Category: Flash Fiction

Seance

There are twelve of us sat around table which dominates the small wood-panelled room. It is covered in a thick red velvet cloth. Heavy curtains block the watery twilight. At the centre, a huge crystal bowl holds our belongings – a watch, a wedding band, a pendant …

Why is it always jewellery?

‘Hold hands.’

I clasp the strangers hands next to me. One a huge, sweating palm, the other a thin, liver-spotted claw, like dried out paper.

I concentrate hard on the military medal I have offered, wishing with all my bones that he will speak to me.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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I have really missed taking part in the Friday Fictioneers the past few weeks but life got in the way. It’s good to be back.

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This piece was written for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple.

Each week a photo prompt is given and the challenge is write a flash fiction piece of no more than one hundred words.

Find other Friday Fictioneer stories here.

Hindsight is a Wonderful Thing

The eyes are windows to the soul  – that’s what Mum always said.

I should have listened.

Your violet irises flashed, beckoned me closer, swept me up in endless nights.

But in time those come-to-bed eyes proved what they really were – a distraction – a decorative facade fronting nothing but empty rooms.

I should have known when you lied about your job.

I should have known when you stayed out all night.

I should have known when you laughed as I cried.

I should have known when other women came calling.

I should have known.

PHOTO PROMPT © Yarnspinnerr

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This piece was written for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple.

Each week a photo prompt is given and the challenge is write a flash fiction piece of no more than one hundred words.

Find other Friday Fictioneer stories here.

First Date

‘What does it mean?’

‘It means that if you go round that corner you’re gonna die.’

‘Don’t be crazy.’

‘It’s called Witches Lane. See that mountain? See the pointy top? That’s Witch Hat Mountain. The legend goes that if you turn the corner your flesh melts from your bones and you’re thrown into a bottomless pit, never to be seen again.’

‘How can anyone know that?’

‘What?’

‘That the flesh melts from your bones if your body is never found?’

‘It’s a legend. People just know. Shall I test it out?’

‘Please don’t. I don’t know the way home.’

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

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This piece was written for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple.

Each week a photo prompt is given and the challenge is write a flash fiction piece of no more than one hundred words.

Find other Friday Fictioneer stories here.

Serendipity

There was just enough room for them both at the end of the jetty.

The boy had popped into existence, occupying the space beside her. She hadn’t realised how empty it was until he was there, filling it all up. It was almost enough to make her forget that her feet were submerged in the murky lake. Almost.

‘Now lay back,’ he said. Faith didn’t protest. What else would he convince her to do? Maybe he wasn’t even real, maybe he was a wizard holding some magic power over her, maybe he was here to tell her she’d been accepted to Hogwarts.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

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I may have cheated slightly this week. This beautiful photo reminded me so much of my work-in-progress that I adapted a section of it. I just couldn’t get it out of my head!

This piece was written for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple.

Each week a photo prompt is given and the challenge is write a flash fiction piece of no more than one hundred words.

Find other Friday Fictioneer stories here.

 

 

The Envy of the Village

Old Mrs Bergman’s roses were the envy of the village. The bushes bloomed in a congregation of scarlet and coral, sun-flare yellow and delicious tangerine. They spilled over the walls and lit up the pavement with their scattered petals, like delicate wishes skipping along the breeze, destination unknown.

Mrs Bergman plucked and preened, watered and fed. She whispered sweet nothings. She told the roses all that she would have told him if he were here. And they bloomed.

At night she would take the fading telegram from the drawer: Missing in action.

And she waited to meet him again.

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

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This piece was written for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple.

Each week a photo prompt is given and the challenge is write a flash fiction piece of no more than one hundred words.

Find other Friday Fictioneer stories here.

It’s Probably Mrs Gillespie

‘What is Mr Bridgewater is doing? That’s a mighty big bag he’s putting in his boot. And in all this snow too.’

‘It’s a dead body, mum,’ Bailey said, not looking up from his magazine. ‘I told you months ago he’s been killing off the wrinklies in the neighbourhood. But you never listen. He can see you, you know. The light.’

‘Oh.’ She flicked the lamp beside her off.

‘It’s probably Mrs Gillespie, haven’t seen her for a while.’

‘Oh dear, I hope not. The annual neighbourhood watch meeting is next month and she makes the most amazing plum pudding.’    

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

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This piece was written for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple.

Each week a photo prompt is given and the challenge is write a flash fiction piece of no more than one hundred words.

Find other Friday Fictioneer stories here.

Refuge

The setting sun made the ash sparkle as it drifted on the air, much lighter than snow. Time was almost up. Jessie told Bobby to wait on the pavement while she did a quick recon.

Fate was on their side – a room with four walls and a door that locked from the inside – a refuge. They’d live another day.

‘Come up, Bobby.’

She spread their blanket on the cold concrete floor. They lay down. She pulled Bobby close.

‘Mummy, don’t do that. It hurts.’ Jessie’s eyes shot open.

‘Don’t do what, darling?’

‘Scratch my back with your nails.’

‘I’m not.’

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

 

This piece was written for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple. 

Each week a photo prompt is given and the challenge is write a flash fiction piece of no more than one hundred words.

Find other Friday Fictioneer stories here.

Little Liar

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

 

Little Liar

‘Can I go on the twisters Mummy?’

‘You’ve no tickets left sweetheart.’

‘I have.’ Misty pulled a string of tickets from her pocket.

‘Where did you get those?’

‘I found them on the floor.’

The lie settled over Misty like a cloud. It crept under her skin, warming her blood. That lady will never notice. She was too busy eating her burger to pay any attention to her bag. It was easy pickings.

Misty’s sweet smile revealed nothing as she gazed up at her mother. Baby blue eyes blinking in the sun.

‘Go ahead.’

Misty ran off squealing with delight.

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To my fellow fictioneers, I managed to have my first flash fiction piece called ‘Sometimes I Smoke’ published in the Cabinet of Heed online magazine. It’s just over 200 words. Click the link if you can spare a minute to have a quick read. Thanks!

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This piece was written for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple. 

Each week a photo prompt is given and the challenge is write a flash fiction piece of no more than one hundred words.

Find other Friday Fictioneer stories here.

 

Published Fiction

Flash Fiction:

Sometimes I Smoke – The Cabinet of Heed – January 2018

Sanctuary on the Plains – Flashpoint Anthology – March 2018

The Envy of the Village – The Drabble – March 2018

An Offering – National Flash Fiction Day Anthology 2018 – June

The Witching Folds – Another North – May 2019

VSS365 Anthology – Day 14: Bolt – September 2019

Short Stories:

Dinner’s at 6 – The Sirens Call eZine 37th Issue – February 2018

The Night Dweller – The Sirens Call eZine 38th Issue – April 2018

Angel

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Angel

Clodagh lay on the soft grass looking up at the decorative webbing that formed a roof between the trees. It was such a good idea of Noal’s to have a New Year’s Eve party here. Her idea for fancy dress was even better. It had been epic.

She turned to look at the mysterious angel laying next to her. He wasn’t from her school. His wings were magnificent. How did he make them?

When he kissed her at midnight she’d soared.

His bright eyes opened, his wings fluttered and wrapped around her, pulling her close.

She was obviously still high.

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This piece was written for the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Addicted to Purple. 

Each week a photo prompt is given and the challenge is write a flash fiction piece of no more than one hundred words.

Find other Friday Fictioneer stories here.

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