Tag Archives: Fiction

Short Fiction

Within #writephoto

echo-within

Photo by Sue Vincent

I wake and open my eyes.

It is dark, but that is to be expected.

There is nobody around.

That isn’t expected.

No children.  No progeny.  No kin.  Nobody.

It doesn’t feel right.  Something is wrong.

I walk to the entrance and look out across the barren landscape.

I can still see the villages and the fields full of crops, but I know they are gone.  The thin soil could not bare the weight of the plows for too long.  This was no longer Home and people had to purposefully travel to see me.

I sniff the air.

Although what I see seems unchanged for time out of mind, I know everything has changed.  The world is different.  The times are different. Continue reading

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Aflame #writephoto

pond-set-055-aflame

Photo by Sue Vincent

It was a hard day.  The hardest.  It was never ending toil, but I had to do, if not for myself, then for them.

The one bright spot is that I didn’t struggle alone.  Silently by my side was my neighbor, the little girl who used to bother me as I did my chores, little no more.  She didn’t have to share this, but there she was.  As, I realized, she always had been.

At the end of the day I looked down at my companion.  Her face glowed in the setting sun.  My heart soared, turned aflame.

“Mary,” I said, “if we survive, will you be my wife?”

The last rays of the day painted her face a bright red.  What was she thinking behind those flaming eyes?

“Of course.”

I took her hand, saying nothing, for nothing needed to be said as we watched the dying embers of the day.

***

Written for Sue Vincent‘s #writephoto challenge.  This weeks challenge, “Aflame”, is here.

Clarity #writephoto

clarity

Photo by Sue Vincent

“Where do you think you’re going?”  Sean’s voice was loud, harsh.

“Away!”

Jan jumped into what she hoped was the local variant of Uber.

“Take me to some far away beach, someplace where I will never be found.  Ever.”

The large man turned to her.  The thought that he looked like some wild Hollywood villain crossed her mind.

He smiled.  It made her skin crawl.

“I know just the place, Ma’am.”

It took 15 minutes for the tiny car to navigate the congested, narrow streets and leave town.

In 20 minutes the constricted, claustrophobic feelings started to dwindle.

After about 40 minutes the car stopped.  There was nothing around.  That worry struck Jan again. Continue reading

Castle #writephoto

castle

Photo by Sue Vincent

“…and on a day, so they say, the Fairy King will leave his castle at Deep Blue and sail off to Evermore.  The legends tell us that whoever reaches the castle first will then become king or queen and rule Fairyland until it is their time to sail the dark sea to Evermore.”

I remember my great-grandmother’s words well, though I was no more than three.   After she made her own journey “to Heaven”, or so my mother told me though I secretly believed she went to “Evermore”, I heard no more about the Fairy King nor his castle at Deep Blue.  Yet, when the clouds towered over the water, full of lightning and thunder, or when the fog rolled in, I could make out the craggy towers exactly where great-grandmother told me the castle should have been.

That was oh so many years ago.  Now I am far older than she was when she made her final journey. Continue reading

The Yearning #writephoto

yearning

Photo by Sue Vincent

Meg crested the small hill and stopped.  A last fragrant breezed wafted up from the ocean as the sun slipped down for the night, causing the sky and water to flame.

Her heart bounded and for a minute she felt like a little girl, full of the desires of youth and pull of the sea and distant lands, the deep unending yearning, the yearning to be someplace, anyplace, else.

She brought herself back to the present and found An watching that same sunset.  She gave a knowing smile and walked over to her granddaughter.

“He’s out there someplace,” she said to the 24-year-old woman.  An didn’t respond.  “Yes, out there beyond the horizon.”

An gave a slight nod.

Meg drew closer to the young woman and watched the last flashes of light play across the water. Continue reading

Transition #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

I dream of open spaces and sunlight.  I dream of freedom. I dream of adventure and romance.

I dream of her.

This transition has not been easy.  I was always a wild one, forever on the move, forever starting a new adventure.  To be locked away with no hope of escape doesn’t suit my nature.

And the cruelty of it all!  Just across that small courtyard that I can glimpse through an opening that I can never pass pass, just there, always in sight but forever out of reach, is where she is.

If only I could see her one last time, catch a glimpse of her smile.  If only I could hear her melodious voice one last time, I’d be content to settle here forever in my personal prison.  But no! She is kept just out of reach.

