Moonlight

(100-word flash fiction)

He woke up to a feeling of being touched. There was moonlight splayed everywhere, on the floor, furniture, bed and glowing pale on his feet. As he watched, it began to creep up his legs, slowly and imperceptibly. As though the moonlight was a sensuous lover caressing him softly, seductively.

It was when it began to spread up his body that he broke into a cold sweat. Then, as his consciousness began to fade, it occurred to him that the moon had been falling not rising and that thing outside that was shining on his face was not the moon.

~~~

Written for Friday Fictioneers

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Iqbal

(100-word flash fiction)

The rain battering the roof sounded like dancing skeletons. Or machine-gun fire. Both reminded him of Afghanistan.

Behind his closed sleepless eyelids rose images of families huddled in shacks, hiding their daughters, their young sons. Their once-proud brows shrunken by war and poverty. Their once erect backs, bent.

Only young Iqbal was different. Orphaned, rudderless, hanging around the camp doing odd jobs, immune to the horrors, always smiling, as though he, impossibly, saw only light everywhere.

For him, the war ended when Iqbal was found dead, hit by a stray American bullet.

Collateral damage, they said. Bloody murder, he thought.

~~~

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

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Yellow Heart

(100-word flash fiction)

I got up early to make Mummy a marmalade sandwich with a heart hole for Mother’s Day. Daddy called it Yellow Heart.  He said it would make Mummy very happy when she got home.

It’s 8 o’clock and Mummy isn’t home yet, so Daddy made me a peanut butter sandwich. But, I was still hungry so I started to eat Mummy’s sandwich too, when the doorbell rang.

But it’s not Mummy, it’s a policeman with his hat in his hand. Why is he whispering to Daddy while staring at me?

Is Mummy not coming back because I ate her sandwich?

~~~

* Apparently, on SnapChat, Yellow Heart means you are #1 best friends with each other :)

** Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Womb

(100-word flash fiction)

The baby was a gruesome freak. Of nature. Born after years of prayer and pilgrimage. The nurses would bring him for a feed but she couldn’t bring herself to touch him, let alone take him to her breast.

The woman in the next bed sobbed through the night for her perfect, stillborn baby. The small room pressed down heavy and oppressive with the weight of two empty cradles.

Her depleted womb became a bloody battle ground. Disappointment warred with Despair until Guilt started to trounce them both.

Eventually, Self Pity won. Her room on the seventh floor had unbarred windows.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers.

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Holi

(100-word flash fiction)

It is Holi. The neighbourhood youth are gathering logs and twigs for the bonfire.

She takes her wedding sari out and weeps into it. Endless pain after years of abuse comes pouring out, soaking the red silk into a dull-blood burgundy.

The lit bonfire is steadily growing.

She takes the mangal-sutra off her neck and tucks it into the soggy sari.

The fire is a roaring beast, flicking tongues of pure flame.

She walks to the bonfire and tosses the sari into it.

-

Elsewhere, her husband, quite by accident, trips on a naked, high-voltage wire and fries to death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The festival of Holi begins on the night before when a bonfire is lit and people perform rituals in front of it. The name comes from the mythological story in which the demoness Holika is burnt to death by Lord Vishnu and symbolises the triumph of good over evil. It takes place at the end of winter and a deeper meaning suggests getting rid of all internal, unwanted garbage (the diseased, decaying and dead) in us, so that we can welcome the oncoming spring purged and fresh. Holi - or the festival of colours begins the next morning with the smearing of colour on each other in a friendly, playful, and relaxed atmosphere. The many hues of colour signify the new, emerging colours of spring. It is also harvest season and the time to meet and rejoice, end past conflicts and mend broken relationships.
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The mangal-sutra (literally meaning blessed thread) is tied around the bride’s neck by the groom during the wedding.  A Hindu married woman wears it until she dies or becomes a widow.

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Written for Friday Fictioneers

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Stone-heart

(100-word flash fiction)

She didn’t know when her heart had turned into stone.

She remembered the first walls, built purely in self defense, to shield her sensitive heart. She even decorated them with plastic smiles and forced cheerfulness. But, unknown to her they began to thicken.

She met everyone on the outside, playacting friendliness. Flirting with men, but not knowing how to give her heart away. Because, eventually, even she didn’t have access to it.

Arthur had come, stayed briefly, called her a ‘stone-hearted goddess’ and left.

Yes, she had a heart of stone.

Until, she found the abandoned baby in the dumpster.

~~~

It's that time of the week when we scratch the FF itch and conjure stories of all form and manner in 100-words all of which presided over by our ever gracious hostess Rochelle. :)

The bouquet

(100-word flash fiction)

The flowers were sitting on her doorstep glowing in the golden hour sunlight.

