Flux23 dropped to her knees, panting on the rooftop of the skyscraper. In seconds she morphed from a suit-wearing white male into herself. Brown hair and pale skin. A blue scaly patch behind her ear the only tell-tale sign of what she was.
The city lights blurred in front of her. She felt woozy. That little girl caught her unawares, staring at her, then at her father lying in a pool of blood. She threw the gun into an air vent. They’ll catch up to her. She would run anyway. Her life as an assassin for Nation444 was over.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words of less. Thanks to Jill Wisoff for this week’s prompt!
Every week I intend to write comedy, and everything but comedy finds its way onto the post. This week, it is sci-fi. Shapeshifters. Loosely based on the X-men character, Mystique.
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He gazed at the delicate line of her neck, tracing with his eyes along her collar-bone.
“Josh, are you listening?” Carrie cocked her head to one side, blue eyes sparkling, blonde hair flowing with the breeze.
“Huh? What were you saying?” He slipped his hand into his pocket.
“So you always come here?” she looked at the bubbling creek, and bare trees.
“It’s better in the spring.” He tried not to think of the other women.
She shivered. “It’s cold.”
He drew a blade from his pocket. Only the trees heard her screams, but they would never tell.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Karen Rawson for this week’s prompt which inspired me to write my thriller-date-gone-horribly-wrong flash fiction.
Heavy chains clanked about, swinging from rusty metal. Remnants of a contraption that once delighted every kid in town. Soon to be scrap metal.
Voices echoed in Yusuf’s mind from a time long gone.
“Dont be a chicken!” Reza had taunted him. Yusuf was game and had sprinted through the crowds towards it.
They didn’t know each other but were like best friends that day. Reza’s family had driven down from the north for the carnival.
As they dismantled the old machine Yusuf thought that had they remained friends they would have gotten into all sorts of trouble together.
I wrote this while in transit in Hong Kong international airport. Not my usual FF writing spot.. so I struggled a bit with this prompt. But I missed last week due to travelling and didn’t want to repeat that. Took me several rewrites though I blame typing on the phone, and airport announcements for this particular struggle. 😉
The metal contraption in the prompt reminded me of carnival rides and I have friendship on my mind lately. So that’s where my mood took me.
Written for Fiday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Where the challenge is to write a full story in 100 words or less.
He shut the closet door and sank into the darkness. Mark clasped his hands over his ears to silence the buzzing. But he was helpless against the visions that replayed in his mind.
Blood. On a single gold hoop earring. Matted brown hair. He tasted bile in the back of his throat.
Three days later his wife’s body was found near the beach and he was arrested. The detective presented the evidence bag containing the stained earring they found in his car. Nausea enveloped him as he tried to remember. He had kissed her goodnight. But after that – nothing.
I struggled with this image. Everytime I tried to think of something, all I could see was crinoline… Probably because I had read Rochelle’s post first.
So I went back to my thriller roots, and saw jewellery instead in those suspended circular artwork things. I’m not sure if my main MC is guilty or not. Looking forward to seeing your thoughts in the comments. Thank you, Dale Rogerson, my friend, for this week’s image!
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog icon to read more flash fiction from other super cool writers.
She leaned back in the chair, the cold wrought iron pressing into her back. Through her grief a smile rose to her mouth. Countless Sunday lunches, warm garlic breads and ice cold lemonades. She could almost hear the chatter, the laughter ringing around the table. Young and old.
A hand touched her shoulder, she didn’t have to look to know it was her brother, Barry.
“C’mon sis, I’ll make you some tea. Let’s go inside.”
She stood up and took one last look at the chair where Dad always sat. Sunday lunch would not be the same without him.
Hooray! My picture was chosen for this week’s flash fiction, and I couldn’t be more thrilled! Thank you, group leader, Rochelle!!!!I took this picture while on holiday, and the lodge I was staying at had a sombre air about it. Later I heard from hotel the hotel staff that the father of the family-run business had just passed away. So naturally their story came to mind.
