Category Archives: Flash fiction

Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto /Footprints

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Joannus Rodriguez took one last look to right and left then quickly ran across the sand.  They had gone. For two days he had been  hiding in the small cave at the base of the cliff. Nobody had thought to climb over the rocks and search the shingle beach  to the West. They had all  been  concerned with the few items that he had left in his small, upturned skiff. These paeons were so predictable, a bundle of gaudy blousons, some cheap stockings and a small cask of cheap brandy had kept them arguing amongst themselves for hours. Now it was time to make his way to  the house of the Throckmortons. Then after a good meal they could commence their spreading of the true faith. They had all the ecclesiastical vestments safely hidden, ready for him to begin his tour of the houses of the faithful. His flock who still supported the old religion before the upstart Elizabeth the frigid cat had driven them  underground.  Those steadfast men and women who were forced to keep their services hidden. Proud in their defiance of those heretics who threatened them with imprisonment, painful tortures and violence, even  death. All for their belief in the true God through his representative on Earth, His Holiness Pope Benedict.

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Thursday photo prompt: Shelter #writephoto

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“Look at that dad!”

”What are you pointing at Joey?” I asked straining my eyes to see what he meant.

”Over there, in the hedge, it’s a big black teddy bear, can I go and talk to him?”

I laughed at the curious bush which even I thought was rather bear-like, “Go on then, see if he wants to come on our walk, but be careful, he might want to gobble you up,” I joked.

Then I said, “Take Sandy with you, you can let him off his lead, if there’s anything there he won’t let them hurt you.”

Joey and Sandy ran up to the hedge, Sandy started to bark loudly, I saw Joey shaking his head and it looked like he was speaking to someone.

Regretting my decision to let him go I decided I had better see who he was talking to. It somehow seemed a bit odd.

Before I had got half way to him I saw the bear like black shape rear up and hearing a high-pitched yelp watched as the dog was enveloped in a black mist before disappearing without another sound. In disbelief I called his name but there was nothing there, no sign of him. Joey was screaming and crying as he ran back to me.

”Dad, dad, what’s happened to Sandy?”

“It’s okay son, he’s probably fallen down a rabbit hole,” I tried to comfort him, we’ll get you back home and then I will come back to look for Sandy.

I could see he was unconvinced but could think of no other explanation to give him, better I thought to get him home to his mother.

So that’s why I’m out in the middle of this field waiting for a couple of friends to start the search for Sandy. But who’s going to believe this?

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Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt – Ahead #writephoto

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Raksha could not believe how cold it had become. Wearing only the white robe of the initiate, he had willingly descended the steps into the stone-slabbed tomb. Like his father before him and all the other young men of his village this was to be the most important of his so far, young life.  His body would outwardly be the same but braving the perils of this night he would emerge in the morning imperceptibly and subtly, be changed.  In his mind, and in the eyes of his village, he would be a man. Illuminated by the torch of his companion who had accompanied him into the cell but who had quickly and silently departed, he was aware that his bed for the night, a cold stone bench without even a layer of straw or a pillow was the only item that could be considered furniture. The stone-flagged floor had glistened with the pools of water that he could hear slowly dripping, monotonous, irregular from the rough-hewn rock ceiling, just a few feet above his head. Luckily there appeared to be no water dropping  onto his bed space. He walked slowly around the bench and contemplated how long it would take for his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. He knew that the door was to his left but could not judge the distance to it. There was only one thing to do. Adopting his favourite position he sat cross-legged on the hard floor and pulling his robe tightly around him and over his head he clasped his hands, shut his eyes and with eyes closed, started his meditation. This way he would not feel the pangs of hunger or the cold that would surely envelop him throughout his night-long ordeal. His breathing became shallow and he started to feel the sense of serenity that came with his faith in the Gods of his fathers and the teachings of his Holy brothers. By attaining this semi-comatose state he knew that he would be protected from all the unseen demons of the night whom the evil underground dwellers would surely send to torment him in his vigil. All he could do was rely on his inner strength and self-discipline. It would be a long night and he expected many spiritual and mental battles before the morning.

 

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Sue Vincent’s weekly #Writephoto -Dark

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I stood at the side of the  lake  looking up, “yes, it’s almost dark, I thought, so I can get this awful clammy suit off, I have collected what I came for, ” suppressing a slight  giggle at the unintentioned pun. Reaching between my legs I released the carefully concealed catch and the smooth, velvet-like, false skin peeled all the way around. With a little effort, due to the tightness of the fit I was able to pull the head and torso over the top of my scalp to hang like a deflated balloon around my waist before rolling the lower half down my legs to the gound. It lay on the bank, a shapeless porcine, sluglike 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. Slowly,  eagerly, slipping into the cold waters I prepared to swim down to the bottom to meet up with the rest of my clan. Once again I had completed my task and my ever-growing family would continue to expand.

