Peace

Jon took a breather. The other guy wasn't firing. Jon imagined him doing what he was doing. Sitting back, Jon listened for more gunfire. More sounds of war. What if neither of them fired again? What if they sat here, neither of them moving, and didn't fight? Was that what peace was all about? Not shooting at one another? Wasn't peace more than not having to fight for the right to exist, to simply be? Wasn't that what Jon was out here to do? Provide his people freedom from tyranny? Shooting began again. He scrambled to his knees and fired.

Waiting

Just a little more... don't stop. Don't stop! Need this so bad. Need this. Please don't stop. A little bit more. Come on. Come on. That's it. Let it go. So close. Almost there. Hungry for it. So hungry for it.
He blew out the breath he'd been holding and took another one, hands shaking.
Been waiting for this. Been wanting it, so, so damn bad. He licked his lips. I should've started so much earlier, taken more time, gotten all of it ready. Oh! Yes. Yes... Here it comes!
The last little bit of ketchup landed on his fries.

Helping

He spread his thighs wider and slid down a little. "There. Can you get it in now?"
"No. Not yet." He hooched over to the right, grunting a bit as he pushed harder. "Hold still."
"Hurry up, baby."
"I'm trying!" He shifted his shoulders, angled one foot against the ground for better leverage. "It's almost in the hole. Just a little..."
"Do it harder! I can't keep this up."
"Hold on, baby. Hold on." He wiped sweat from his brow. The heat rose. Fingertips slick with lubricant, he rubbed the opening. With a click, the car's axle slid into place.

Red

So much for avoiding embarrassing myself. She's wearing red. Again.
I needed her to wear one more red dress to haunt my memories. This one was sleeveless, baring perfectly formed arms, strong and feminine. Strapless too, revealing skin the color of mahogany cream.
A man doesn't stand a chance with her in that dress. Long, slinky, shiny, scarlet. Oh, God. It looks-- wet. Perfect. Slick and smooth.
Her mouth is the same red, her lips plump, like she's just been kissed. Like she ran her tongue across them. Like she wants me. Is she wet anywhere else?
Damn, damn, damn.

Senses

He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus in the dimness. Dawn's grey light filtered through curtains billowing at the open window. A soft shriek of autumn wind whistled outside, and a gust of wind tossed the curtains apart, letting in a chill that pebbled his skin. Tossing back the silken sheets, he padded across the cold wooden floor and reached up to shut the window.
The sound of the wind silenced, leaving an utter calm. "Ahh." Shivering, he hurried back to bed.
"You cold?" His lover reached out one powerful arm and dragged him closer, up against his radiant heat.

Replacing Her

"If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with." The words to the old Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young song kept running through this head as he walked up the sidewalk. Friends assured him he'd get over her loss by starting over. But though his feet carried him forward, his heart wanted to run back.
Nothing could substitute for her. She'd been his first. Had taught him so much. Sure, she'd had her flaws, but they'd been together so many years... How could ever just buy another motorcycle now that his baby had been totaled?

Taste

"Almost like blueberry." He licked. "With a little licorice."
"Is not! Stop that." His lover tried to sit up, but was pushed back against the bed.
"Lie still. It's my turn." Licking again, he trailed his tongue all the way up along the entire length. The tip was different. A nice, interesting mixture of the blueberry and licorice. He circled his tongue all the way around it, lapping the tip. Why didn't I ever try this before? It's really good. I could get used to this.
"You've had enough." He managed to sit up this time. "Give me the popsicle."

Revenge

"Guys! Check out this gun. It shoots around corners." Jase waited for the hysterical laughter to die down so he could continue. "Look, I'm not faking this. It really works."
Guffaws filled the barracks. His sergeant slapped him on the back. "Rookie, you got taken."
"Okay. Stand in front of it then." Jase flipped out the supports for the gun, set it down and turned its nose 90 degrees to the left, then sighted along the special scope.
Snickering, elbowing each other, whispering, his bullies clustered in front of the weapon.
Jase pulled the trigger. When it worked, nobody laughed.

One-sided Conversation

(imagine you can only hear one side of a conversation)

"Hey, Mom. It's me. I tried that recipe you sent me. It sucked."
"No, not the roast. Those cookies."
"No. Not Aunt Matilda's. The cookies with mashed potatoes."
"Yes you did so give me a cookie recipe with mashed potatoes in it! You said to use leftovers."
"Oh, now you remember. Well, it sucked. I threw mine out."
"Cause nobody'd eat 'em!"
"I didn't do anything wrong, Mom. Why do you jump to conclusions about my cooking?"
"Substituted one thing. I didn't have mashed potatoes. Not everybody's got cooked taters laying around."
"Three cans of Pringles."
"What's so damn funny?"

Jailhouse Singer

Stones were belting out another tune as I pulled in and parked. I sat there, motor running, singing along, mumbling parts I didn't know. Jailhouse singer, that's me. Behind a few bars and can't find the key, but I love to sing.
A car door across and down opened, and out popped the prettiest thing I'd ever saw. Big brown eyes, sweet mouth, not a day over twenty. Heart raced like a bucking stallion at the thought of that tight ass inside tighter jeans. That lusty gaze of his met mine. He smiled. Just like that, I fell in love.

Flashionation, the Art of Clarityness and Succinctation

This flash was an exercise with a group of author friends, and was done as a joke on one of the other regulars. He was the only one who didn't know we were going to make up crazy words and use them as often as possible. Here's the explanation, which did not go toward the word count.
"Today we're talking about clarityness and succinctation. This is what flashion is all about. The ability to shortspress yourself. Tell us in 100 words or less what could have taken multinormously more words to do. The topic is speed. Anything to do with being fast, quick, or a blend of the two -- fuick. Use 100 words or less."  Here's mine.

Flashification

The conceptation of flash sites is to further accenticate good grammarage. Using too many words is called overwriting, or as some call it, desimplification. Doublespeak, the government version of desimplification, is also known as govspeak, govbabble, and politalk. Plague-avoid this. It's deadlious.
Flashion is the heightest form of trusimplification, or the art of unmystifying meaning. Like the hero called Flash himself, be the quickifest version possible. Use your smoothliest expressifications. Hammer home meaningnails.
Trash frillinormous adverbs and unconnect from ginormous nounwords. Present the smoothliest cream of meaning possible -- a banana smoothie of wordage. Blendification of understanding is the goal.

Overwritten Hunk

(Like "Flashionation" for this flash we were supposed to over-write a description for a simple thing.)
The meatiness of it thrilled her from her tiny, itty bitty little feet to her abundantly flowing cascade of rich streaming hair. She flounced said locks, running a manicured hand through the generous quantity of golden curls that bounced around her shoulders. Her fingertips, painted white by the French manicure process, which was not truly paint but a type of pencil painstakingly etched underneath her long, oval shaped nails, tapped the edge of the meat delicately.
Too much pressure on such a tender hunk might cause everything to slip, spreading juices over the white tablecloth as she cut the steak.