Category Archives: Flash fiction

Sammiscribbles Weekend Writing Prompt #133 ~Thoughts of Yew.

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I stand in silence exuding the dignity expected by my infrequent, reluctant visitors. Casting long shadows over the darkened windows, the black lace veils and dark suits so seldom aired. Offering comfort through familiarity to the grief-stricken, the respectful onlookers, the older ones knowing what best to say and do. Inwardly I smile for have I not, like many of my kind, stood guard at the cemetery gates for half of my two hundred year life.

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Filed under As you read it, Factual, Flash fiction, On the lines of romance, Self compositions

Saturday Six Word Story Prompt #13 – November 23, 2019 ~ Misery #6wsp

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Moment of marriage, lifetime of misery.

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Filed under Double tanka, Flash fiction, From the heart, Self compositions

Thursday photo prompt: Spawning season(recycled and updated) #writephoto

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I stood at the side of the lake scanning all around the horizon, “yes, it’s all quiet, “I thought, “so I can get this awful costume off. I have collected what I came for, well, he did really,” suppressing a slight  giggle at the un-intentioned pun. Reaching between my legs I released the carefully concealed catch and the smooth, dry-textured, false skin started to split open. With a little effort, due to the tightness of the fit, I was able to peel the head and torso over the top of my crest to hang like a deflated balloon around my waist before rolling the lower half down my legs to the ground. It lay on the bank, a shapeless, porcine mass. My whole body shuddered,  “Yuk, ” I thought, “how do they look at themselves in this, it’s creepy. ”

The air felt cool against my scales and once more checking that the shore was deserted I picked up the bundle and walked down to the water’s edge. Eagerly slipping into the cold waters I prepared to swim down to the bottom where the committee, would be eagerly waiting. Once again I, like few others successfully, had completed my task and the technicians would be able to continue their work.

I thought about my encounter the previous evening with the one interesting looking specimen who sat alone looking rather bored. He did manage to raise a smile when he caught me looking at him, even more so when he imagined a welcoming smile in return. Perhaps he must have thought that his luck was in when he felt that I started coming on to him. It had been hard work trying to convince him that  my intentions were purely to come out, have a few drinks and  hopefully a good time with a little romance thrown in.  In our carefully contrived conversation I had established his capacity to satisfy my needs. He had once been married with a family but now alone and in need of some company. He could never have guessed the real reason for my eagerness.

If he could see me now he would swear that it had all been a bad dream, very bad, after he had stopped retching of course. No doubt  he would then have had a very long shower, alone this time, before throwing  all the bedclothes in the machine to wash  away any lingering memories. Even the funny video camera he had used, for reference purposes, his words not mine, would have been thrown away I’m sure.

I had been a little worried at one stage, wondering if the sample I needed would ever be collected but we eventually  got a large enough amount deposited correctly. Now I was able to carry some more of this essential human sperm back to the colony where it would help in our next spawning. Not too many more trips and there would be enough of our hybrids, each spawning more successful and Earth-race like than the last. Then they would be able to break free from the waters. Their newly developed breathing organs would be  strong enough to start the colonisation of the planet so meticulously planned and prepared for after our escape from Mars..

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Filed under Flash fiction, On the lines of romance, Otherworldly, Re-blogged, Self compositions

MLMM’s First line Friday :October 25th, 2019

He came down from the mountains as autumn aged, before the paths could pile with snow and the bridges bowed with ice. After eighty-nine days he had still not found a trace of his goal. Every morning he had trekked the, by now familiar, circuit looking for any signs that his quarry had passed by, always with the same negative result. It had been the same for the past three years. his hunting skills had been slowly diminishing. He knew that he would not spend another season on these mountains. He had made friends with bears, the wild mountain goats, the eagles that swooped high over the mountain. He called them friends without receiving anything in return but the pleasure of fleeting sightings as armed only with camera and binoculars he had watched the parent beasts and their offspring, in their battles for life in this harsh territory. There were good and bad times but they had all given him the pleasure he craved. He had but one regret. With two more cameras to check, once again he was beginning to  feel disheartened. He saw the red light blinking as he approached, at least it had caught something. Could this be the  one he was looking for. He crouched down on the damp soil and removing his knapsack reached in to pull out his laptop. Releasing his fingers from the thick mittens he plugged a lead into the top of the box and crossing his fingers, once more waited for the picture to appear. The screen looked snowy at first. Interference providing it’s own blizzard conditions but as it started to clear he felt the usual tense stirrings of excitement. In the top corner were two dots of light, pinpointed in the infra-red beam. Could this be the  one? Eyes, and they were coming closer. It was unmistakable, a round off-white, cat-like face, black whiskers trembling.  His first snow-leopard. Proof that they were still in the area. He started to cry. Nothing else would or could ever compare to this moment.   

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Filed under faith, Flash fiction, nature inspired, On the lines of romance, Self compositions

Sue Vincent’s Thursday writing prompt #Writephoto

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The snow is falling harder now. I love the way the air always seems a little warmer just before the first flakes start to drift lazily down, instantly forming minute droplets of water on the surface of my jacket and legs. I’ve been sitting on my three-legged stool for what seems like hours, my gaze fixed on the gap between the trees. The leaden sky has finally decided to release it’s heavy load.

