The littlest storyteller

Posted on by Fatima Fakier

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

Will you tell me a bedtime story?

Maybe tomorrow.

Tired, daddy?

Just a little.

From slaying dragons? You have dragon blood on your coat again.

Dragons?

That green shiny stuff there, and there. There’s another spot and here too.

Oh…It must have sprayed onto me when…

You can tell me. I promise I won’t tell anyone. Cross my heart. Hope to die. Oh, don’t worry I won’t really die. It’s just how Jamie and I make promises. So we know for sure.

I was going to say, it must have sprayed onto me when we were making slime.

99 words

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less. Click the frog to submit your flash fiction or read others’.

bigfred

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet

Posted on by Fatima Fakier

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Her favourite flower was roses. Various mediums depicted Dorothy’s unapologetic floral partiality. Printed fabrics of light and dark hues dressed her windows and tables and crocheted patterns draped over her armchairs in stern solidarity.

A ceramic, gold-tipped single rose pendant dangled at her throat.

Another strange and eccentric old woman to the outside world. She knew what people said about her.

Her mother was named, Rose. Died giving birth to Dorothy.  Years later, her daughter had been Rose too. She remembered the tiny coffin that took all the love Dorothy knew to its equally tiny grave.

96 words

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less. Submit yours by clicking the frog icon and read other’s flash fiction.

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Last day of school

Posted on by Fatima Fakier

PHOTO PROMPT © Gah Learner

Mishka pulled the curtain aside, hoping to see a window. Her heart sank when she saw it was boarded up shut with wooden planks. Her breath came in sobs, heart thudding faster in her chest. Was her mother looking for her? Thoughts of her mother brought fresh tears.

A woman entered the room. She wasn’t in the car when those men pulled her into it on her way to school. Hope rose like a red balloon in her chest.

“Please ma’am. I want to go to my mommy.”

She eyed her up and down. And shut the door.

98 words

Not one of my favourite stories, but only because of the topic. This was extremely difficult to write. Usually I have no issues connecting with my dark side to conjure up all sorts of evil and crime. But to try to empathise with a child, kidnapped from her safe world, not knowing what will happen to her, or if she’ll see her family, friends and school again, was heart-breaking for me.

Child trafficking is on the rise. At ridiculous levels. I find it intolerable that elected governments are so quick to initiate changes to taxes, fuel prices, land appropriation or other laws that line their pockets. But horrendously slow to put a stop to crime. Rather it feels as if they create a safe haven for such syndicates to operate in. I can bet anything, that due to the rapid increase in child trafficking, it points to politicians or other high-level officials lining their pockets from this modern day slavery.

In South Africa, children cannot walk to school without running a high risk of being kidnapped and disappearing into thin air. They’re taking children from outside the school gates. Last week, they smashed the rear window of a car, to try to steal a baby from his car seat. This is the level of desperation and enticingly lucrative nature of child trafficking. Luckily, the mother managed to drive away and they failed to unbuckle him in time.

The culprits should be given a life sentence or the death penalty. A child kidnapped and sold into slavery has had her life taken from her.

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog icon to read more flash fiction.

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