I apologise for not commenting much on last week’s flash fiction. Life has thrown me major life changes which has given me the most confusing mix of incredible joy and sadness at the same time. I promise to double my efforts this week and read as many of this week’s posts as I can.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the most talented artist and writer, Rochelle Wiesoff-Fields. The challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog icon to read more awesome flash fiction by more great writers. Make coffee, sit back and enjoy 30 second stories.
This was his place. A sanctum of peace, serenity and love like no other. On top of a mountain overlooking the fields. Cloudless days allowed the horizon to kiss the earth. Today, the clouds rolled at his feet below the mountain peak. Glowing pink and yellow. He extended one foot to dip into it when a loud banging noise stopped him.
His eyes flew open. Noddy, his labrador jumped excitedly towards him and licked his face. Behind him tottered his toddler, squealing and snatching at the dog’s wagging tail.
He sighed. Five minutes of meditation would have to do.
Hope you enjoyed this attempt at flash fiction humour. Those with small children and hyperactive pets suffering from separation anxiety may relate to this somewhat.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle-Wiesoff Fields. The challenge is to write a full story in 100 words or less.
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After a few hours of tracking wild spoor, he saw them. Guns raised at their shoulders, aimed at the feeding rhinos. Kruger raised his camera and then stopped. Shouldn’t he do something? The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
His camera clicked softly, capturing the perils of life as a rhino. Then through the lens, he saw a monstrous lion lunging at the two poachers, claws and teeth sinking into shoulders and backs. Guns dropped to the ground. Kruger snapped away capturing the perils of being a poacher in the territory of the savannah’s most fearsome lion.
Rhinos are nearing extinction and Southern African countries have taken up a mission to protect our indigenous wildlife. I’m proud to say that Botswana has a zero tolerance attitude to poaching and have even committed its security forces to protect our wildlife. The current president Lieutenant General Seretse Khama Ian Khama is a champion of this cause. And Prince Harry is a patron of Botswana’s conservation project: Rhino Conservation Botswana.
We sat in the gardens of an ancient ruins, side by side. Laughing with the ghost of my mother. She looked young like me, but felt older. Behind us the shrubbery crawled over an abandoned castle, most of it gone. What stood was crumbling. Above us thick green canopies shaded us.
“When will we meet again?” I asked her, taking note how black her hair was, without the strands of grey that sprouted when she was still with us.
She offered me only a knowing smile as her answer.
Of course. I wasn’t permitted to the knowledge of the unseen.
My mother passed away two years ago. Yet I never feel as if she is gone. I still feel her overbearing, sometimes annoying, presence with me. (This was really how our relationship was! No angelic talk here 🙂 )
And when I dream of her, it feels as if I’m really seeing her, and in the dream I’m aware she has passed on.
There have been many dreams of her. The year she died, she came into one of my dreams on the eve of my birthday and I hugged her in delight, knowing she was not with us.
The above story is part of one of the dreams I had of her, where there was an abandoned castle behind us.
Proudly written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by our leading writer, Rochelle Wiesoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less! Click the frog icon to read more flash fiction by other awesome writers.
They were coming! He tripped over roots and rocks and sliced his hands and knees.
In his mind he saw only his daughter. Would Little Ayla understand? He spent a lifetime locked in his cramped room writing books by oil lamps. And now those books were burned to ash, by the orders of the government who sought to punish him for disobedience and disruption. What did he know of disruption? He was a teacher not a warrior.
All he did was show his students their inner power. Revolution had sprung.
Panting, he thought it odd that even in this moment, he had inspiration. He would write and teach till his last breath. Dipping his finger in the blood that trickled from his slivered palm, he wrote on the sleeve of his robe.
A sharp pain pierced his shoulder, and when he reached towards it he pulled out an arrow. He could barely hear the sounds of horsemen approaching and as he fell his eyes rested on his own script on his sleeve, Love yourself.
The image was so evocative of magic and I’ve been reading about true self love as opposed to regular TLC. True self love is more difficult and life changing. And it is our own inner magic in a way. So this is where my mind took me when I saw this image. Thank you to Goroyboy for providing it for this week’s prompt!
Written for FFfAW (Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers).