Category: Short Stories

THE RED WHEELBARROW BY Pat Garcia

@patgarcia.bsky.social @pat_garcia @rrbc-0rg.bsky.social #women’sfiction #romancereader #writingjourney #amwriting #romancebooks #contemporaryromance #mfrwbookhooks

Hello, Everyone,

Today, I continue working on the Flash Fiction Anthology, which is scheduled for release in winter 2026. I have been privileged to participate in Flash Fiction contests over the years. I love Flash Fiction. I have learned a great deal about the Flash Fiction and short stories Genre from reading the works of Eudora Welty, Joyce Carol Oates, and the late Canadian writer Alice Munro. 

This is a snippet I wrote for The WEP, a writing organization founded by Denise Covey. I learned a lot from all the writers who participated in the contests. I hope you enjoy the snippet. 

Shalom shalom

Pat Garcia

 

EXCERPT:

Netta scrutinized the red wheelbarrow placed before the floor-to-ceiling window of the living room.

That wheelbarrow isn’t just attractive, but it’s a downright elixir for the soul.

She stood between the doorframe of the door, across the hall from the living room, admiring and examining the object of her curiosity. It stood so majestically before the window, in its bright red color, as if it were giving a queenly audience. She could have sworn the thing was smiling at her.  

Her husband, Jonathan, had turned it into a flower bed. He had chosen the living room to place it in, stating that he could admire his handy work when he returned home every evening.   

Netta shook her head. In the sunlight, the red wheelbarrow seemed to wink, but a wheelbarrow couldn’t wink, or could it?

She’d met Jonathan at her favorite Italian restaurant. She’d been sitting at a corner table with a big plate of spaghetti and a mozzarella and tomato salad. She’d just happened to look toward the entrance door of the restaurant and had gazed directly into the saddest but prettiest green eyes she’d ever seen. He’d stared back at her and then walked to her table and asked if she minded him sitting with her. Her mouth had been full of spaghetti, and the only way she could answer him without spilling the food out of her mouth had been to nod in acceptance.

Jonathan had ordered his meal after introducing himself and then began asking her questions, which made her hesitant to answer. When he’d asked her about her marital status, her eyebrows had furrowed, and her heartbeat had quickened. She’d not been so sure that it had been a good idea to let him sit at her table. Then, Jonathan assured her that he posed no danger to her. He was looking for someone to share his home with. He’d said he wanted the comfort of knowing that a trustworthy person was living with him. He needed a wife but not one to share his bed. Just a faithful wife to be there. He’d insisted on putting that clausal in their marriage agreement.  

At first, Netta didn’t believe or trust him. She thought he was some ax murderer or a cannibal who wanted to kill and eat her. Her vivid imagination had her packed away in plastic freezer bags in small portions in his freezer. With her chubby size thighs, big arms, and breasts, she was pretty sure Jonathan would have had enough meat for a year.

Netta didn’t understand why a man from out of nowhere was asking her, a stranger, to marry him. What she did know was that she said yes.

https://patgarciaauthor.com/?p=8598

The Flood That NO One Thought Would Come by Pat Garcia

@patgarcia.bsky.social @pat_garcia @rrbc-org.bsky.social @amwriting #romancebooks #readersfavorite

Hello, Everyone,

Here is a new snippet from my Anthology of Flash Fiction Stories that will be released in winter.

Wishing all of you a lovely day.

EXCERPT:

The man worked hard. He and his three sons hammered and pitched each wooden plank together. Sure, people thought he was crazy, but that didn’t disturb him. He closed his ears to what others said. If he were honest, and he was, he didn’t give a hoot. He hadn’t made it so far in life by seeking the approval of others.


The other day, his sons had informed him that the neighbors thought he was insane. He had laughed and told his sons to get to work before he fired them. After all, he was not only their father but their employer. No one would give them the amount of money for the work they did for him. They had no choice.
The father gazed down at the oldest son. The son looked up at the sun. The old man thought about the discussion they had had the night before. His sons thought he was a daydreamer and had invited a lawyer to his house without his permission. Their excuse for not telling him had him laughing. They wanted to rattle his brain.