“Thank you, dearest Simon,” she smiled at the thought of her at-last-found true love.

She scooped them up as she let herself in. Taped to a stem was a heart shaped card. Her heart fluttered then burst into beam exactly like the light she had turned on.

“You cannot live without me. I will not let it be.” It said in Zac’s sloppy hand.

Behind her bowed head, a bee rose from a half-open bloom and found her neck. She was dead before she hit the ground.

~~~

Written for Friday Fictioneers

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The call

(100-word flash fiction)

The phone rang at the oddest hours, at night when she was asleep.

It was always a child, whispering plaintively, sometimes frantically, but in a strange language. She was sure it was a prank, someone mimicking a child's voice to pester her. The next time, however, an adult shout was heard followed by the sound of a slap and whimpering.

She decided to record the call. She had to wait for two months.

She then spent the rest of the night on Google Translate which translated, "Save me from these people. Help me find my parents. Please come rescue me."

~~~

Written for Friday Ficitioneers. 

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The chariot

(100-words flash fiction)

The curtained chariot waiting at the edge of the forest had strange markings. It was only after a while that she realised there were no hoof-beats, no shudder, only a gentle swaying.

When she had parted the curtains and looked out, they were gliding through the air, her castle retreating below in the gathering gloom. The swaying had lulled her into peaceful sleep.

She awakened to a sudden noise. Light was streaming in from every window.

The door opened and there he was wearing the strangest clothes and a wicked grin. Opening his arms, saying, “Welcome to the 21^st century!”

~~~

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Firefly

(100-word flash fiction)

She put the last firefly into the jar and closed the lid.

Twilight had quickly turned into night in the woods. Holding the jar up to let the glowing light from her captives guide her she pushed forwards.

Light glowed from windows in the distance. Soon, she would be home.

That’s when she saw it. A huge firefly, meandering lazily to her right.

“Ah! The prize catch,” she thought as she stepped towards it.

Her hand closed in on a cold metal object on the other side of which was a sneering face.

“What have you got there, little girl?”

~~~

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.

Pen

(100-word flash fiction)

She grabbed the red-ink pen as though it was a dagger.

The blank, white page looked like a virgin, innocent and waiting.

When she put pen to paper, words flowed as though blood were pouring from her fingers. Her mother’s words were dim in her memory, “words can heal or they can kill.”

She didn’t care. For her these words were like a vicious blood clot, cutting off supply to her life, choking, almost killing her. Blood had to be let.

And hand delivered.

She drove to his house. Outside, there was an open ambulance with a covered body inside.

~~~

I wrote this story for the weekly Friday Fictioneers fix at Rochelle's blog. I have been a bit behind posting on Blogger. Need to catch-up :)

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Prisoner

(100-word flash fiction)

He steps into the square, barred patch of sunlight, feeling its tremulous warmth upon his face.

He can hear spring winds sweep away the remnants of autumn like he has had for 20 years. He reaches up and plucks the crinkled leaf stuck at the bars.

It reminds him of the parchment on which he had written his inflammatory letter denouncing the Royal family’s debauchery. Fool! He should’ve known it would land him in this remote prison.

And now, he doesn’t know the King is long dead. There is democracy in the land.

And, he has been completely, totally forgotten.

~~~

After a gap of a couple of weeks, I return to Rochelle's literary bar for my weekly fix of flash fiction. This week's photo prompt is -

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

It rains inside me

(100 word flash fiction)

It had been raining that day when you ran from my arms and down the driveway to the waiting school bus. So eager you had been to show off your new raincoat, you had not even turned back to wave goodbye.

Every year, I bought new clothes for you just a little bit bigger. Added one more candle to your birthday cake. Redecorated your room, changed the posters. I hope you like Jennifer Lawrence.

They said you’re dead. But they didn’t find your body, did they?

Today, there are 21 candles. Who could be at the door in this downpour?

~~~

It is spring here and we are tired of the rain, wanting only fine, sunny days, but Rochelle has to post a rainy night photo just so that we don’t forget to feel grateful for the rain.The weekly party just started over at Friday Fictioneers with this photo prompt –

(photo © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields)

Suspended

(100-word flash fiction)

The chair topples on the first kick. As if on cue, she steps outside herself.

She is amazed at how the body is wired for survival, as she watches the legs, puppet-like, kick into thin air. Chest straining, by habit, trying to suck in air, so abundant outside. Face crimsoning as blood rushes to her brain. Bells going on inside, screaming ‘Mayhem!’ ‘Mayhem!’

She loses all sense of time. And that dreary greyness that had festered inside her like a light-sucking ghost. She crackles with an aliveness her body had never felt. Unimaginable lightness fills her being.

The door opens.

~~~

Rochelle has posted a lovely image for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt.

