Safe Place
Twitter flash Challenge
Prompt: BLUR vs OASIS
Optician said his eyesight's fine.
Yet he couldn't see further than edges of things. If he focused on his sister, he could imagine her his overture, & that his brother was still there, blurred for a moment in the periphery of his oasis.
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A 249 character Twitter flash is a great way to practice brevity. Most Mondays I try to participate in WHQ’s weekly prompts. This one combines their prompts of BLUR vs OASIS, with another community’s—vss365–prompt of OVERTURE. Hope you like it.
Why not have a go yourselves and post it in my comments. I’ve just decided as I’m writing this, if I get more than five, I’ll tip my favourite $5. If less, I’ll split it between you 🤗
This has now turned into a challenge yay!
Post on Monday 2 October by midnight UK time. I’ll read them on Tuesday 3 October and announce my winner on Wednesday morning (UK). If there aren’t many, I might even do it on Tuesday. If you don’t make 2nd, it doesn’t matter; It would be great to read what you come up with at any time.
The challenge is:
Write a 249 character short Twitter/X length flash. Title doesn’t count.
Prompt: OASIS vs BLUR.
Interpret in any way you wish.
You can use one or both words of the prompt.
Post the flash, below.
Don’t explain your flash, let the words do the work and trust your reader.
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I’ll make a post with the entries and link to profile pages 🤗
Get flashing! I can’t wait to see what you create.
Thank you for reading and for indulging me 🥰
About the Creator
Teresa Renton
Inhaling life, exhaling stories, poetry, prose, flash or fusions. An imperfect perfectionist who writes and recycles words. I write because I love how it feels to make ink patterns & form words, like pictures, on a page.
Keep reading
More stories from Teresa Renton and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Liminal: occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold. OED
Bonbons in a glass jar tempt me; a jar of chopped-up rainbow. I swirl a yellow one around my mouth, expect the zing and tang of fresh lemon. I spit it into my hand when no one is looking and bury it in a potted ficus by the TV set. I hate bananas. My husband devours them instead of crisps and candy. I smell them on his clothes; just a hint, through wood-spice aftershave and whiskey.
By Teresa Renton3 years ago in Fiction
Babbling Dixie
The short form of tomorrow is never the whole story. Abbreviations mean nothing when we are born to die and we all are aren't we? Being spoken for before birth is something we're not supposed to remember like some kind of karma after effect. Still here we are spending our lives looking for each other.
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelle5 days ago in Fiction
The Unthinkable
I don't do dark skinned sistah's. They just don't appeal to me. I like them light-skinned and thin with long, black, hair. Well, at least, that's what I thought, until she came around. I was drinking a latte when she entered the coffee shop. She walked past me towards the counter. Her skin was the color of mahogany, a color brown that I wasn't accustomed to noticing, that is, until now. She was wearing a magenta business jacket and skirt with an off-white blouse. Her shoes were black with straps that crossed each other and wrapped around her ankles. I tried to ignore her, and tried to place my attention elsewhere, but she just stood out. I found myself staring at her, eyeing her from head to toe. Every time I fought to look away, I found myself eyeing her again. I looked down at my cell phone, scrolled through articles on my favorite news app, and took slow sips from my latte, trying hard to make sure that my eyes stayed focused on one of the articles. I even thought about Sheila, the lovely sistah' in the complex next to mine. She was tall and thin like a model, had a head full of long, lovely, black hair that flowed down past her shoulders. Her skin was high yellow, and her eyes were the most beautiful green that I've ever seen. I was sitting thinking about Sheila and how I would approach her but, suddenly, I looked up and saw her. She was standing in front of me sipping from her cup. My eyes locked in, and she looked back at me, smiled and approached me. "How are you?" she asked. "Name's Seyrann Oku." "Hello," I replied. "Didn't get the name," she continued. "Maxson," I replied. Maxson Welch." "Oh, like the Jam?" she asked, laughing. "I bet you go well with peanut butter." Her laugh was infectious, all I could do was stare. If I opened my mouth and replied to that peanut butter comment, nothing but foolishness would come out, so I just kept quiet. "Oh, the strong silent type," she said, still smiling. "I like that." "I...I...I wanted to put her down, wanted to tell her that I wasn't into dark-skinned sistah's, wanted to tell her to get lost, that she didn't have a chance in hell, but I had a problem. I just couldn't get my mouth to move. "Look, why don't you come over, and I'll make you a nice supper." she said, still smiling. "I bet you haven't had a home cooked meal in ages." She was right. I haven't had any home cooking since I left home fourteen years ago. Long time to go without home cooking. All I've done is fancy restaurants and delivery, especially when I was trying to bag women like Sheila. "Here's my address," she said, still smiling. "It's easy to find. It's across the street from the Neon Palace." "The Neon Palace?" I said, trying hard to fight my cornballism, "Isn't that the Chinese fusion restaurant that everyone raves about?" "Don't even think about it," she said. staring directly