photo by Alina Fedorchenko via Unsplash
Lost, I stood to look for the way out.
My head was spinning.
Was I looking up or down?
Written for three line tales
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
Cats mortal enemy number one: dogs
Written for Saturday six word story prompt (6WSP)
PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr
Ben returned from the counter. He saw the luminous colour of the Post-it but he could not read it until he put his glasses on.
Once he did he became very confused. The words written were “Marx, Highgate.” Why would anybody put that on his book? Was it a code? Should he call the police?
Ben did what most would do in that situation. He put the note on the cardboard Starbucks cup as he drank the coffee. He forgot about the note when it was in the bin.
Until he heard the news of the bomb at Highgate Cemetery.
Written for Friday fictioneers
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
I can see you.
I am watching you.
I am judging you.
Written for three line tales
Fiction in all its forms
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