TLT: Lost

three line tales, week 190: an old winding staircase with a person standing at the bottomphoto 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


FFftPP: Yard sale

DSC7913 _DSC7913

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

SPF: The storm

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

Friday fictioneers: Coded message


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

Carrot ranch September 12: greatest gift

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

WW: What once was lost…

I spent my childhood with everybody willingly pointing out my difference at every given opportunity. It was not like they were pointing it out as a good thing. Instead, they seem to tell me I was useless. It was bad enough growing up in an orphanage, but my lack of arms made me stand out in a crowd.

Not just the kids but the staff were always keen to remind me. I mean, they never directly said anything, but they organised things for all others to do that would exclude me. The first aid class where I learnt that I could do nothing to help people survive, to things like piano lessons. They did one thing though that backfired and some spectacular fashion. They organised a painting class, and I quickly learned how to use my feet to hold the paintbrush. Not only did I thoroughly enjoy that day, but I also turned out to be a very good painter. From that day on, it was all I did.

I got to watch while all the other children were being adopted and I had completely given up on the whole idea. In fact, I had already planned out exactly what I would do when I turned 18. I would move out and find a place where I would make a name for myself by painting or following my dream of becoming an interior designer. All the people from would know of my success out there and regret everything they had ever said or did to put me down.

One day, I was happily painting when I realised that I was being watched. I followed that feeling and noticed his intent green eyes regarding me in such a way I felt like they were devouring my soul. His lips crinkled into a smile, and he gave me a nod of almost approval. It all seemed strange to me as he just turned and walked away without saying a word.

Who the fuck was that?

A little while later, he returned. “Alice, pack your things, we are leaving.”


“It is simple. My name is Warren Forbes, and I will adopt you and take you away from this place.”

My head was spinning because it just seemed unreal. Me? Adopted? “What’s the catch?”

He laughed briefly. “You coming?” This was more of a statement than a question, but I nodded anyway. Warren had never answered my question, but I didn’t care any more. Finally, somebody had found me and would rescue me from this place that was making me so miserable.    


This was written for my own challenge of writing Wednesday.