he said to Johnson. The car shuddered and let out a tremendous backfire like a wild horse kicking someone trying to put a lasso around its neck. “OK, turn her off.”

“Did you put any weird gas in her?”

“No, Travis, I haven’t had a chance to. It’s the same fuel that’s been in the tank since you had her yesterday.” Nate said defensively.

“OK, OK. Well, we’ll go over her again. Need a ride?”