After talking with him, the lawyer said that declaring their father insane wouldn’t work. Besides, the majority of the judges knew him too well as that no-nonsense man who spoke what he thought.
The sons’ wives were outraged, shouting they had become the laughingstock of the whole town, maybe the whole world. They were sick and tired of people pointing fingers at them. So, what, the old man said. They had tried to explain what it meant to them not to be among the popular crowd. They considered these people their friends.

Come to my house for tea; my wife would enjoy your company, he’d answered back.

Shalom shalom

Pat Garcia

https://patgarciaauthor.com/?p=8560

Boteè and The Strain Man By Pat Garcia

@patgarcia.bsky.social @pat_garcia @rrbc-org.bsky.social @4rwisawriters@bsky-social #women’sfiction #romancereader #writingjourney #amwriting #mfrwbooks

Hello, Everyone,
My Snippet for today continues with a second excerpt from Boteè and The Strain Man.

Hello, Everyone,

My Snippet for today continues with a second excerpt from Boteè and The Strain Man. 

EXCERPT

Boteè and the Strain Man

Strain Man played the first trio, and the spotlight appeared, covering her with light from her head to her feet. The music lifted her body, lying it flat as if she lay on a cot. The music raised her from the ground and lulled her into a trance. She looked up at the sky as he transported her with the musical notes he played. It was peaceful, and she began to snore. Strain Man moved into the second trio to wake her. The light over her head brightened, and she felt like she was lying on clouds of sheet music.

Suddenly, she lay before Strain Man. He bowed his head towards her. His cone-shaped head shone, and his metallic clothing looked absolutely chic. 

Strange, she thought, looking at him, there are no stars in heaven.

Strain Main replied with the third trio movement of The Stars and Stripes Forever. It was the only song he knew from her planet to communicate with her. “They’ll come. They’re just over the horizon.”

Boteè’s dark contralto answer made his face shine, “Amen, Amen, Amen.” She sang.

——-

Have a lovely rest of the week.

Shalom shalom

Pat Garcia

https://patgarciaauthor.com/?p=8519

Boteè and The Strain Man By Pat Garcia @patgarcia.bsky.social @pat_garcia @rrbc-org.bsky.social #women’sfiction #romancereader #writingjourney @amwriting #romancebooks #contemporaryromance

EXCERPT

Boteè and The Strain Man 

The Stars and Stripes Forever’s first impatient blast sounded. Boteè jumped off her sofa. She got her jacket and grabbed her tiny case. Then she departed her third-floor apartment. She left a note for her best girlfriend, Peggy,

On the road with my friend. 

Don’t know how long, but I’ll be back whenever my friend brings me back to earth. 

Boteè called him the Strain Man. His shiny metallic skin tone, high cheekbones, and pointed fingers had drawn her to him. He was different from the people on earth, and she liked that about him. She danced down the steps of her apartment building, not wanting to keep him waiting. He promised to take her beyond the clouds to see another part of the universe.

Excited at the opportunity to see him again, Boteè stepped outside. She closed her eyes and hit the Deep C with her contralto voice. It was two octaves down from Middle C of the primary scale. She sang Amen note by note while holding her breath. As she slid up the scale, she accented the rise in a syncopated rhythm until she reached Middle C. She stopped, took a deep breath, and waited for his response.

At their secret spot, Strain Man was surrounded by trees hiding the white, invisible lights of his futuristic jet. He raised the trumpet to his lips and blew the first notes of The Stars and Stripes Forever. He felt the tug of his notes lifting her off the ground to bring her to him. He smiled. 

Have a lovely day.

Shalom shalom

Pat Garcia

https://patgarciaauthor.com/?p=8474

LET HIS BANNER OVER ME BE LOVE By Pat Garcia @patgarcia.bsky.social social, #MFRWHooks @rrbc-org.bsky.social @4rwisawriters.bsky.social

Blurb

It doesn’t take Chance Mancini long to accept that she’s allowed herself to fall in love with Gavino Mancini, a man much younger than she. To make matters worse, after their marriage, he’s led her into a lifestyle she has come to love. He is her, Sir.

