Before me, my destiny. Ahead, the colonnade, bestrewn with offerings of the lucky few. I stood, decorated crystal vase in hand. Within, a host of freesias and orchids, their delicate hues and subtle fragrance assailed my eyes and ears. To my left stood former suitors to the Demi-goddess within. Medusa.
Category Archives: Flash fiction
50 wordThursdays #23 #Homage to danger
Filed under Alternative history, faith, Flash fiction, Inspired by fable, Self compositions
Crimson’s creative challenge #29
I looked up at the clock on the windowsill. It was obvious that time was running out. New candles needed.
Filed under Factual, Flash fiction, History, Self compositions, Whimsical
samiscribbles weekend writing prompt #107 #spin
Gaydon had been celebrating. Darts night in The Cottage Inne and his team had just won. It was time to go home. Rosie, his wife would be waiting up for him. On his way he saw some people dancing in the moonlight. They grabbed his hands and he found himself spinning faster and faster till he collapsed. He awoke alone and continued his walk home to tell Rosie he had been pixie-led. Fool, she said, you should have turned your coat inside out and you would have been safe from their spells.
Filed under As you read it, Factual, Flash fiction, History, Inspired by fable, Old knowledge, Self compositions
Crimson’s Creative Challenge #28
Aproaching the twilight of my earth bound time I made a personal pilgrimage to the Tuscan countryside of my youth. The farmhouse was strikingly familiar, memories came flooding back. Despite the passage of over fifty years I still held the fantasy that as I approached the stable door that familiar long blonde nose framed with gold, would peer out and in that curiously American accent my great friend, with his own particular lip-smacking sound would greet me as before; ready to offer advice and his own style of philosophical thought. Sadly it was not to be, “Mister Ed,” the wonderful talking horse was long gone to the glue factory in the sky.
Filed under As you read it, Flash fiction, History, Self compositions, T V nostalgia, Whimsical
Sammiscribbles weekend writing prompt #105 -Denial
Sandra felt detached, as if standing looking at herself from a few feet away. Somehow surprised at her imagined facial expression, it was certainly not how she felt. Inside she was smiling. The casket stood dark and aloof, the lid balanced on end. The face inside was ashen, smooth, parchment dry. Her mother, released from life, freeing Sandra from her years of denial. She had expected more emotion, probably not sadness, a feeling more akin to relief.
Filed under As you read it, Flash fiction, Self compositions
Crimson’s Creative Challenge #26
When the explorers finally broke through the dense, green, forest covering there was a collective sigh of relief. At last we’ve found it they exclaimed. No more digging a trench by torchlight away from the safety of the camp and squatting over it, vulnerable to any creature of the night.
Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Whimsical
Ten Word Photo Prompt: Upon reflection
Checking his phone confirmed a problem with his screen orientation.
Filed under Flash fiction, Otherworldly, Self compositions, Whimsical
Crimson’s creative challenge #25
“Oh look at that. My luck must be in. She doesn’t know I’m here so if I just wait a while I’ll see if she’s alone. I can’t hear anyone else around. I wonder what she’s doing, shouldn’t she be in school, not sitting here all alone on the riverbank. That’s it, I’m going to sneak up behind her. If I stay really quiet she probably won’t notice until I’m right behind her. That will be a shock but so much fun when I see the reaction on her face and hear her gasp. I won’t hurt her but she doesn’t know that. Right here we go, slowly now, slowly, keep low and don’t make a noise. Oh no, she’s heard me, she’s turning round.”
“Ruffles, you naughty dog, what are you doing here? Did someone leave the gate open? Give me a hug and then I’ll take you home.”
Filed under As you read it, Flash fiction, No offence intended, Self compositions
Crimson’s Creative Challenge #24
The church was full today. The whole town had gathered to say a heart-felt goodbye to one of their oldest residents, Jan Prideaux. Eighty four years of age, old Jan had continued working until the day he died. Like his father and grandfather before him, masters of their trade. Now the village would no longer have a blacksmith. As a boy he had cut his teeth shoeing the horses from the farm, the big house and the local hunt stables. All had succumbed to changing times. Motor cars, tractors and the demise of hunting with dogs. No more would the smithy ring to the sound of hammer blows, the hiss of steam from drenched iron or the wheeze of the bellows keeping the raging fire aglow. It was fitting that Jan would be carried through the doors so beautifully decorated with the crafted ironwork of his last commission.
Filed under As you read it, Factual, Flash fiction, History, Self compositions
MLMM’s #Sunday Writing Prompt- “Choose an Antique”
Graham inserted the key. Behind him Julie nibbled her upper lip and looked at the peeling paint on the once dark-blue door. He seemed to her to be taking a long time and it was cold standing out here on the dark doorstep. There was very little light from the street lamp on the opposite side of the road. At last he said, “That’s got it,” and pushed the door open before reaching for the light-switch. The hall stayed dull as if the lamp was operating on low power. “After you,” he reached behind her and stood to one side as she entered, “the first door on the right,”. She took a step forward and turning the handle indicated, pushed the door open. He reached past her and flicked another switch, this time the light was brighter. “Welcome in,” he smiled, “what do you think of it?”
Julie looked around, her first impression was she had entered a Victorian boudoir with two large armchairs, a dresser with a large mirror and old-fashioned china ornaments. A tall dark wood bookcase filled one wall. The top two shelves were crammed with very old looking books in leather binding. She realised that it was probably these which gave the room it’s distinctive, rather unpleasant smell. If she was going to visit him again she would have to do something about that. A strange thought occurred to her that it smelt like something long dead.
Graham looked at her nervously, he could sense something wrong. He hoped that she would not be another of his guests who got frightened and asked to leave before his fun began.
When the pen takes control. 