Tag Archives: flash fiction

Derelict #writephoto

ruin

Photo by Sue Vincent

I crested a small ridge and the countryside became familiar.  It wasn’t anything that could be seen, not any feature or landmark, it had to do with the scent of the air, the feel under my feet and the quality of the sunlight.  I inhaled deeply and knew that I was almost home.

I was but a child when I was ripped from my parents’ arms and given an unbalanced spear and loose fitting leather cap.  I was told to kill or be killed, that king and country depended on me and my fellow farm hands that were rounded up to be shipped to distant lands to fight for noble arguments none of us understood. Continue reading

What’s for Dinner?

j-hardy-rubble

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

From the outside the building appeared amazingly intact.  Jish and Flav hid in the rubble as lookouts, guns at the ready.

Morque knocked the door down with his massive shoulder.  I stormed in, releasing a protective bolt.

It was no good, the building had long ago been ransacked and burnt out.

Poking through the wreckage, just in case, I heard a weapon discharge outside.  It was followed by a barrage of concentrated high energy particle beam weapons.

A Goony patrol had struck.  I knew my people.  The dilapidated restaurant was a strike out, but we’d have fresh meat for diner.

Continue reading

Inside Out #writephoto

sue-vincent-window

Photo by Sue Vincent

After working with the raw materials of life in the charnel houses, I discovered that there was more to the state of being alive than the simple physical constructs of bones, tissue and organ.  However, try as I might, I could not place it.  Modern science had not given me the secret and my instruments did not give me the power to look deeply enough to discover this secret.

It may seem obvious to the normal person that once a spark of life is created from a seed, be it the seed of a vegetable or the seed of an animal, the growth of that life is somehow predestine.  Each and every one is unique and it is impossible to mix and match between species, let alone members within a given species.  What is this germ of an idea that makes each life and individual?  I am a man of science and say it must exist in the structure of the matter, not just a God-given trait.  There has to be a scientific explanation for how this process works.

Yet science failed me. Continue reading

Diner

inside-the-diner

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

It stuck out, an old railcar pushed into a corner of town long after the trains had stopped running.  Back in the day, shiny chrome welcomed day trippers from Boston, but it had turned dingy and grey.

An old woman, the original owner, a perpetual cigarette hanging from her lip, served me.  The coffee was bitter, the eggs greasy and the toast older than the diner.  The next youngest customer had half a century on me.

I never returned.

I passed the empty lot today.  What the health-inspector found came back.  It’s been 20 years and I still felt nauseous.

Continue reading

Found

auto-aftermath

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Doug didn’t know the section of town, but he had received a call, a stranger with a tip.

The ruined house was squished between two others that had “Condemned” signs on the doors.

He hesitated, but there was no denying the car.  Covered in dents and missing a mirror, the car was spotless three years earlier when Em had disappeared on her 17th birthday..

Doug climbed the trash-covered steps and knocked.

There was no answer.

The door wasn’t locked.  He entered.

Em, thin and pale, stared with hollow eyes.  He picked her up and cuddled her.

“Let’s go home.”

— — —

Word count = 99

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

Place of Consequence

When he saw the name of the village, Sean Brown blanched.  It was destiny.

Great-grandfather Brown had fought and died in a trench just a few miles outside of town.  Grandfather Brown had been hidden in an attic in this town after the Germans shot down his airplane.  Celebrating family tradition, his father had proposed to his mother here while doing a grand tour.  This was a town of consequence for the Browns.

After years on the run, of all of the places in the world to finally be caught and arrested, didn’t it figure this was the place?

— — —

Word count = 99

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

Child – #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

Typically I try to avoid the nursery.  I know exactly what effect it will have, and sure enough, as I stepped inside and looked at the carefully tended, but mostly neglected, toys, tears sprang to my eyes.  I thought of her and the what-might-have-been.

We were in the spring of our lives, young and in love.  We had a special, deep, relationship that seemed to transcend anything placed in front of it.  We believed our love would have sustained us even if we had been penniless, living in a hovel, but luck, both good and bad, had placed us her ancestral home, a sprawling mansion on a hill overlooking the town.

Together we transformed the old place into our home.  We paid attention to every detail, forming the house to fit our personalities.  It was our joint love offering.  A testament to our bond that was supposed to last forever. Continue reading

When the Frost Comes Early

frost-on-the-tombstone-liz

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

My withered hand moved a branch, allowing me to see Francis’ resting place.  The memories flooded back.

With young idealism, we had founded the commune.  We could overcome and create a place that radiated peace out to the world.  War was over because we wanted it.

The poetry, eating food we had grown with our own hands.

The first year was perfect.

But then they came to arrest our draft-dodging butts.  Francis was shot resisting arrest.  The rest of us were sent to the frontlines of ‘Nam.  The Vietcong took the others.  They are young forever, while I grow old.

— — — Continue reading

Shore – #writephoto

shore

Shore – Photo by Sue Vincent

I looked at the faces around the dinner table.  There wasn’t a spark amongst them, they all looked tired and about ready to fall down on the spot.   It had been rough going and the future didn’t look any easier.

That was it.  Something had to be done to keep everyone upright.  After dinner I sat and thought about it.

It was obvious that we as a family were unstable and likely to collapse, and that we as individuals were almost as bad.  I knew that I was pretty close to that point where the gravity of the situation might take over.  I needed something to hold myself together, to prop me up.  I knew that if I was stable, it would be the first step in keeping us all upright.  One solid beam could do it.

But how do you fix the foundations of a person and a family? Continue reading

Great Aunt Isabel

shoes-and-books-by-magaly-guerrero

PHOTO PROMPT © Magaly Guerrero

Margret talked about her Great Aunt Isabel from the day I met her.  The matriarch of her clan had done everything, been everywhere.  Her family lived in this larger-than-life character’s enormous shadow.  Perhaps “great” was a title or description, not a generational mark.

I was nervous when I finally met her.   As we waited in the parlor, I noticed the stacks of oversized books here and there, and the random platform shoes tossed carelessly about.

When the giant of Margret’s family arrived, I went into shock.  She could barely see the table top, even seated on her stack of books. Continue reading