Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 2.24

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Year 2, Week 24.

This is a flash fiction challenge. The prompt is a song. You are not required to write about or even mention the song. It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan. If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.
The rules;
500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.
Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.


The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at MIDNIGHT Pacific Time on Friday. You read that right. Pacific Time.

This week’s song prompt is a little taste of the blues, courtesy of one Levon Helm.
The tune is, “False Hearted Lover Blues”.
Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/YPYnH5S8B_U

This week’s Judge is MWBB veteran Eric Martell.

The challenge opens the moment you read this post and runs through MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Friday October 17th.

Now… Go write!!!


Posted on October 14, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.


    “Willie! How’d you get in here?”

    He gestured behind him. “The backdoor man.”

    “Well sit yo’ ass down down. Get you some chicken, some pork n’ beans.”

    Willie rubbed his hands together and took a chair across from his old friend. “Ooo-eee. Damn that smells good. And you know me, I can eat mo’ chicken any man ever seen.”

    Jelly Roll laughed his raspy laugh. “Yes you can Willie, yes you can. Whatcha drinkin’?”

    “Same’s you.”

    “Bartender! One bourbon, one scotch, and one beer for ol’ Willie here.”

    “No whiskey? Gin?”

    “Hell no,” grumbled Jelly Roll. “Whiskey make you drowsy. Gin can make you think. A common cold can kill ya but my woman drove me to drink…Ah, thank you kindly sir. Drink, drink up Willie.”

    Willie chuckled, took a sip of beer, and added his own. “If the river was whiskey and I was a duck I would swim to the bottom and never come up.” He lifted a smile.

    “What’s got ya down Willie?”

    “Have you ever loved a woman so much you tremble in pain?”

    “Ah shee-it! Don’t start me that talkin.’”

    “Been down so god damn long.” Willie sighed and downed the bourbon.

    “What she do this time?”

    “My woman, she got a mojo n she’s tryin’ to keep it hid. Nothin’ but bad luck.”

    “Shee-it, if it wasn’t for bad luck I wouldn’t have no luck at all.”

    “I told her I’ma gonna pack my things and go. Guess you don’t love me, babe, loving mister so-and-so. Then she tells me, ‘Whoo, I would rather go blind, Willie, than to see you walk away from me, child, no. She done started to beg.”

    “She done what?”

    “I’m tellin’ ya. She begged. Got down on her hands and knees. I said, ‘Baby, you done lost your good thing.’ I shook my head and said ‘No.’”

    “No shit?”

    “No shit.”

    “I feel ya brother, I feel ya.” Jelly Roll took a mouthful of scotch. “Woke up this monin’ with
    an awful achin’ head. Some of these women, boy, sure do make me tired.” He sighed and filled his mouth again with the bronze liquor and mustered a smile. “But I tell you what—“ and he began to laugh “—If my baby don’t love me know more I know her sister will.”

    Willie slammed the table thrice, and laughed that deep bellow. He took a bite of chicken and looked across the empty (save he, Jelly Roll, and the bartender) Soul Kitchen. “Do you done left yo’ woman too?”

    “Damn right I did. But I’m so lonely I ain’t even high. Left me for another man Willie. But shee-it, the way I figur it she’s just another notch on my guitar and I’d rather be the devil than be that woman’s man. One thing’s fo sure, I’m sure my false-hearted lover will drive me to my lonesome grave.”

    “Damn straight Jelly Roll, damn straight.” Willie finished the scotch in one fail swoop. “Before I left I been feeling I’ve been tied to the whipping post and thought to myself ‘good lord I feel like I’m dyin.’” Piled a scoop of beans on his spoon and shoveled it into his mouth.

    “What she say when you done tell ‘er?’”

    Willie laughed. “Told me I’m gonna miss her.”

    “Miss her?” Jelly Roll waved his hand. “Shee-it. What you say t’that?”

    “Told her I don’t care when you go, how long you stay. Beside, how can I miss you if you won’t go away?”

    Jelly Roll pointed that old calloused finger at Willie. “Now that’s a smart one.”

    “Yeah, but now that I been done thinkin’ bout it, the more I think nobody loves me but my mother.”

    “And she could be jivin’ too!”

    That one got both of them rollin’ and when the laughter subsided, they sighed, ate and drank their beers in silence.

    Willie finished first, rose from his seat, and finished first the beer.

    “Where you goin’ Willie?”