I thought about my encounter the previous evening with the one who said his name was  Brian, “he must have thought that his luck was in when I started coming on to him. Well, he did look a little lonely sitting in the corner. It had been hard work trying to convince him that  my intentions were purely to have a good time. After I had established his capacity to satisfy my needs by having 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 being sick of course. 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 could be collected from where he suggested but we soon sorted that problem out. Now I was able to carry some more of the 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 us to break free from the waters and start our slow colonisation of the land.”

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Thursday photo prompt – Dusk #writephoto

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Frankie turned to his father and in a low voice that reflected both their moods.

“It’s been a great day  out  in the boat Dad, but it’s starting to  get a bit dark, I think, Mum will be waiting. ”

“She’ll be fine, I’m sorry son, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a blank day, we didn’t even get the bait for the real fishing,” his father replied, trying to disguise his disappointment.

They started to reel in the lines with their unbaited hooks, each silver hook shining silver in it’s individual cape of brightly coloured feathers.

With a wry smile John started the small Seagull outboard and turning towards the harbour lights that were just beginning to glow he turned to his son and said. “You’d better just look up at the clouds for those are the only mackerel we’re going to see today.”

Laughing at his poor attempt at a joke, he twisted his wrist and engine whirring at full throttle, they set off for the harbour and home.

 

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Sue Vincent’s #Write photo Sanctuary

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“Hey, look at this, wow the sound will be great in here, just like St. Paul’s, you know the whispering gallery,” Jane the first violin exclaimed, the nervous excitement lending a sharpness to her voice that I had never heard before. We were all excited though, just beginning to make a name as an occasional string quartet and out of the blue an invitation from the bursar at St. Danae’s girls college. Although we had honed our collected skills on intimate evenings of chamber music in some of the swankiest  little cocktail bars this was big league. By the way I’m second violin, Allan is viola and Suzanne is cello. Jane is our leader in more ways than one.

We weren’t due to perform for another eight hours but as soon as our hosts had shown us the venue we knew that we had to get in and start warming  up. What an opportunity. Trouble was we had to lug our instruments from the van, through the tradesman’s entrance at the side of the stables and down through the gardens. At least it wasn’t an uphill pergola or whatever they’re called.

Passing between the columns  we entered a round dark-brown oak wainscoted chamber. There were a handful of upholstered high-backed chairs on one side and four wooden chairs sitting separately to one side. We assumed these to be ours. With our mouths open in wonder we must have looked like a group of schoolchildren meeting J K Rowling or her creation Harry Potter.

“Let’s give it a go.” Jane enthused, breaking the spell.  We laid our cases to one side and almost in a subdued manner extracted our instruments. With our music stands in front of the chairs it would have looked to anyone coming through the door as though we were playing to an empty hall.

We had decided on a mainly Bach evening so struck up for practise,”The art of fugue,” generally one of his most popular. We wanted to know the musical quality of the dome high above our heads. After a few bars I thought I could hear someone humming along but we were the only ones there and none of my companions would hum and play at the  same time. “Stop, stop a minute,” I said holding my bow in the air, “What is that strange noise, can any  of you hear it?” They all sheepishly nodded their heads, each admitting that they had thought it was one of us but not sure from which of us the sound was emanating. Before we could resume the humming started to get louder, increasing in volume and frequency. It sounded like the wind passing around the doorframe but it was copying the tune we had just been playing.   “It doesn’t do that in St. Pauls,” Suzanne whispered. Allan agreed stating that he was going to have a look round.

“But, there’s nothing to look  round,”I argued,”just bare wooden walls and a few plaster carvings on the ceiling.” I hadn’t taken any notice of the carvings when we entered but looking up we could see that the immaculately carved. figures were cherubs. All had instruments much as ours  forming a quartet and they surrounded a figure of a woman. She was wearing a long evening dress and with her hands clasped in front of her breast in typical singing pose. In our heightened state of mind we all agreed  that perhaps this was not the time to continue practising  until we had spoken to the Bursar and see if there was anything he could tell us about the chamber, perhaps even if it had a reputation for eerie events or characters.

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Sue Vincent’s #write photo.

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Many people have admired the stone pillar at the side of the lane that leads to the medeival church of San Marco in Firsti but but it is only the locals who feel they know the true builders and the reason for it’s curious structure. I will tell you the story that I was told when I was just a boy.

