Perfect Happiness

She rubbed a thumb over her chapped knuckle, her manicured hands thawing from the cold.  The woman who sat across the aisle from her smiled warmly and nodded, before returning to her crossword. Ellie stared at her, noting the wisps of hair straggling from her bun, the scuff marks on her boots, the frayed cotton bag tucked beside her full of knitting needles and yarn. Her stomach twisted with an envy she could barely contain. How could this disheveled woman be so content, so at peace, when Ellie had worked so hard to be perfect and was so miserable?

**********

This week's flash fiction challenge to write about two things that don't go together can be found here at Carrot Ranch Communications. As always, thanks to Charli Mills for hosting, and to the other Rough Writers for playing along.  

My Boyfriend

I've only been dating flash fiction for about eight months. So far, it's working out well. I like it, and I think it likes me, but you can never be sure, right? New relationships are tough. But flash makes me laugh and forces me to get to the point a hell of a lot quicker than I usually do. So, I think I'm going to stay in this relationship for awhile and see what it has to offer. So far, I really like its friends and that goes a long way. This week's 99 word prompt was to write a serious scene interrupted by something absurd. Head on over to Carrot Ranch Communications and see what the other Rough Writers have whipped up. 
***

He hunched over on the cold bench, head sagging and elbows heavy on his thighs. “I love you, I do. I just feel like we’re so disconnected.”

Wrapping her arms around her waist, she shivered, feeling the wind bite at the skin of her cheeks, raw with tears.

A shadow fell over them, blocking the sun, and she looked up to see a man dressed in tight black clothes, his face white, beret askew. Eyes wide, the man pantomimed climbing a ladder and being trapped in a prison.

“Fuck off, mime,” they said in unison and smiled, hands reaching.

Sick Muse*

Yep. Another week, another round of 99 words with Charli Mills. This week's prompt is a story inspired by a muse (yours? mine? ours?). Head over to Carrot Ranch Communications to see the many awesome contributions by the Congress of Rough Writers. 

***

Each morning she vowed that it was the last time. Swearing to herself and whatever deity she decided might be listening that day, she created elaborate rules and rituals to keep thoughts of him away. To keep the memories of his hands and his eyes and his warm, rich voice out of her head, away from her heart. And each night, her chest heavy with defeat, she succumbed. Picking up the pen, she hunched over her notebook, fingers smeared blue with ink and face smeared wet with tears. It was the only damn way she knew to fall asleep.  

*thanks to Metric for the title. Great song. Great album.