    “Wherever the stone rolls me Jelly.”

    “Well then let it roll ol’ buddy, let it roll and make sure ta keep ya’ eyes on the road and yo hands upon the wheel.”

    “No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn.”

    Josh Bertetta
    705 words


  2. Jellybean had moved to the small town of Rush thirteen years before but the locals still didn’t regard him as a ‘real’ Rush man. If he stayed here and had kids here, well then that’d be just fine; they would be from the town, but never him. He felt the difference sometimes. The guys down the bar sometimes would dismiss a story as saying, “well, it was before your time,” or, “you wouldn’t understand it, you didn’t know their .”

    Most of the time he didn’t give a shit. He was okay with being the odd man out; it was a style that suited him. He started to dress the part, going all Johnny Cash on it, always in black. He wanted to take to wearing a modest cowboy hat but he knew the guys wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. This big shot lawyer comin’ in from LA, they’d say, thinkin’ and makin’ like he was some kinda cowboy and shit, well, that’s just the dumbassed thing I ever seen.”

    So what that he’d told them he was a lawyer. They’d never find out anyways. It’s not like they ever watched anything other than Fox on TV.

    He felt safe here.

    Until he met Ruby.

    He walked in one night, feeling good and looking even better, and there she was, leaning up against the bar, looking nothing like any of his other women. Dirty overalls and a clean shirt underneath, looking out from under her fringe like Princess Diana, those big blue eyes and sassy-ass mouth cutting him apart for weeks afterwards.

    They hit it off straight away.

    “Can I buy you a drink,” he said, “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

    “That’s cause you ain’t got no eyes in that dumbfuck LA head a’yours,” she’d shot back, smiling though so he knew it was a joke.

    They drank two beers together and saw each other again outside the bar a few days later, and then after that they were considered each other’s.


    He was back in his house one evening, a modest, quiet affair set back from the road, answering an email from an old friend back in LA when there she was, right outside, knocking on his window.

    “Hey,” he said, the window open.

    “Can I come in?” She asked.

    “Sure. One sec”

    He went and opened up the screen door, its distinctive sound mixing up with the evening birdsong outside.

    He should never have invited her in.

    They shared a night of blood and horror, leaving him counting the bruises the next day and wondering what times the different acts had happened at, or why it even mattered, and what was going to happen now.

    Wordcount: 452
    Twitter: @renascible
    Name: Jessica Maybury.


  3. Butte, Montana isn’t where I expected it to happen. Of course, I had long ago given up on it happening at all, so I wasn’t looking for it anywhere, really. And I almost missed it because of it happening on Samhain…

    My name is Joe… now. I picked that up after Joe Hill’s murder, and it’s been a good name for this “twentieth” century as they’re calling it. When I was born, my mother named me Cacamwri, and even the most devout Gaelic scholars have long since forgotten what that means, but I remember, for that was the name I was cursed under. You do one woman wrong, you pay for it forever. Anyway, I’ve gone by lots of names over the centuries. I’ve traveled a lot, so I’ve needed plenty of names. When the New World was discovered, I had to come over and take a look, of course. Spent a lot of time in Boston, Chicago, and eventually ended up in Butte, with its dense Irish population and massive Irish pride.

    You don’t have to be in an Irish town for Samhain to be a magical time of year, but it helps. Gods feed on faith, after all. This fall night monsters and ghouls roamed the streets alongside fairy princesses and sexy pirate wenches I swear I’d’ve remembered if they’d existed at the time, all reveling in the joy of being adults without limitations. Kids’ trick-or-treating was done for the night, and the serious celebrations were in full swing.

    Then a zombie woman caught my eye. At first I thought her costume was exceptional. Then I realized it wasn’t a costume.

    She paid me not the least attention, so I was able to study her for some time. Beside my chair, my wolfhound Fionn thumped his tail lazily, giving no sign he felt anything were wrong with the world. The zombie woman sat with a circle of friends, all dressed in different costumes, and gradually I noticed that though it wasn’t a costume I was looking at, neither was it a walking corpse. Or rather, it was, but it wasn’t her corpse I was seeing. It was an image, superimposed over her own, of someone else’s corpse. I also realized no one else could see it, not even Fionn. But then, why should they? It wasn’t their corpse they’d be looking at, it was mine.

