“She’s over here, this is her second day the old gal,” Tom’s not so friendly but expected greeting as I jumped out of the car, Without warning a stream of reddened water gushed onto the straw behind her. Tom, staring at the new born calf said gruffly, “Looks like I wasted money calling you out vet.” I turned and replied. “Well the calf turned out fine but it could hardly have been a bloodier beginning.”
Category Archives: Flash fiction
Thursday photo prompt – Bleak – #writephoto
The angler sits squinting over the lake. This is the largest lake in England and should hold the promise of some great sport. Fifty yards in front of the concrete shelter in which he sits, a day-glo orange point of reflected sunlight shows where his float is sitting motionless on the water. Suddenly the coloured tip bobs below the surface and almost instantly returns to its upright position. Then it disappears completely with hardly a ripple to show where it once sat. Unhurriedly he slowly takes up the rod and with calm, collected movement he raises the rod tip, exposing the float with tight line leading down into the water. As the float rises into the air the line is performing a frenzied dance, pirouetting, describing arcs and performing tight figures of eight. Now he straightens the rod so the tip is vertical and holding it firmy in his left hand, with his right hand he grasps the almost invisible line and slowly pulls it into the bank, at the same time raising his arm until a tiny, silver, dangling fish is exposed, as though balanced on its tail on the surface of the water. A bleak, one of the smallest fish found living in fresh water. He gently pulls the fish to the bank and with a shake the bait falls from the fishes mouth and the fish is unhooked. The shiny silver sliver rests in the palm of his hand for a few minutes to alleviate any stress and then he gently places it back onto the surface. He releases his hold to let it swim freely back down to the murky depths, having suffered no harm, only the loss of an easy meal. He then takes his position once more, settled in his seat hoping for a repeat performance but with a much more substantial catch.
Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Uncategorized
Thursday photo prompt Writephoto -haven
“So how do you like the old place?” My friends John and Sue looked thoroughly pleased with themselves as we pulled up in front of a magnificent looking old farmhouse. The sun was fading and the artificial glow of the streetlamp they had erected in their garden reminded me how long it had taken to reach their new home. A far journey by train from London where they had collected me from the station to spend a weekend of sea and fresh air with good company. Removing the cases from the car they ushered me in through a low stone-lintelled doorway through which I had to stoop to enter. “It dates from the late fifteenth, early sixteenth century according to the agent and we’re looking forward to our time down here”, Sue gushed,” John will show you your room while I get the kettle on.” John motioned me to follow him up a narrow, winding stone staircase with dark, wooden panelling on one side.We turned a bend to the left and John pointed to a panel that didn’t seem to fit in with the rest. “Have a look in here,” he whispered, and pushing one edge of the panel it swung out towards us. Looking through the gap I could make out a small, coffin-sized room without any windows or furniture. “What do you think of this?” “It’s an actual priest hole, my very own piece of history, can you imagine the thoughts going through the mind of the Jesuit priest concealed in here to avoid capture by the King’s agents.” “His own haven in the cruel times in which they lived”.
Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Uncategorized
Writespiration#140 52 Weeks in 52 Words, week 45. A day in the life of a pair of shoes
She fooled me this time. I was sitting in the drawer oh, so quietly. She was looking round the room and I could feel that she would choose me. Oh! yes, she’s picking me up, looking at me, smiling. But wait, she’s putting me in a bag. Where is she taking me?
Filed under Flash fiction, Uncategorized
Thursday photo prompt – Tower – #writephoto
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.
Filed under Flash fiction, History, Self compositions, Uncategorized
Writespiration #136 week 41
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.
Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Uncategorized
Thursday photo prompt – Flow #writephoto
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.
Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Uncategorized
100 word Wednesday #Week 36
“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!”
Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Whimsical
Twittering tale #48
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?
137 characters
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Sinking # Sonya #Three line tales 82, #100 words
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.
Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Uncategorized
When the pen takes control. 