The bells chimed 3pm as I, Seb, Sally and Manny chased down the back street, laughing. The figure at the far end made us stop dead. Taller than any man, slender form cloaked by material that absorbed sunlight, it had a face none of us could later recall, although it extended a skinny index finger to unsmiling lips. The sun went in, we glanced up, and then the figure was gone. Cautiously we approached, found only a black cat sunning its belly.
Seb returned there the next day, a car hit him, and he died promptly on the 3pm chimes.
Well, I took the image below as inspiration, but the image I’ve added underneath quite nicely sums it up! Thanks to Rochelle for hosting these 100 word challenges, as always.
Auntie waited by the window all winter. Her drool left frozen dark brown streaks as she scratched at thick frosted glass, her yellowed teeth gnashing. Weeks passed. Auntie watched. As I reluctantly chewed up my last shred of beef jerky, and penultimate multivitamin, birds began to squawk and chirp outside. The pane had turned from grey to deep blue. Curiously, I squinted beyond. The snow was dotted with green shoots, and Auntie had become a pile of meat-flecked bones under the window. Excited, I finally prised my way out of the cabin, to explore what was left of the world.
Thank you for reading, comments are welcome!
For more Friday Fiction by other writers, please click on the little blue frog below.
Warning: This went a little dark, I reckon – I saw that huge glossy shadow in the lower section and was totally drawn into it….
Keep your eyes peeled, girl.
They move between dark places when the shadows shift. Between buildings. Inside homes.
My neighbour was left with a cave for a face.
They spread in shadows, their domain increasing as storms get fiercer, knocking out power, soaking firewood. They caused that too, of course. Moment they landed here the bastards were blotting out our sun.
So never blink. Be vigilant and you’ll catch a lifesaving glimpse. A spidery leg here, a scuttle at the corner of your eye. Shoot the bastards.
Keep ‘em peeled, girl. Here’s a razorblade. I can help, if you’d like?
As always thanks to Rochelle for hosting this 100 word inspiration on her blog. Also please follow the blue frog at the bottom of the page if you’d like to read other 100 word stories by fellow Fictioneers.
The Broken Trainset
Shattered, I broke the little engine laughing at me beneath his ripped track. I stomped and stomped the tiny chimney, crushing Thomas and tubby Controller, smashed them brutally underfoot. I snapped and crushed, scattering miniature railway onlookers, terrorising all with my giant’s tread. The rest was a red mist until I dropped my beer can, slumped in sofa.
Blood dripped through my sock. The sitting room wrecked. It had been a long night. I hurt all over. Now I couldn’t even flog the fucking trainset on ebay. I was gonna get my legs broke. Twisted Thomas grinned at me – I.O.U.
Several possibilities were pondered for this strange doorway, but I’m reasonably pleased with what came up.
Learning the Hard Way
Serena and her daughter, Ruby, were arguing. Bernard watched with interest from his porch. “I can’t do it!” Ruby clutched her schoolbag, shaking her head. The mother, clearly at her wits end, shoved her right out the door. The little girl plummeted toward the pavement several metres below. Bernard’s heart nearly burst in horror. Ruby’s terrified scream split the morning air. Then came the reassuring swoosh of furious wings. Ruby crowed above him. “I did it!” and swooped gleefully above him, laughing, her mother close behind.
Bernard, wishing his mother had done that, waved enviously from his street level porch.
Thank you for reading, any and all constructive criticism welcome 🙂
Also, follow the blue froggie below for fantastic 100 word stories written by other ‘Friday Fictioneers’:
Friday Fictioneers I haven’t attempted this in a while, though I have spent a lot of time doing the 750 words.com challenges, which I highly recommend. It is, though, very gratifying to carve out a few thoughts in the 100 word limit of Friday Fictioneers, with the bonus of some human feedback. This is a bit of an experiment. If you don’t run screaming, then thank you for reading:
Under the Stump
Under the stump, the wee folk lived like kings. Under the stump, they supped blackberry wine and ate gooseberry jam and hot salted meat from puffs of wheat. Under the stump, there was a cold harsh heart asleep. Under the stump, a cockroach fought with a weevil. Under the stump, the wee folk made their bets. Under the stump, the wee folk taught ‘no regrets’. Under the stump, the sun was a myth. Under the stump, the spiders sought their juicy flesh. Under the stump, the wee folk were warm all winter long. Under the stump, they were safe from snow.
Feel I’m channelling a bit of the Arthur Machen, and Blackwood fairies here, if that’s what the ‘wee folk’ are.
Under the stump, the wee folk lived like kings. Under the stump, they supped blackberry wine and ate gooseberry jam and hot salted meat from puffs of wheat. Under the stump, there was a cold harsh devil asleep. Under the stump, a cockroach fought a weevil. Under the stump, the wee folk bet on the weevil. Under the stump, the wee folk taught ‘no regrets’. Under the stump, sun was a myth. Under the stump, the spiders sought their juicy flesh. Under the stump, the wee folk were warm all winter long. Under the stump, they were safe from snow.