Cardinal Cadenza smiled but it was a cold, humourless expression of his sadistic nature. Turning to the two black-robed, cringing priests he asked them to confirm that the nun Sister Dometia had really confessed to the heresy that appeared to afflict so many of the order known as the. “Poor Clares.” They showed him the scrap of parchment and pointed out the scrawl which was purported to be Sister Dometia’s mark. “That is all I need,” he thought. Pressing his fingers to his lips he thought for a moment and then the decision was made. He had been toying with a new punishment for heretics and this would be the ideal opportunity for him to show these heathen that the work of our Lord was just and transgressors could be shown mercy if they turned from their ways and repented their sins. He ordered the two priests to take the prisoner to the lower cell where the stonemason would be waiting for her. The priests left and descended to the lower dungeon where they found Sister Dometia kneeling in prayer in the corner of her cell. Clad only in a woollen blanket they led her down two flights of steps to the room where they saw the mason and his team waiting.  They stood around a wooden coffin  and stripping the nun naked they told her to lie down in the coffin.  All were impressed that even though she knew her probable fate Sister Dometia maintained her vow of silence and stoically lay on her back, arms folded across her breast, in the coffin. The masons then started to trowel cement into the coffin until only her face was showing. When the coffin was filled with the cold, hard, liquid stone the men all left her in this nightmare situation. In the morning when they returned the cement had set and there only remained a corpse in the coffin. They smashed the wood and stood the pillar upright with the nun’s dead face set in a rictus smile looking out. The pllar was then placed at the entrance to the church as a warning to all.

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100 Word Wednesday: Week 56

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The old department store had been standing at the junction for over a hundred years. With it’s tower and four storeys it had been hailed as the building of the century. The tenement buildings on either side with small shops and craftsmen’s dwellings on the ground floors and over-crowded apartments  above looked sadly on when the doors first opened on the bright, electrical illuminated concourse. But it was a foretaste of the nightmare to come. Thirty storey and higher skyscrapers now filled the skyline. The incessant drizzle only added to the mood when news of impending demolition was made public.

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Sue Vincent’s regular Thursday photo prompt – Woodland #writephoto

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Lupinus stopped and raised his right arm. He glanced to right and left  sniffing the warming morning air. There was nothing to see on both sides but a mass of dense forest. “I smell woodsmoke,” he explained, “but it may be from an old fire or perhaps more recent. It is quite strong however.” I knew better than to question his judgment, after all that is why he had been chosen to accompany me on the journey. A native of this strange land he seemed to have almost magical senses, hearing, eyesight and smell. His tastes left a lot to be desired, he abhorred fish oil, perhaps he found the smell rather overpowering. He was not averse to the meat from the pheasants that we had introduced though, declaring them to be good, much better than his native avian choices and took every opportunity to attend a meal where he knew pheasant would be on the menu. For this journey though we had brought very little of either, relying on our wineskins and small packs of bread and cheese. After all we would shortly be arriving in Camulodonum. The prefect of the town would be happy to provide sustenance for his unexpected guests from Gaul. We had important news to deliver concerning a local woman. Apparently a strikingly good looking woman but still obviously barbarian in speech and habit. Lupinus had spent the previous day trying to convince me that the women of this island had rights equal to the menfolk, they could even lead armies and make all the decisions that we Romans would not think of entrusting to anyone but members of our Senate. “Nonsense, ” I had scoffed, “they are only good for two things, keeping you fed by day and warm at night, oh, and producing sons of course.” Although even I am inclined to believe that they have a devious nature and are probably secretly laughing at our mistakes, occasionally offering advice that we should be foolish to ignore. It was my turn to feel slightly uneasy, I could smell nothing, let alone see more than ten metres to either side, the trees and undergrowth were so deep. Anyone could be lurking in there, I could even be walking into a trap, after all Lupinus was originally one of these barbarians, he had been hostaged when he was but a young boy and as far as I knew, had never expressed any desire to return to the home of his parents or contact his remaining brothers and sisters. No. I was being unnecesarily wary, I would trust him with my life, but? Anyway only another couple of hours and we would arrive in the town. I was looking forward to a hot bath, a change of clothes and an evening banquet………..
    I put the book back into my rucksack. It was a pleasure reading the story of Paulinus. The book was recommended to me as my landlord knew that I would be walking down the same old track that those two unfortunates had taken some two thousand years before. Ironic that the manuscript on which the book was based was recovered from the old cellars. A part of the town that survived the storming by the Iceni. Reading between the lines it appears that they were on the way to warn the Provincial governor that there was a stirring in the North and with the legions away in the far West they should think about shaking the dust off the uniforms and weapons of the local militia. Pity poor Paulinus arrived at about the same time as the good-looking red-haired woman who he thought incapable of anything but cooking and cuddling. That’s the way it goes. Anyway that’s my rest over, time to get walking again before it gets dark, you never know what’s lurking in these woods.

 

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First Line Friday – January 19th, 2018

I found myself in the ruins again. I have been playing Sonic the Hedgehog for two years. I enjoy the silly little tune, the sight and sound of a cloud of rings bursting over my little blue friend’s head as yet another obstacle is not overcome and my tally reverts to zero. But whenever I get to the dizzy heights of stage 4, that’s it, I don my breathing head and under the water I feel my way around the ruins, bubbles surrounding me as I hunt down those elusive rings. It’s no good though, my mind feels pre-destined to lose, those evil little creatures always seem to gain the upper hand and suck those remaining lives out of me. Oh no! there I go again, arms outstretched I rise to the surface and plan my next attack on the evil doctor’s realm.

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