Against all odds : Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner

Against all Odds

Of all the places I thought I would end up on New Year’s Eve, this bowling alley is somewhere on my list, but not today and certainly not in this predicament.

I had planned another quiet evening. Just a quiet night in front of the small screen, with a glass of wine, or two, and some nibbles.

But you came for me.

Suddenly and noisily.

One moment I was sipping my Pinot Grigio and the next I was surrounded by you and your ‘employees’, masked, dressed in black and brandishing weapons.

You tied me up like a worthless parcel that you wanted rid of, and leant down to fix my gaze when you uttered my sentence.

“Useless shits like you shouldn’t lend money you’re incapable of paying back.”

Your kick with that heavy, steel capped boot, drove all the wind from my lungs and mixed it with the expelled liquid contents of my stomach.

So here I am all trussed and hidden behind the pins, one of which has been stuffed with explosives.

You’d love a strike.

I’d love you to miss completely.

I’m fatally afraid that the odds are not in my favour.

(194 including the introductory words)

Photo prompt : public-domain-images-free-stock-photos-alley-ball-bowl.jpg

Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Week #1- 2016. where the requirements are : Create a 200 word flash story using the photo prompt and the provided first sentence (which is optional). This challenge is organised by Roger Shipp. Thanks Roger!

The Pudding : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Time again for a Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers entry.

This week’s photo prompt is from © Sonya-Only 100 Words, Thanks Sonya!

The Pudding

Some townsfolk jokingly called it the pudding. Others, more lyrically inclined, referred to it as the Space Capsule that never quite made it back to earth.

The structure that supported it was tarnished and discoloured, the object itself, a green painted metal droplet with a strange sort of cross at it’s apex, had been up there for as long as I could remember.

I pass by it almost every day but nowadays I no longer really notice it. It’s become invisible and non-existent; just another one of those roadside objects no one heeds.

So why am I telling you this, you might ask?

Because exactly 1 minute and 37 seconds ago, the rusty structure folded and the object fell; fatally trapping me underneath it. There was no warning, no precursory noise.

Excruciating pain.

I just caught a glimpse of my face: agonised, distorted, tongue distended, and eyes bulging, before I left for my next destination.

(156 words)

White Christmas : Sunday Photo Fiction

This story is the final Sunday Photo Fiction challenge for 2015.

The challenge is set by the very discreet Al Forbes. Thanks Al for providing us each week with great photo prompts. The idea is to write a story in around 200 words prompted by the photo (the featured image © A mixed Bag, 2015).

White Christmas

I kept two Japanese vases for years. At first they were displayed in the living room, but then I got tired of them and moved them to a box in the spare room.

On a bitterly cold Christmas Eve, shortly after returning from a skiing holiday, Susan, my eldest, announced that she had sold them on eBay for a few pounds.

“You don’t need to hold onto all that asian junk.”

I made a sad face.

“Oh and I’ve put Ming in the garden too.”

Ming was my favourite Chinese vase. One year listening to ‘White Christmas’ we had joked that we should name my big black vase, covered with Chinese Hanzi script, Ming Crosby, because of it’s wintery, snowy finish.

“But it’s not frost resistant!” I exclaimed.

“It weighed a ton! I had to ask a few friends to help me.”

“You could have asked me before moving it” I said, vexed.

“I didn’t think you …”

Suddenly outside there was a loud crack and a crashing sound.

We rushed outside, to discover Ming, fractured beyond use.

Spilling out from the thickness of the vase were hundreds of vintage gold pieces, glistening on the snow covered terrace under the beams of the patio lights.

“Hidden treasure!” exclaimed Susan.

I was dumbfounded.

 

 

Now : Daily Post Friday Photo Challenge

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This weeks challenge for the Daily Post Friday Photo Challenge is Now.

Let me introduce you to my Mum who celebrated her ninetieth birthday this year. Today we took her to a local restaurant for a Christmas meal. I think she looks a lot younger than 90 years old.

Happy Christmas to all my lovely readers. Thanks for viewing my photos and reading and commenting on my stories. I’ve had so much fun this year in your company!

Simba : Friday Fictioneers

Simba

I’m not a cat person.
I don’t mind other people being cat lovers.
It’s just not for me.
In a world filled with animal lovers I’m just a sorry outcast.
That’s probably why animals just don’t interact with me.
But you did, didn’t you, my darling Simba.
You had to work hard at me and slowly break down my defences.
You understood me and made me understand you.
But just before I could declare my love for you, you left one morning and haven’t returned.
My little Simba loving heart is still shattered.
I’m not a cat person again.

(100 words)

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Simba

This weeks Friday Fictioneers challenge prompt is © Scott L. Vannatter, thank Scott and thanks Rochelle, it’s such a joy to rise to your flash fiction challenges every week. Please stop by and read the other entries and/or add your own!

After the rain : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

First of all this week’s excellent photo prompt is © Etol Bagam.

Here is my entry to this weeks Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge magically curated by the wonderful Priceless Joy.

After the Rain

The path was wet and glistening. Small rivulets formed spontaneously and flowed where they could.

The rain had ceased but the sky was grey, charged and oppressive.

An attractive feminine silhouette advanced decisively a few yards in front of me. The heels of her black, high-heeled shoes clacked a hypnotic rhythm on the footway.

Her dark coat, drawn in at the waist, endowed her with curvaceous features.

A bright red umbrella was balanced over her right shoulder and she twirled it slowly, first one way and then the other in rhythm with her steps.

Mesmerised, I missed a kink in the tarmac, stumbled and fell noisily.

The woman stopped, turned and walked back, towering over me as I scrambled to stand up.

“Ok?” she said with a wry smile.

I nodded, a little out of breath.

“Time to stop following me pet,” she added, passing me my school bag.

“Yes M’am,” I replied, embarrassed and red faced.

(158 words)