Though it’s been a while since my last Fictioneering, I’ve missed the discipline and mental exercise, and flat out fun of connecting to other writers with the same goal. It’s also moved, since the last time I did this, to here , at a colourful blog owned by Rochelle Wissoff-Fields.
And I’ve wondered, what can’t you write about a dilapidated old shack? Lots of ideas surged! I’ve missed this. In fact, I’ve missed it so much I’ve done three entries this time. Hope you like them, thank you for reading 🙂 comments welcome, I’ll aim to get to yours before the weekend is over!
Jack o’lanterns flicker inside the old shack. Five teenagers are giggling, necking and drinking piss-weak beer, and clouds of pot smoke wafts from the slashed shed wall, giving me unwanted buzz. They’re so absorbed in each other they have no idea I’m waiting outside. Not long now. My axe is sharp and ready. One girl’s bladder gives up and she saunters from the pumpkin’s glow. She’s small, blonde and determined looking. I attack, axe swinging. Before I hit her, I’m surrounded by the teenagers. They’re brandishing guns and sharp sticks, even the blonde wields an axe. This isn’t bloody fai…
I’m going to keep watching that broken down old wreck of a building. No, don’t try and stop me. I’ll stay here as long as it takes. Because five days ago, under the full moon – and yes I’d had a few beers – but I swear on my children’s lives, that I saw it turn into a goddamn castle. Golden flags, gleaming white towers, the works. Fine, laugh at me and canter on by. I don’t need you to believe me. But how else do you explain the trumpets on a cold night, or the crown in the street that time?
Meat and Poetry
The madwoman lived alone in the shack, and everyone mocked her. She didn’t care. She bought milk and meat in town, while muttering glorious poetry, until cruel children threw stones that struck her head. After that no one in town saw her for a good few days. Then a vast parade of purposeful cats filed up to her hovel. Curious folk that followed were amazed when the cats bore the madwoman’s corpse from the shack and out to the dark woods. When they saw her again in town, buying meat, singing poetry, not one stone was thrown.
A sinister image for this week’s prompt. It conjured up connotations of death camps, suffering and gruesome horror movies. And I totally went with that! Bit of a post-apocalyptic spin, I feel, too. Open to interpretation anway.
Madison Wood’s response to her photo can be found over here.
The Monster’s Martyrs are bound into a single, agonised unit of pain and forced to walk ten miles together for the annual sacrifice. This year they used razor wire. I recognise my poor brother staggering amongst them. A few pray, some sob; my brother curses, lifts his head to swear at the sky so wounds pour again. Dried blood has patterned obscenely on his flayed skin. Their suffering makes His mouth water, I’m told. Shuddering, I hide in the shallow grave I dug by His rusted tower, clutching the grenade tight, awaiting His appearance. This will not happen again.
Time to try again. I had a few distractions last week, but now I’m back on the horse, resaddling the old keyboard, hopping behind the monitor….you get the idea.
Also, this week I ended up proving to myself I don’t just have to write horror in response to these prompts. Horror is fun, but this is a different approach. Possibly it reflects my need for a quiet moment inbetween working at the day job, and writing for myself.
Madison Woods provided the prompt for this story with the photograph below, and her entry and everyone else’s can be found here! I’ll be checking them out later today and over this long, glorious Bank Holiday Easter weekend.
Something rose up and flopped heavily while I dozed, my fishing rod doing all the hard work as bait dangled in the current, me and the worm bothdrifting. I woke immediately as multiple ripples worried the muddy sandbank and soaked my bare foot. Startled, I saw an otter scurry on to the opposite bank, squeaking indignantly. Then my rod snapped. I spotted a glimmering slice of gold curving through the water. As the low sun spread its evening shadows, the shining scales faded away and finally disappeared. A hell of a fish. Tomorrow, I’ll buy a bigger net.
The rest of my entries for the Friday prompts, and for the Thursday challenges by Quill Shiv, are over here or please click on Writing Challenges on the links bar above. Happy reading!
Madison Woods provided another great writing prompt this week and I’m happy to present my latest 100 word story based on one of her photos. Details about entering Flash Fiction Friday can be found over here.
Kind of went for my very first instincts this time. It still went through quite a few drafts (hope that shows, or doesn’t…) but I’m happy with the final result. Please feel free to comment with your responses to it, I always read them and make an effort to go through and read everyone else’s by the end of each weekend.
Don’t forget to also check out Madison Wood’s entry for the prompt on her blog, right here!
Dark and Deep
Branches raked my arms. The forest is unforgiving. Trembling in the dark, I come again upon a stone marked with ancient carving. I sink to my knees before it and pray to my god, or theirs, to release me. My shotgun long lost, the creature’s blood is still sticky and pungent on my hands and neck. My stomach growls. I am so thirsty. Exhausted, I soon fell fast asleep beneath the stone’s deep blue shadow. Waking at the touch of a leathery paw. The moon is shrouded. Powerful reek of animal filled my nostrils. I have no breath to plead…