at me. "A home cooked meal is what you need. See you at eight." I wanted to tell her not to waste her time, but it just wouldn't come out. All I could do was sit there and stare. When I got home, I seriously thought about standing her up, leaving her straight hanging, but I didn't, I showered up, got dressed, and I went right to that woman's house. I found my way there just like she said I would. I got to her apartment and knocked on the door. I pushed the door gently, and it opened. As I walked in, I was greeted with a wonderful aroma. I was expecting her to still be preparing food, but I saw everything there on the table. "Hello?" I said, looking around. "Your door was open." I was about to say something else, and then she entered the room. She was dressed in this wonderful outfit. The top half looked like a nightie, and the bottom half looked like a scarf just tied around her waist. "You're right on time," she said, smiling. "Come. Sit. Let us eat." Seyrann prepared my plate first and then prepared her own. We ate. It was quiet until she asked me to tell her about myself. I told her my story, told her where I came from, where my people were from, and how I got here. I talked about my job and some of my ambitions, and then, I asked her to tell me some things about herself. "I work in the city," she said. "I'm into advertising." "A lot of accounts?" I asked. "Several," she replied. "Any I might be familiar with?" I continued. "And why would you want to know that? she asked. "So we can make conversation and not end up boring one another." "Talking about what we both do for a living is boring." she said, staring at me. "So, what do we talk about? I asked. "Rituals," she replied. "Rituals?" I said, staring back at her. "Yes," she replied. "Between man and woman." I was about to say something, but she cut me off. "Say this mantra with me," she said. I was against it, and I was ready to leave until she held both my hands and spoke to me. "It's alright," she said. "You'll find peace with me." We began to read the mantra, and I suddenly found myself kissing her hands. As we both continued reading, I found myself pulling her close to me. Our words were in sync as we held each other, and we embraced for what seemed like hours. I found myself walking her to her bedroom within that embrace. As we completed the mantra, I bowed before her and gently kissed her feet. I found myself on my knees before her complementing her beauty. "Stand up," she said. "You were not meant to kneel." "You put a spell on me," I said, not knowing what else to say. "This is your truth," she said, "If it were not so, neither of us would be here." The night with Seyrann was like no other, never had I felt this way with any woman that I had pursued. It was as if we had known each other for seven eternities. With each touch, with each embrace, we'd go to levels where our minds would touch, where we knew each other's thoughts and dreams. Our spirits embraced and we tasted each other in ways that could never ever be explained in the physical realm. I tried hard to fight what I was feeling. It just didn't feel right to let go with a person who was not outwardly suitable to that fake world that had I created around me. I didn't want to go where my own truth was taking me. But wherever I went within the embrace, and within our coupling, she was there with me. Seyrann and I would go down this road many times. We'd read that mantra and go places that the world said was just a figment of our imagination. I know realize that my truth is with this woman. For years I denied women like her for the simple fact that I knew deep down that somewhere, down the road, I would find her and be complete.
By John Scipio2 days ago in Fiction
March 15, 2026
Merriam Webster - Word of the day: Tranche refers to a division or portion of a whole. World Contact Day is commemorated every year on March 15. It is a unique observance held globally to focus on communicating with extraterrestrial life and exploring the possibility that intelligent beings may exist beyond Earth. World Contact Day inspires people to invoke their curiosity and spend time thinking about the universe and the mysteries surrounding it. What is the “Ides of March”? According to the Roman calendar, the Ides are a monthly occurrence. In March and other months with 31 days, the Ides always falls on the 15th; it falls on the 13th in months with 30 days. The Ides traditionally marked the arrival of the new Moon and was cause for celebration. The word “Ides” is derived from Latin, meaning “to divide.” Mothering Sunday in 2026 falls on Sunday, March 15. Mothering Sunday, celebrated in the United Kingdom and Ireland, occurs on the fourth Sunday of Lent, which is exactly three weeks before Easter. Unlike the fixed-date Mother's Day in countries like the United States, Canada, and Australia, Mothering Sunday’s date changes each year according to the Christian liturgical calendar. On March 15, 2026, several notable observances and events are celebrated: Dumbstruck Day: A day to express frustration. Everything You Think is Wrong Day: A day to challenge and celebrate wrong beliefs. International Day Against Police Brutality: A day to raise awareness and advocate against police violence. My look at today, March 15, 2026 below:
By Denise E Lindquist5 days ago in Writers
Comments (6)
These types of pieces are so difficult to pull off and this one was great!!
Love this! I'm going to work on mine now 😀
OHHHH I'm excited for this, if only to read the entries. But I'll try! (Celia's is amazing; she did a poem).
Great job on the story. Well done.
OK will try this, intriguing as JS says
Intriguing story. Challenging prompt. 😎