I’ve been a busy bee working on my query letter and polishing my pages, but it was a lovely change of pace to write a 200-word flash fiction for the #FallWritingFrenzy2023 contest. Thank you to Kaitlyn Sanchez, and the guest judges, Ameerah Holliday and Ebondy Mudd, for putting on the contest!
I’ve really enjoyed reading everyone’s take on the different images. It was fascinating to see what each person came up with. Congratulations to everyone who participated and for being brave enough to put yourself out there.

The link to the competition can be found here.

SACRED CADENCES
By Sharlene Harvey

The roar of a chainsaw shatters the serenity. Despite beams of gilded sunlight dappling the ground, the trees on either side of the hammock seem to shiver.

Ironically, the hammock’s shape arches in a smile, as if oblivious that its time above the autumn leaves will soon come to an end.

Perhaps, like me, it’s reminiscing about bygone days spent in this sacred space.

Of a time my sister and I snuggled inside its curved body like nesting chicks while Mother gently rocked us.

Of a time when my arms and legs entwined around Tommy Prescott, the scent of his cologne tantalizing my nostrils as he edged in for our first kiss.

Of a time when my frail arms pushed grandchildren to and fro, the trill of their squeals outshining the birds.

Of a time when I sat solo, huddled in a shawl with my head bowed while the chill of winter penetrated my lonely bones.

Decades of memories, and they’re cutting the trees down?

Over my dead body.

Literally.

Riding a breeze, I take aim and unleash a spiritual force.

Chainsaws fly. Men scream and scramble. Tires skid across gravel.

A tranquil silence once again fills the air.

Huge shout-out to the prize donors:

#prizedonors

@AndreaYWang @chanastiefel @JStremer @amandarhill32 @AutumnLeaflet @HovorkaSarah @readbystephanie @Ms_Holliday93 @SerendipityLit @BrianGehrlein @IvanTaurisano @ErDiPasquale @ShannonStocker_ @ebonylynnmudd @kaitlynleann17 @AReynosoMorris @DianaMWrites

@readbystephanie