It was a dark night.  We had a rendezvous and she was late.  Impatient, I went to her abode to find her, to find why she hadn’t met me as promised.  Stupid, yes, but I was young and in love.

I thought I had entered the gatehouse unobserved.  I thought I had been sly.  I thought I had been crafty.  But he had been craftier, that jealous husband. He was waiting as patiently as I was impatient.  He would catch me.

Before I knew he was there, my throat was slit with the same knife that had taken her life.

I dream of open spaces and sunlight.  I dream of freedom.  I dream of adventure and romance.  I dream of her.

Although 300 years have passed, the transition from living to dead, from physical body to ghost, has not been an easy one.

***

Written for Sue Vincent‘s #writephoto challenge.  This weeks challenge, Transition, is here.

Escape

belton-lap-pool

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sitting in front of a lane, watching the water, made the memories flood back.

I was too short for basketball, didn’t have the hand-eye coordination for baseball and hated football.  That made me a zero in school.

But I found the swim team.

I discovered that I was a fish.  I won often, but the kids at school didn’t care.  There were no cheer rallies for the swim team.

It didn’t matter.  When I was in the water, I was free.

The aid lifted my war-wracked and broken body into the pool.

I once more was a fish and free.

***

Word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.

Rooted #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

“Sir?”

Ordas had been surveying the land, trying to get his bearings, and resented the intrusion.

“Yes, Slark?”  He frowned.

“I’ve been studying the maps, and I believe we are…”

“I know where we are,” Ordas said.  “This was our capital.  The minions of the Dark Lord did not leave one stone on top of another and filled all of the foundations, trying to erase our very existence, but he didn’t succeed.  See those trees?  The heart of the capital was rooted to the center of the Earth in that spot and there are still ruins.”

“Yes, Ordas.”

Ordas smiled to himself.  He could see the disbelief in his lieutenant’s eyes.

It was the same for every new generation, generation after generation for over 500 years.  They would come to court and find Ordas as the head of the military.  They would hear of his eccentricities, particularly his claim that he was almost a thousand years old.  They would grow old and he would stay unchanged.

But they never believed. Continue reading

Monochrome #writephoto

timbered-building

Photo by Sue Vincent

And on the sixth day it was decreed that all color, hue and chroma would be banished from the world. 

*

It was raining.  Again.  Not hard, just a little cold drizzle.  Andy drew his jacket a little tighter and frowned.

Why was he here?

The kids had made him come.  They said he’d enjoy it. Steven, his grandson, made the arrangements and was here with him, but he wished he was anywhere but here.

“Hey Pops, look at that.  I’m sure this was standing before any Englishman set foot in America.  It might even be older than that place where you raised Dad.” He smiled broadly at his joke.

Andy continued to frown.  He knew Steven was trying, but it was useless.  Even the old jokes about the house on Cleveland street rang dull, colorless in Andy’s mind.  The myths and legends of the 1950s, seen almost as black and white reruns of the Donna Reed show or Leave it to Beaver had help to shape Steven’s childhood, but they had moved out long before he was even born. Continue reading

Rift – #writephoto

rift

Photo by Sue Vincent

Jeg walked deeper into the woods.  His footsteps went almost at random for his mind was not on his path nor his surroundings.

It wasn’t just Dalph, though the rift that had sprung up between them bothered him. Just one misplaced word, one misinterpretation, and thousands of years of bad blood between his people, the Marishny, and hers, the Iniya, came bubbling to the surface.  They needed to work as one against their common enemy, and now a gaping chasm had opened up. The entire alliance was at risk.

Jeg walked on, head bowed.  He had long ago left familiar territory, but he didn’t notice.

Actually, it was Dalph.  The Iniya were so unapproachable.  They were breathtakingly beautiful, with a holy light always surrounding them.  There was something of the angelic with them for although they were as fallible as the Marishny, they could not knowingly do evil.  Jeg’s own people, though aspiring to good, seemed to fall into the pitfall of evil all too often.  The Iniya were slim and tall, a head taller than the average Marishny, and exceedingly strong. They could work minor magic.  No, not work magic, they were magic. The Marishny were closer to animals while the Iniya closer to the heavenly Atonee. Continue reading