Photo copyright Ted Strutz

Minnie Mouse

(100-word flash fiction)

“Matt, come here!” His father’s shout shatters his glorious dream, in which a spaceship had landed beside his house, extended a long, metal arm into his pesky sister’s window, extracted her and shimmered out of view.

His mother’s staring at something on the table. Above the shaving foam over half his face, his father’s frown is ominous.

The object on the table whirrs, beeps and glows incandescent blue.

His brother, Mark, bursts into the room. “I can’t find Minnie anywhere. She’s gone missing.”

“Wowser!” His grin is wicked. “It wasn’t a dream. They took Minnie and left a mouse instead.”

~~~

Come Friday, it’s time to write a piece of flash fiction for the eclectic group Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle. This week's photo prompt is -

 
Copyright- Marie-Gail Stratford

Sunbeam

(100 word flash fiction)

Family gone, career over, there was nothing to live for.

And so, she stood at the bridge, the portal between this life and the next. Above her, dark clouds rolled. The sky was already in mourning.

The office farewell gift, a brooch the colour of sunrise, felt heavy in her hand. As though pinning her down, inexorably, to the fabric of life.

She felt a tug on her sleeve. A teenage girl in tatters. A baby on her hip. Begging.

Inside her heart, gears shifted and moved. A sunbeam shot through the clouds.

“Would you like a meal? A home?”

~~~

Friday Fictioneers flash fiction for the photo prompt below -

PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman

The thief

(100 word flash fiction)

He pushed open the rusty gate and walked calmly to the crumbling house.

He planned to overpower her when she opened the door, force her to open the safe and decamp with the loot.

But, the door was open. She was lying on the floor. Her breaths long and laboured. Each one like it was the last.

Should he run, or call for help?

‘Who are you?” asked the emergency call operator.

The woman in an old photo on the wall looked just like the one in a photo he had carried in his wallet for 20 years.

“Her son.”

~~~

For Friday Fictioneers photo prompt below -

photo prompt © David Stewart

In continuum

(100 word flash fiction)

She ran her finger down the book’s spine.  It was coarse and unyielding like bark.

‘This was once a tree.’ She thought, bemused. ‘Its cells then rearranged into a different form to serve a different purpose.’

She looked around the room lined with books in shelves. She was in a jungle here. Except, it was not sap that was flowing but rivers of stories.

‘A house it could have been, sheltering people. Or a boat, gliding over the endless rivers. Living, serving, even after death.’

She pulled the form towards her and signed it, donating all her organs after death.

~~~

It’s that day of the week again when I check out the Friday Fictioneers page hosted by the lovely Rochelle and get a high by writing a short story based on the photo prompt which this week is –

PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast

The time to leave

(100 word flash fiction)

She gazed up from the asphalt at the open window from which she had just been thrown, desperately willing his face not to appear.

She couldn’t move. A chill was moving up from her legs. Her vision was starting to fade as blood seeped into her eyes.

She heard footsteps. Furtive ones. Then, his voice in her ear, a menacing whisper, “You don’t get to decide when to leave. I do.”

His smell, once loved, now loathed, filled her nostrils, gushed into her lungs sucking the breath out of her.

That’s when she remembered the gun strapped to her waist.

~~~

A bit too graphic and literal but my muse won’t give me anything else today.

Friday Fictioneers flash fiction for the photo prompt -



Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Stark Reality

(100 word flash fiction)

She eased into the immersive reality machine and touched the power button. Excited and impatient to try out a new software. Utterly untried. Called Stark Reality.

The smell hit her first. Harsh, acrid, almost forgotten. The smell of burning.

Explosions rent the air. Soldiers passed in jeeps shooting randomly.  She turned to flee, tripped and fell.

A deafening thunderclap lifted her off the ground and threw her against a wall. Pain lightning streaked through her body. She could barely see. She tried to feel her face. But where were her hands?

How was she going to reach the power button?

~~~

I wrote this story and then spent a considerable amount of time thinking about the nature of reality. It seems our bodies are virtual reality machines with our sense organs giving us the input. Our brain is the computer and our mind the software. But all of this is controlled by the Ghost In The Machine who decides when to power on and off (dramatically called birth and death). After powering off, the GITM might find another VR machine and power on again. Who knows? The GITM does this for no other reason than to have an immersive experience, much like we would go on a roller coaster ride :) However, we tend to identify with the machine, the computer, the software, the whole package or even software generated concepts like gender, race, nationality, all the while forgetting that we are none of these. We are here just for the ride :D Well, not my thoughts exactly. The mystics have been saying this for centuries :)

It’s that time of the week, when one’s mind itches to see the photo prompt that Rochelle faithfully puts up for the eclectic group called Friday Fictioneers. Today’s story is for the prompt below –

Photo copyright - Claire Fuller