It was just another Monday morning when I went into work as usual. I went to walk past the receptionist, Donna, into the offices at the back of the building. She was up instantly and blocked my way. “You can’t go in there, Sir.”
“That is for staff only.”
“Donna, are you feeling okay? It is me, Martin Lindel, I have been working here for years.”
“You should impersonate somebody else.”
“I am not impersonating anyone. Look, I can prove this.” I reached into my pocket but could not find my badge.
“Never impersonate the dead. Security, trespasser!”
Written for carrot ranch.
The greatest gift I ever received came not from anyone else. No, the greatest gift was the boost to my self-confidence when I showed my pictures to someone for the first time. While it wasn’t just someone because my friends had convinced me to put up a gallery as a kind of display of my personal journey to become a photographer.
The pictures included family, friends, pictures of cameras, and some local wildlife. It was about anything that has inspired and pushed me forward. You could see the gradual improvement over the year. I was deliriously happy and proud.
Written for carrot ranch challenge
The following piece of fiction is a 99-word story inspired by the prompt provided by carrot ranch. The details can be found here.
Lost in time
When my grandmother died, I was naturally devastated. It was the first death of a close relative that I had dealt with.
On the day that I was to move into her house that I had inherited, I walked around the little space heartbroken because she wasn’t there. Not only that, but it did not smell right without her jam cooking in the kitchen. I will always be left wondering why I had never learned to make it because now was a memory that I could never recreate.
One of those things destined to be forever lost in time.
The following is written having been inspired by the weekly flash fiction challenge hosted by carrot ranch which can be found here.
The apple rolled out of her hands as she fell. The flesh instantly started to darken, and the smell of decay became apparent. A slight movement from the bitten part revealed maggots crawling within.
The writer put down her pen and sighed. It was also very cliché and had been done before on numerous occasions. She needed something new to write about a poisoned apple. There must be something out there.
Then again, sometimes the clichéd worked and this could well be one of those.
Everybody could visualise the instant rotting apple. So, she decided It stayed.