I was walking along, minding my business. In fact, there was no plan in the direction I was walking, as all I wanted to be was alone. Surprised, I found that I had strolled into my old neighbourhood and I was practically standing outside of my old house.
It took me a moment to realise that a yard sale was going on, and I spent my time looking around the vaguely familiar objects. That was when I saw it. The desk, my desk! They were selling my desk! It’d been my pride and joy throughout the years, and I was just unable to comprehend the fact that it was being sold.
My hands clenched up into fists, and I somehow repressed the urge to scream at the unfairness of it all. I walked up to it and reached out to touch it, but my hand went straight through the simplistic design. The pain that went through me was an imaginable as I remembered that I was dead. I was dead, and my family were trying to erase me from their life. Had they gotten over me as easily as selling my desk? That was a pain much worse than death.
Written for flash fiction for the purposeful practitioner
Photo from Pixabay
It came out of nowhere.
The Typhoon warning alarm sounded and, after a moment of surprise, everyone ran to get undercover. In our case , we were outside eating on a balcony of the popular bar. Inside the brick building, we could hear the wind and rain, causing absolute chaos out.
The 12 of us that were now inside were trying to work out where it had come from. There had been nothing on the news or weather discussing this was going to happen. That was undoubtedly very rare, as these days we were used to getting about two weeks notice of a storm like this hitting the area.
There had been no warnings, and even the weather before the alarm sounded had not given us as many clues as we would like. It all seemed to be so strange that this phenomenon was even occurring, let alone that we were stuck in the middle.
After what seemed like an eternity, it passed overhead, and we cautiously opened the door to look outside. There were a few clouds, but nothing unusual in the sky. Then we noticed the furniture of the balcony twisted and hanging in a strange and eerie sight.
Written for Sunday photo fiction
Now, I am going to screw my brain on and write a story for the correct date! I enjoyed the other prompt anyway, so let’s have a go at another. So, this 200-word story is inspired by Sunday photo fiction.
Photo courtesy of Artur Malishkevych
The couple were sitting underneath a palm tree on a beach looking over the idyllic scenery before them. This was the place they had wanted to come on honeymoon, but it had never made it for one reason or another. Here they were, retired and very close to celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary.
He sighed. “Beautiful isn’t it, dearest?”
“Absolutely. We have waited our whole lives to get to this moment.”
“I guess that is the joys of having children. We sacrificed everything for them, and now we finally have a chance to live our own lives.”
They stood up and faced each other in the sunset. “It seems so silly that we have waited so long to get here. Mind you, I wouldn’t change anything for the world. Not one moment.”
The comfortable silence of long-married couples descended between them as they watched the ferry docking into the port and tourists noisily pouring out from inside. The people were dancing, singing, and celebrating who knows what as they scurried away.
The man’s smile as he watched them were tinged with a hint of sadness. “So, when are we going to tell our children that we are getting a divorce?”
The following is a 200-word story inspired by this week’s Sunday photo fiction. Please give their site a visit and have a look at the other entries made. They are certainly worth it 🙂
Photo from Morguefile
A strange thing happened every week is a non-descript café in town. It used to happen every Wednesday at about 6 PM. A group of people, the numbers growing seemingly every week, used to gather around the small tables and take out their sketchbooks. It was then that the silence descended and everyone began to draw.
It used to happen for about one hour before, just as silently, the members of this group put down their drawing equipment and left the café.
People never imagined that it was a cult of some description as no money changed hands, at least not between their members, only with the owners of the café who provided drinks or snacks as required. There were no words either, no dictation of belief, and no evidence of any brainwashing. It all appeared to be a group of like-minded individuals expressing themselves through their art. Nobody ever felt threatened by them, so they were left alone to just sit and draw.
Everyone was going to change their mind about the peaceful group on the day they just stopped going. Nobody really investigated why but everybody found out when evidence of mass suicide of artists appeared close by.
The following is written for the challenge flash fiction for the purposeful practitioner. Please see their website by clicking this link
On this day the woman’s handbag did not contain anything unusual. It held everything you may think is needed, but there was just something about her that made me suspicious. They always say that after a while in airport security, you just know something isn’t right.
I pulled her to one side and proceeded to swab everything for the traces of drugs. Longshot, but it gave me the chance to talk.
“Sorry about this,” I said as I began my work, “it is just something that we have to do.”
Her phone rang just as I picked it up to drug test. “You shouldn’t have this turned on when everything is being x-rayed,” I said as I mentally made a note of the number. It had originated from a local number even though she had just arrived in the country. “Do you have family here?”
She shook her head. “Just a friend that is meeting me at the airport.”
“Holiday?” When she nodded, I continued questioning, “How long for?”
Her hesitation was enough to set the alarm bells ringing in my head. “One moment, please.” I stepped away from the counter and rang immigration.
She was deported later.
It has certainly been a while, but I’m definitely glad to see that this challenge is still going 🙂 check out this great challenge here and read everyone else’s take on the prompt.
The people began to gather in the courtyard. They were dressed in bright colours, aiming to get themselves noticed so the placards they waved would be read. This was the day that they had been working towards. It was also the day someone was finally going to take notice. Months of hard work and planning had all led to this moment. The atmosphere was electric as everyone waited for the start of the march to Trafalgar Square.
As everybody prepared to leave a solitary crow flew down to the empty pavement in front of them and squawked noisily. It was standing defiantly, as if in protest against what was about to happen. It glowered at the people in the front and squawked again.
People glanced uneasily at each other because they did not know what to do in the event of a crow stopping them moving. They did not wish to harm it, and their attempts to make it fly away were having no effect.
In the end, everyone had to filter by in single file. All the time the bird did not move, only continually squawking indignantly.
Nobody knew about the mothers nest nearby, complete with chicks.
Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding
Something slapped the girl very hard in her back making her plunge forwards into the muddy ground head first. However, she ignored the pain and pulled herself back to her feet. She had to warn the Royal bodyguard about the assassination plot that she’d discovered. That, and she needed to get away from the people that were pursuing her. She sucked in a ragged breath jumping into the secret tunnel. As she slipped down into the small space, she heard sounds of her pursuers running above, cracking branches and cursing wildly on their way.
As she turned the corner, her whole body froze. It was not only the sounds of voices that unsettled her but also the changes that she noticed. The roof was somehow different, as was the floor. Strange glowing orbs were pressed into walls illuminating the darkness.
Somebody walked towards her without noticing her presence. “In the entrance here, we discovered the body of a girl we later identified as Emily. She had discovered the assassination plot and was trying to alert the guard. Unfortunately, she was unable to stop what occurred the next day.”
Emily sank down and hugged her knees. Did that mean she’d failed?
Written for Sunday photo fiction