Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Skagway Story

“The A&B Building was made entirely from driftwood.” The Artic Brotherhood was established so that prospectors would have a safe place to socialize and someone to look after them and their families. I joined up when first coming to Skagway looking for my fortune. I had heard of others striking it rich overnight and hoped to do the same. My young wife and two little daughters waited for me back in San Francisco. Halfway up White Pass Trail the blizzard hit. The Brotherhood buried me outside of town and sent my meager belongings and the few dollars I had on me to my family. Some say they’ve seen my ghost on White Pass Trail climbing toward the summit.

Monday Finish the Story

Mondays Finish the Story

Princess Zenarra

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I am writing a sequel because I thought the story about Zenarra ended too soon.

“You will fulfill your duty and marry Tomar with the next moon rising,” Jolar’s words echoed in her brain. She must not allow herself to be defeated so easily.

” Yes I am of royal blood and an ancient line, much older than Tomar’s. You expect me to mate with that diseased pervert who spends his nights in brothels defiling children?” Zenarra’s eyes flashed in defiance as she held Jolar’s cold gaze. Her hand reached to her pendant as she gently depressed the center stone.

Minat heard the shrill sound coming from the monitor. She searched the screen display to locate her mistress.

Later that night the flashing lights of the police cars lit up the scene on the bridge. The patrolman remarked to his partner, ” That was some lightning strike. All that’s left of the poor bugger is those melted boots.”

“You said this sensor device was implanted at birth?” the surgeon asked.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday

The Arranged Marriage

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PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman

Genre: Speculative Fiction

Zenarra thought the commute was worth it to have the beautiful natural landscape that surrounded her when she got home. She smiled to herself and sighed. She never thought she could be so happy.

She sensed his presence before she saw the headlights. ” How did you find me, Jolar?” she said dejectedly, ” Minat swore she would never betray me.”

” Those of royal blood have a sensor implanted at birth so that they can never be taken for ransom. You will fulfill your duty and marry Tomar with the next moon rising.”

Friday Fictioneers

Plein Air

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She had a lot of time on her hands nowadays. Much more time than she had planned for. She had always told herself that if she had the time she would like to take up her art again. She hadn’t painted since High School when she was discouraged by one of her teachers from pursuing a career in art. It felt good to be doing it again. Once she got started painting she was in “the flow” like Mihály Csíkszentmihályi described it. She lost all sense of time and felt almost in a meditative state. She was barely aware of her surrounding except for the flower she was focused on capturing on her canvas. That was until she heard the sound from a TV news broadcast coming from the neighbor’s patio. Ashley Madison hack predicted to have impact on many marriages. It already had an effect on hers. She had endured his emotional abuse for years thinking it was wrong to get a divorce. When she saw his name on the website she knew it was time to start her new life. She moved out last week after she withdrew all the money from their savings account.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Hosted by Priceless Joy and Thanks to Graham Lawrence for the image above.

The Tree House

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“She lived in a Mango Tree,” she heard the kids shout as they ran past the house. Her husband had built the tree house when their kids were little. This was where their kids spent many hours playing and even slept there on hot summer nights. She had been spending more and more time up in the tree house lately.

As she climbed the stairs she thought she heard their laughter. They shouldn’t be up here now, she thought, it’s time to get ready for school. The caregiver came to the house later that morning. When she couldn’t find Miss Grace in the house she knew where to look. She found her asleep on the old bunk bed. She woke the old woman saying, “Miss Grace you know you shouldn’t be up here. You’re liable to fall and break your neck.”

The neighborhood kids would often sing out when running past her house, “There was an old lady. She lived in a Mango Tree….”

Mondays Finish the Story

The Iron Gate

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PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

Friday Fictioneers writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The small notice stuck in a crack between the iron gate and the old concrete wall warned the water would be shut off if the bill was not paid within a few days. My Grandpa’s garden looked beautiful. An abundance of flowers and assorted edibles. I remember when this garden fed our family and most of the neighborhood. It was hard for Grandpa now to make ends meet on his meager Social Security check. After putting in so many years slaving away at that factory job, he had been laid off without pension.