All is well until she finds out she can’t give him a family, and insecurity about their relationship haunts her. 

Chance runs away, only to be terrorized every night in her sleep by her dreams. Three years later, Gavino Mancini enters her life again to repossess what belongs to him––her heart and her body.

EXCERPT

Chance gasped when Gavino Mancini came out into the open. Shock reverberated through her body. Overcome with guilt about the way she had left him; her eyes trailed their way down from his face to his neck. Once upon a time, she had delighted in planting kisses on the tanned column of his neck between his ear and shoulder. Instinctively, she bowed her head in the presentation pose he had taught her. She shivered as she remembered how she loved standing on her tippy toes to kiss his shoulders, his neck, and his chin, after he had given her permission to touch him. He would then reach out and pull her close to him and lift her up so that she could reach his mouth and drape his body with hers. At night, those same shoulders became her pillow after he finished making love to her. She would fall into a deep sleep listening as he whispered repeatedly, I love you.

Purchase Link: Amazon.com

Shalom shalom

NEW RELEASE! THE POWER OF TOUCH: A STORY OF REDEEMING LOVE, By Pat Garcia @pat_garcia @RRBC_ORG @RRBC_RWISA @Tweets4RWISA @TheIWSG #IWSG #amwriting

Cover by Olga Godim

BLURB

Stationed within an International Explosive Ordinance Team (EOD) in Germany for six years, Gianluca Abate has never anticipated that unexpected incidences could throw his life off balance. He didn’t think there was a situation that could touch him so closely until the day he experienced an explosive blast underwater. His life spirals downward, and he loses all hope of ever being normal again. At a train station, he is waiting for a train to come to end it all and is so involved in what he is about to carry out that he doesn’t see the woman running toward him who is about to change the trajectory of his destiny forever.

Available at all AMAZON Stores

WATCH RWISA WRITE ANTHOLOGY 2022: Life Is But A Rose Garden! PRE-ORDER Up On Amazon! RELEASE DATE: FEBRUARY 5, 2022 @RRBC_ORG @RRBC_RWISA

If you have ever heard of RWISA, then you know that they are exceptional writers; writers who care deeply about the quality of the work they share with the world, and writers who polish before they publish. That’s RWISA!  RWISA writers have the artistic ability to convey information in a flowing and compelling manner that keeps readers engaged and wanting more and more. 

In this anthology, you will find a variety of writings from poetry to flash fiction, authored by some of the best writers in the industry. You will bear witness to their talent and also their courage, as they open their hearts and share their most intimate thoughts via the written word.

There is something for everyone in this short collection, and we hope that each piece resonates with that part of your soul receptive to being blindly transported to a private island, where excellence in writing is the law of the sand.

Shalom aleichem,

Pat Garcia

THE WEP CHALLENGE, JUNE 2019, CAGED BIRDS DON’T SING By Pat Garcia

The Seventy-Nine Words Story Challenge

Turn The Light On, A Short Story Excerpt By Pat Garcia

The wind was tossing the thin translucent drapes hanging from the drapery rods high, lifting and tying them as it blew them in different directions. Angry, her own anger matched the approaching storm, and she hurled her shoes in the darkness; her purse followed. She heard the content fall to the carpet but didn’t make any effort to turn the light on to gather them. Confused and hurting, she walked to the large window to look up at the dark, angry sky.

The Sunlight Dialogues by John Gardner

Riding horses in a back pasture, gone wild.  Woods.  Inside, on a hill, a house as black as dinosaur bones.  Grass grows up through the driveway’s broken asphalt, but there is a car.  This is the house of the oldest Judge in the world.  The Judge has company.

           John Gardner’s Prologue to The Sunlight Dialogues immediately drew me in.  His first sentence, “Riding horses in a back pasture, gone wild” caught me up and I saw  land no longer cultivated. His description, “grass grows up through the driveway,” gave me a picture of a driveway beaten down by weeds, and I laughed when he wrote, “but there is a car.”

