Untold centuries have passed since first I stood sentinel on this lonely mound. My cold, brick skirts pressed modestly round my granite ankles. But as if in recognition of my awesome power no human blood was ever spilt within. Only life’s juices draining from the ox, the sheep and fowl in preparation for the daily feasts once held within my smoky halls. When minstrels played and goblets raised in song and celebration of deeds of valour if only from the minds of fawning scribes enthralled and eager to placate their Lord and raise him high above his peers. Tables heavy laden with the weight of wood and pewter platters, their contents overflowing. Fruit and bread and choicest meat supplied and oft replenished by ragged boys and comely maidens whose faces set in lying smiles promising hopes of delights to follow but at a price, far above the reach of those who could only listen from without the heavy oaken doors.
She stood waiting, confident that it would happen soon. It was not too long before she felt a change in the air. Gulls, floating on the calm waters, suddenly took to the air, their calls raucous and echoing. The sea darkened and as if defying gravity the huge whale broke the surface.
I felt compelled to say I didn’t fancy our chances on duty in the fire watchtower if the wind changed direction. 111 characters
“hot,” that’s the word I would use to describe the girl’s photo that accompanied her profile on the well-known online dating site. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, exchanging messages I asked her to give me a ring. She agreed and shyly, although I don’t know why as it was only a phone call, I answered the call with great trepidation. Her voice was pleasant enough but there was something in it that was not quite right. We chatted and despite being quite suited on the website it turned out we had almost nothing in common. We didn’t agree to call each other again or meet and the whole experience left me quite cold.
Norah Colvin writes in the upcoming The Congress of Rough Writers Flash Fiction Anthology, Vol. 1: “Flash fiction is a form of short writing. In its various forms, it may be known as, for example, micro fiction, sudden fiction, or six-word stories; the length may vary from as few as six to as many as […]
via Get Ready to Rodeo! — Carrot Ranch Literary Community
Just below the surface of the fast-flowing stream he lay waiting. Below the bubbles and foam the water was clear and cool, he could see all the way up to the steel-grey rocks ahead. He had waited here for many days, occasionally rising to the surface, looking upstream, judging the depth over the first stone. This morning was different, in the dark he had felt the raindrops crashing into the waters inches above his head. Now it had stopped but long experience and instinct told him that further up the valley where he would be heading there would be a rush as all the small streams emptied their collected waters into the river in which he lay. It took many hours but soon the level would start to rise and he could attempt to make his way further up. He would try to be early at the spawning ground, this year he was stronger and larger, his red-flushed flanks were brighter than the last throws of the sunset. His hooked jaw curved over his upper lip, making it impossible to feed. He was starving but he did not have time to feed on the juicy maggots, flies and morsels that drifted lazily over his head. He was only concerned with finding one of the many spawning females, ready to woo and persuade her to release her eggs into the sand in order that he might spray them with his milt. This would be his dying gift to the river, a new batch of young salmon to clean and purify the waters before they departed on their long journey downstream to where the river flowed into the dark sea and set off on their three year journey before they too returned to the place of their birth.
“Jeez man, I’m not trying to be funny but what’s with the dark glasses? Is it part of the uniform, you want to look cool or are you frightened of being recognised. I guarantee I’m not here to take photos of you so that we can target you. I’m just getting some shots of the cavalcade.”
“You know who’s coming don’t you? The Great Leader, Light of the world. If he looks upon you in his majesty then the radiance from his magnificent gaze could strike you blind. You’d better have a good filter on your camera,”
“Jeez, you’re brainwashed!”
“Welcome to our holiday home, ” I smiled and bowed low with a flourish.
“I thank you kind sir, ” she curtseyed and turned to mount the staircase.
I could only assume the silence as she entered was due to her pleasure at the minimalist decor and the efficient air-conditioning system.
Excuse me, I’ve been here ten minutes now, any chance of dropping what you’re doing and serving me,what sort of coffee-shop is this?
We continued our descent and within fifteen minutes the only light was from our headlight beaming through the cold, deep-space-black water.
Dr. Anders suddenly cried, “Stop, stop a minute, look at that in the main camera, isn’t it so beautiful!”
We gazed in awe at the magnificent skeleton flowing, turning in a slow-motion ballet in the stark, artificial light, even shorn of flesh we could see it was a species never previously observed or classified by any other person, but in the knowledge that possibly our photos would help by adding it to the long list of deep underwater wonders.