Night Rider

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He had drawn the night watch. Twenty years herding cattle for so many spreads, he couldn’t remember all their names. He now rode for the Lazy Z. He hadn’t liked the owner from the time he signed on, but he was flat broke and couldn’t be choosy. Mr.Gage was a green horn from back East. He did not understand the importance of getting the most experienced cowboys and having enough horses on the drive. He was trying to get off cheap, but would find out the hard way when he lost a good part of the herd on the trail. They should be changing horses more often during the day instead of overtiring them. The horses were always loyal to their riders and gave them all that was asked. Tom looked sadly into their eyes, ” Ok boys, whose going to ride with me tonight? ”

The Witch

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“From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by.” It was getting harder and harder for her to get up and down the stairs. The neighbors seemed to ignore her when she did venture out. The children would giggle and point as she made slow progress down the sidewalk. She often looked like she was lost in her own world.

“A penny for your thoughts,” said the mother to her little girl.

” I was just thinking about that old lady that lives up stairs. Some of the kids say she’s a witch! Do you think she’s a witch Mommy?” her face showing her apprehension.

“I think we should go up ask her if she needs anything from the market. It must be very hard for her to get her groceries,” the mother answered.

They quickly climbed the stairs and knocked. A strange light spilled out as the door opened. The luminous being spoke, “So glad you’ve come. I have finished my observations of this planet. I was going to report that your species is hopeless but you have changed my mind.”

Mondays Finish the Story

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“The cemetery spread along the area known as Devils Abode.”

The cemetery spread along the area know as Devils Abode. This was not encouraging to the residents of Sunny Hills Rest Home whose facility butted up against its boundary. They were reminded daily of their next destination after their time on earth was over.

Sunny Hills was located on part of the old site of the Dixmont Psychiatric Hospital. In the early days it had been a large facility to house the criminally insane of the state. The remaining patients had been moved to other facilities years ago, except for one.

In all the confusion of the last days he was forgotten. He had hidden out in the old coal storage building ever since. He still made his daily visit to the cemetery to see some of his old friends. His cold empty eyes gazed over to the cheerful grounds of Sunny Hills.

Gingerbread_House_Essex_CT via wikipedia

Sunny Hills

Spectacular Settings

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This is my contribution to the WEP challenge for August called Spectacular Settings. The first part is to include a paragraph from a favorite setting. I chose the book The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett and here is the setting.

Mrs. Medlock, the housekeeper, describes the setting ( Misselthwaite Manor) to the main character Mary: “Not but that it’s a grand big place in a gloomy way, and Mr. Craven’s proud of it in his way—and that’s gloomy enough, too. The house is six hundred years old and it’s on the edge of the moor, and there’s near a hundred rooms in it, though most of them’s shut up and locked. And there’s pictures and fine old furniture and things that’s been there for ages, and there’s a big park round it and gardens and trees with branches trailing to the ground—some of them.” She paused suddenly and took another breath. “But there’s nothing else,” she ended suddenly.

The second part: Why I like this setting.

I love mysteries and this setting is very mysterious. A six hundred year old mansion on the edge of the moor with a hundred rooms, and most of the rooms closed off. A secret garden, a sad reclusive uncle, and a child heard crying at night. I love when Mary starts to explore the gardens and then one day, when it rains and she can’t go outside, she decides to explore the house. What will she find down all those dark corridors and behind those closed doors?

The third part: Part of a story I started to write.

The Journal is discovered

I was exploring an ancient oak grove near my new home. I had been hiking for quite a while and the weather was quite warm. I decided to take a break and sat down under the shade of a gigantic old oak tree. I put my jacket down, as a blanket, and lowered myself to the ground. I leaned back against the large trunk feeling a comfortable protected feeling in its presence. I was settling into a peaceful place when I felt something poking me. Just when I was getting comfortable too, I thought, I would have to sit on a rock. I rose up on my knees and moved my jacket out of the way determined to remove the offending object. I saw what appeared to be a piece of leather. I found a stick nearby and dug around it until I was able to see the whole thing. It was a book of some kind. I carefully lifted it out of its burial place. As I opened it I swear I saw some tiny lights twinkling like stars. I saw there was writing and it was very old. I did not recognize the language but as my eyes traced over the letters I found I was able to read the words.

“My name is Aine. I have set down my story here so that whoever may find this journal will know the story of my time on earth. I am a Druid priestess. I practice the old ways. This is my story.”

I felt very drowsy and decided to put the book in my backpack and save it for later. I sat back down under the old oak tree. I will just close my eyes for a few minutes…. “I am flying high above the oak grove and can see for a great distance. I love to fly and feel so much strength in my wings. It has been five years since I shape-shifted. I am Aine.”