    My late wife Aoife would’ve sent for a priest by now to have the woman exorcized. So would at least a score more of them. When you’ve lived longer than Christ’s been dead, you tend to rack up a few late wives, but I swear to you I’d loved them all. Not that one of them ever loved me back, the ungrateful bitches. I wouldn’t be here if they had. I’ve watched helplessly as Churchmen put a blindness upon my peoples’ vision that can never be cleansed. Not that I was a holy man myself, but a well-trained druid in my day would have known what they were looking at and dealt with it accordingly, whereas a Churchman would just cast out anything that didn’t look Christian at first glance.

    And of course, no Churchman understood a geis worth a damn.

    I knew, though. I could see it clearly: this woman held the answer to my geis. Somehow, through her, I could finally die. I’d spent so many years watching plagues, wars and old age take friends, companions, wives and children, that I craved oblivion like another man craves food or drink. I’d shut myself away from humanity, kept myself apart to avoid falling in love again, knowing my heart would only be broken again, and now I had come to a certain peace with my existence. Did I really want to die now? The thought caught me up short.

    Well, did I?

    This would be the first woman in all the world who would truly love me for who I was.

    Did I want that? Was I willing to die for true love?

    Shakily, I stood up from my table, and Fionn stood up to follow me as I began to walk…

    “Geis” by Josie Beaudoin
    josiecinders@gmail.com (sorry, no twitter)
    Word count: 690


  4. My Name Is Rosaline Evangeline Ophelia Carter

    My name is Rosaline Evangeline Ophelia Carter. Mama set me up for the worst love life of any woman on earth with that name. As a teenager I didn’t think much of it. Who really believes in luck, good or bad. But my first beau was Robert Joseph Wilkes. I’m sure you’ve all heard of him by now. But back then he was just a good lookin’ boy with dark hair that always hung over his right eye. Hair that just made your hands itch to touch it. That boy had the devil in his smile and I thought I would just die if I couldn’t get a taste of him, which I surely did, but then a week after he declared me the prettiest girl in the entire holler I caught him walking down the creek picking flowers for Cindy Evens. I cried and cried and Mama told me it was a good lesson to learn. She said she picked those names for me so I would never forget how false hearted both love and lovers could be. Well you know how it worked out for Bobby Joe…and Cindy. Honestly I might be headin’ straight to hell for it but as far as I’m concerned double suicide couldn’t have happened to a nicer couple.

    After Bobby Joe it was Gilbert Jenesse. Gil was a good young man. We had a slower romance. He brought me wild flowers and always said the nicest things to my Mama. He had dreams of life beyond these mountains and hollers and I was starting to think I might be a part of them when all of sudden he was just gone. His whole family just up and disappeared one night. I went ‘round to his place and found the house empty and all their things gone. I also found a mighty big whiskey still in the back of the house. As I was walking back home I saw the police cars tearing into the Jenesse place. Seems to me he could have at least left me a note or something. I guess in the panic he just had to get out. I cried all that night and my Mama said it was a good lesson to learn. Sometimes life just won’t allow your love no matter how well intentioned or heartfelt. Maybe I’ll hear from him one day.

    After Gil was the worst of them all, the one who led me here today telling you my story. Hamish McClellan. Ham was the crown prince of this little town. His Daddy was the Mayor and Ham had been the senior class president. Everyone was sure he would go off to college and we’d never hear from him again. But instead he stuck around to help out his folks for a year or two. That’s when he and I started steppin’ out together. He was so smart and funny and kind. He wouldn’t let me say bad things about myself. He always said I was smarter than any three people put together I just hid it all the time. But he saw it. He saw me. I knew he was worried about his family and was trying to figure out how best to help them. He and I talked about going to school together and coming back here to making things better for folks. But then his Daddy died rather suddenly and his Mama took up with his uncle, the town sheriff…scandalously fast after his Daddy died. Ham was beside himself, heartbroken over his Daddy dyin’, angry at his Mama and suspicious of his Uncle. I tried to help him but the things he said to me. I couldn’t take it. It was like I had been starving my whole life just because there wasn’t enough and then he fed me and it was amazing but then turned around and said I would have to starve again because I wasn’t worthy of being fed anymore. I cried exactly five tears. Mama begged me to understand it was HIS false heart but I knew it was mine that was the problem all along. Now this river will solve my false hearted problems once and for all.

    Words: 700 not counting title


  1. Pingback: False Hearted Lover Blues – Flash Fiction, #MWBB | DRINK TEA WRITE WORDS

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