Without warning he suddenly appears, pawing at the ground. He surely realises that if the snow gets any harder the grass will soon become buried and he will have to move to the edges of the field. Already the does have moved back into the shelter of the trees. He doesn’t want to join them but will have to if he is desperate for food. He will be forced to try to strip some of the few remaining leaves from the branches, curling his long tongue delicately around each scarce morsel. Rough sustenance that will have to suffice if the hard frozen ground remains covered for too long.

My bent legs are beginning to ache but to move now would be to tempt disaster. Although I am downwind and he is unlikely to pick up my scent, the slightest rustle and he would probably bound away across the, by now, white coated grass.

His head rises, the magnificent antlers broad, curving in a wide arc from his dark, tawny brow. He turns and stares in my direction, proud, defiant, as if he knows what I must do. I blame the wind for the wetness I can feel in the corners of my eyes and the thin trickle on my cheek. Can he sense the inevitable? In one slow, easy movement I am able to get in one, two, a burst of shots. He jumps back in surprise and a sudden gust whips a flurry of snow around him obscuring my view.

I don’t care what has happened for I have what I came for. A check in the viewfinder shows me how successful the shoot has been.

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Samiscribbles weekend writing prompt #125 ~A familiar ultimatum

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I sighed in my loudest resigned manner, in the hope that someone, or something, would gauge my anger and frustration. As I replaced another clean puppy pad, the hound-dog from Hell had released another stream of steaming fluid onto the caramel coloured shag pile. Time to make my stand. “That’s it dog, once more and you’re banished,” I shouted, through my smile.

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Filed under Events and diary dates, Factual, Flash fiction, Self compositions, Uncategorized

Sue Vincent’s photo prompt: Harbinger #writephoto

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The villagers hated to see the magpie who nested in the old elm tree. To them it seemed  the bird had been sitting up there forever, with it’s mocking call and loud chattering every time any one passed by. It wasn’t so much that they disliked magpies, in fact most admired his contrasting black, blue and white plumage.

To them though this one was different, he had never been seen with a mate, in fact no other magpies had ever been seen or heard near the old tree where he was perpetually on guard. This caused the villagers, both old and young distress, for in accordance with the old, well known saying, “One for sorrow, two for joy, ” it was customary to greet a solitary magpie with a, “Good morning, mister magpie, how’s your wife. ”

To ignore a single magpie was sure to cause evil to the observer. It now seemed that any event that could be ascribed to bad luck was the fault of someone failing to pay the necessary respects to their resident bird. As he  got older he had taken on the mantle of, and was often referred to as, “The Harbinger of Doom.”

Fearful of dire repercussions if they did anything to harm the bird, the villagers realised that all they could do was wait until they saw the bird no more, in the hope that this ill-starred resident had finally taken his leave, then hopefully his place would be taken by a pair or perhaps more of his kind.

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Filed under Flash fiction, Inspired by fable, nature inspired, Old knowledge, Rural life, Self compositions

50 Word Thursdays # 32 ~Dockside dirge

FF6F01CF-38A1-4E81-947C-BF3C48CA0369Mournful, I stood observing the once ornate merchant’s houses that looked out over the empty, deserted wharves, My sense of nostalgia rising as I remembered the times before, when with each rising tide the hustle and bustle would begin. The rasping breath of steam-powered cranes as they swung the heavy bales from ship to shore. The grunts of heaving stevedores manhandling the trucks, each piled high with sacks and bale,  to the gaping wooden, warehouse doors. The squeal of the pulleys calling the unwary to the hooks plummeting to the ground, hungrily anticipating the next profit-making mouthful to be hoisted.

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Filed under Flash fiction, From the heart, History, Self compositions, Uncategorized

First line Friday September 13th. 2019

The elevator stopped on the thirteenth floor with a lurch. Sarah’s heart leapt into her mouth. The doors opened. She stepped through and immediately looked from left to right hoping that there would be a sign for a bathroom. She was in luck, an arrow pointed down the corridor to her left. Nervously she tripped down the uncarpeted passageway, conscious of the unfamiliar click of her recently purchased high-heeled shoes on the polished tiles.

She checked her wristwatch, breathing a sigh of relief, finding that she was still fifteen minutes early. She had plenty of time to make final adjustments to her hair and lip gloss. Despite meticulous preparations a girl could never be sure could she. She swung the door open and found it empty. Only then did she realise that there had been no-one in the corridor either. Resting her clutch bag on the side, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, pleasantly surprised that no adjustments were necessary. In fact she was thinking that she had seldom taken this much trouble over her appearance and she hoped that it would pay off.

She heard the door open and, turning, saw a young girl enter. Smiling she stepped toward the door, which the girl was holding for her. Exiting she turned to the right and once more saw an empty corridor. She counted the doors till she found the number she required and steeling herself gave a firm double knock. From inside she heard a deep voice, “Please come in, the door is unlocked.”

Setting her face into what she imagined was a confident expression she gently pushed against the door. It swung inwards easily. Trying to look self-assured she took a step through and was astonished at the sight that greeted her.

What was Sarah doing, why was she there, what so surprised her, answers in the comments box please, just to see if anyone comes close. 

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Crimson’s Creative Challenge #43

two-coats-on-a-gateHanging his set of spare clothing  on the gate, the invisible man leaned back. He braced himself as he let his soaking wet trousers and underclothes fall to the floor. Kicking them to one side he rested while he planned his next move.

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Filed under As you read it, Flash fiction, Humorous, Self compositions, Whimsical