Flash Fiction

Grist to the Mill

/ michaelwynnauthor / 38 Comments

the-mill-pillar

 

 

 

 

© Sandra Crook
“He was odd, but we’re all our own shape,” Toby sighed. “Kept this place going, mind.”
Josh stood absorbing the yesterday aspect of the old mill, the sadness in the dust, cracked beams and rodent tracks.
“What happened?”
“After his missus left, he shut himself away grinding flour for a market he didn’t have.” Toby pointed at the swollen sacks, “Full o’ weevils.”
Josh poked one that bulged unevenly; his curiosity drew a knife down it. Grain and a cold arm spilled from the slit.
“Oh, it appears his wife left without her arm.”
Toby eyed the other sacks ruefully.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Chapter 3 – Time is on my Side

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terraced-street

“You could have called him to fetch you.”
He turned the ignition, The Stones blared from the radio.
“He’s probably in bed.” She left the excuse in the air, he didn’t question why that would be a problem.
“You don’t mind do you? It’s on your way.”
“I’m happy doing anything for you,” he smiled.
“Don’t…” She turned her face to the window as though suddenly finding the terraced housing infinitely interesting.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. He pulled up short of her house.
“Why did you come?”
“I don’t know,” she sobbed, “I shouldn’t have.”

Chapter 2 – When the Night has Come

/ michaelwynnauthor / 52 Comments

shaktiki3

PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

Alison fled into the evening. Her tears splintering the glare of the neon signs, she lifted her arm to a taxi she hadn’t the money for.
It sprayed the shimmering lights of a puddle at her as it passed. She watched the shattered reflections reform.
The bus-stop timetable affirmed her last chance home had departed.
“My husband is enough,” she told herself.
Through the window, John was at the jukebox buying more shared memories.
As she approached him, Ben E King pleaded, “Darling, Stand by Me.”
“You came back,” John said plainly.
“Could you…?” she faltered, “…I can’t get home.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Chapter 1 – Que Sera, Sera

/ michaelwynnauthor / 29 Comments

diner-roger-bultot

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

John tapped a record into the jukebox and sat down.
“Recognise it?”
Alison smiled, “We shared our first milkshake to this.”
Her hand idled across the table to touch his. As though suddenly discovering its wandering, she jerked it back.
“Are we going…?”
“We have a choice?”
“But my husband…?”
“If he’s enough…”
“My vows…”
“…promises, morals, all pillars of society’s grand architecture.”
A tear hit Alison’s cheek.
“But love is savage; it roils like a tornado scorning man-made structures, flattening everything,” he said.
“With victims crushed beneath the debris…I must go.”
As she hurried away he called, “Enjoy your Christmas.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Who Killed Cock Robin?

/ michaelwynnauthor / 39 Comments

horses-in-snow

 

 

 

 

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The land wears the snow like a starched business shirt, crisp and bright. If writing a poem today, I’ll need more words for white.
Looking out the window, I follow the spiky tracks of a bird to a point up the garden where presumably it took flight.
But, wait a minute…other sinister tracks converge. Precise paw prints like Clubs on a suit of cards. There’s the serpentine drag of a tail, a hollow that held a crouch and a spray released with a spring.
Then a small speck of red; forensic evidence of the outcome.
The neighbour’s bloody cat again!

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Waiting in the Shadows for the Sun

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lucy-sol

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PTOMPT © Lucy Fridkin

Carlota watched the cruise ship slide serenely into the bay; the early evening sun sparkling off chrome rails and placid water.
It fascinated her that the opulent chose her island to visit on their luxurious holidays.
Mesmerised by the affluence, dreaming of escaping her sickly, dependent parents and their stone hovel, she craved the obscenity of wealth.
One day it would be her sipping cocktails on a deck lounger, her bathed in Chanel.
In the meantime, amongst those spoilt travellers would be hungry clients, seeking satisfaction.
Applying scarlet lipstick, straightening her dress, she moved to wait in her usual place.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

 

The Perils of Garden Camping

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campsite-jwf

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

In the blaring kitchen light, three boys looked up at Alison.
“Aren’t you sleeping in the tent?”
“We were,” complained Charlie, “until Joe got scared of bogey men.”
“I didn’t,” snivelled Joe.
“Daniel shouldn’t have told those tales,” Charlie continued.
Daniel retaliated indignantly, “It was you said how one tore Steve’s tent and stole his brownies.”
“It’s not the bogey man,” yelled Joe. “It’s the animals.”
“What animals?” the other two chorused.
“The ones you keep away by lighting fires. Lions and hyenas.”
“That’s in Africa, silly!” Fumed the elder boys.
“Never mind,” Alison soothed, “We’ll try again next summer.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

The Doors of Infatuation

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ceayr-purple-door

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © CEayr

“It’s a shabby outhouse, why would they padlock it?”
“We’ll know when we get it open. Can you pick it?”
“If I did, would it open the door to your heart too?”
She smouldered, probably with irritation but he preferred to interpret it as desire.
“They’re hiding something.”
“Like you’re hiding your passion for me?”
She scowled at him. “Just open the door, the only prize you’ll get is what might be on the inside.”
Undefeated he said, “Hope it’s love then.”
As the door creaked open, three decaying corpses fell forwards.
Alison vomited.
“She even pukes beautifully,” he thought.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

Our Tune

/ michaelwynnauthor / 43 Comments

bjc3b6rn-14

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

Alison slid the record from its sleeve and rubbed it carefully on her sleeve. Balancing it between thumb and middle finger, she delicately placed it on the turntable.
She moved the arm across; there was a crunch as the stylus hit the opening groove.
The room filled for several revolutions with regular clicks and crackles until the opening bars of Elgar’s cello concerto stole in.
Her hand shot out, wrenching the arm back. There was an excruciating screech as the stylus skidded across the vinyl.
Through her tears, she smiled apologetically at the photograph on the mantelshelf.
“Sorry. Maybe one day.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Hiding Beneath a Beacon

/ michaelwynnauthor / 43 Comments

I spent a little time in Prague and Budapest last week, hearing some horrific and at times heroic and ingenious stories about those who resisted the occupations of both the Nazis and Communists. This is a small homage to those brave people.

crook-roof

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Clouds shrouded roofs like a tarpaulin spread over a gazebo. Pavel appreciated the claustrophobic weather covering his way.
He rapped out a coded knock, bursting through the door as it cracked open.
“That roof? Bit conspicuous don’t you think?” He cried, waiving polite greetings. “It draws attention. Why not put up a sign, ‘Resistance living here?’”
“Indeed, it’s brought some visits from nasty men in grey suits. They’re concerned with building regulations. The nastier black suits ignore us; they see the state colours and some zealous patriots. It’s a level above hiding in plain sight; it’s hiding beneath a beacon.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here