 

My  setting from Turn The Light On,  WC:854 FCA 

Puffy, dark clouds clustered together hiding the moon when Della opened the door to her apartment.  She placed her keys on the large wooden key holder that hung on the left side of the wall without thinking about turning on her lights.  Even though it was early October, it was extremely warm and she kicked off her shoes and carried them in her hands. That the hallway was dark didn’t bother her; she walked down it as lightning blitz across the sky; her shoes in one hand; her purse strap hanging over her shoulder.

Approaching her kitchen door, she stopped and noticed that the wind coming through her opened kitchen window had blown her letters that were on the kitchen table to the floor; the pictures and what-nots hanging on the wall were rattling their dissatisfaction, so she entered and closed the window and hurriedly picked up the fallen letters and laid them back on the table before going to her living room.

In her living room, the wind was tossing the thin translucent drapes hanging from the drapery rods high, lifting and tying them as it blew them in different directions.  Her repressed anger matched the approaching storm, and she hurled her shoes off into the darkness; her purse followed.  She heard the content fall to the carpet but didn’t make any effort to turn the light on to gather them.  Confused and hurting, she walked to the large window to look up at the dark, angry sky.

Suddenly, she sensed a presence, and goose bumps broke out on her arms. She felt she was no longer alone.

 You're here; somewhere, in my living room, she thought. It’s got to be you.

 Infuriated at him for daring to enter her apartment; for leading her on for one whole year; in her anger, her stubborn spirit reared its head.

Two can play your game; I’ll just let you wait until I get ready to confront you.  She stood before the huge glass window and the wind tossed the sheer drapes to and fro trying to envelope her; she felt no fear. 

I was right then. You're back in town, so, why weren't you at the restaurant? 

A feeling of relief ran through her body, and tears gathered in her eyes, and she brushed them away with her hands as they ran down her face. She had missed him––her stranger without a name. He had never left her for two months.  She shuddered at the intimacy, at the emotional entwinement to a stranger, an assassin she didn't even know by name––her stranger.

                                                            ***

He sat in the darkest corner of her living room, watching her. Observing her brought healing to his war-ridden soul.  He desired to reach out and enfold her in his arms, but he didn't. Instead, he sat; basking in the tranquility her presence gave him.  This was the intimacy  he had been searching for, and he relished the fact that she was his.  Like a mammoth in heat, within him raged a pressing need to cover her with his body as he lay in her arms.

Her tears forced him to act.  As the lightening flashed across the room, he saw her brushing tears away from her cheeks. He’d never seen her cry, and surprisingly, it pained him.  What little emotional balance he had left disappeared; he wanted to comfort her.

"Did you enjoy your meal?" 

"No.” She said.

"Why not?"

 “Why weren't you there?" she asked.

 "I had to de-brief."

"Oh. When did you land?"

"Four hours ago."

"Have you eaten?"

"No. I was waiting for you so we could eat together."

"I'm tired. I’ve had a long day."

"Why?" he asked, even though, he knew from CeCe, her live-in maid, that she’d been horrified at his occupation.

"Because I found out what you were. The newsflash this morning accidentally caught my attention, and I recognized you."

"How?"

"By your eyes," she almost screamed.

"Which means?"

"I've been walking around in a daze, asking myself how I could let myself play such a stupid game and get emotionally attach to a trained killer."

"You haven't been playing a game."

"What is it then, if not a game?"

"It's a courtship that’s about to end.”

Her heart began to beat swiftly; they were surrounded by darkness; she couldn’t see his face; she had no idea what he meant.

So, it's over, she thought and a sadness of great dimension overcame her and poked at her heart.

"Why is it about to end?" She asked, quietly.

"I need you."

"Oh, I see," she said, and joy banished away the sadness. "So, you want to sleep with me? Is that the reason you've followed me a whole year and showered me with gifts?"

"I do admit I want you in my bed on a permanent basis."

"And what if I don't want to sleep in your bed on a permanent basis? Would you force me?"

"No, I've never had to force anyone, and I won't have to force you either."

"At least you don't lack self-confidence,"  she said with a trace of sarcasm.

                                                    ***

 

                                                            

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

 

 

 

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