Friday Fictioneers – Memento Mori

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © What’s His Name

Memento mori

There’s a bathroom suite in the outhouse, never used.

I remember how proud Mom and Dad were when they bought it. It was plastic not cast-iron, and, source of immense satisfaction to Mom, it had a low-level WC.

“Stop picking at the wrapping, Adrian!” snapped Mom. I sighed. My little sister tittered.

When Dad arrived home after work, he tore off the packaging. There it was, a fashionable avocado, with gleaming chrome-plated fittings.

“I’ll have the plumber install it on Monday,” said Dad.

“Come on, Henry. Tea-time. We’ve got prayer meeting tonight.”

On their way home, a drunk-driver killed them.

The Bridefarer’s Choice – Part 1

Well, I’ve decided to try my hand at a serial once again. The genre is fantasy (a first for me – I’ve never tried this genre before). Episode 1 is complete and published below.  I know where the story is going, and I think it will take four episodes to complete it. I will publish successive episodes every Monday.

I very much hope you enjoy it!

The Bridefarer – Part 1

Diarmid was a big man. He stooped to enter my house, and his broad frame blocked the sunlight.

“Reverence, Oldest One.”

I inclined my head, acknowledging the respectful greeting.

“Enter, be seated and be welcome,” I responded, with the formal words of hospitality. “You come to tell me you go bridefaring?”

He grinned. “Not a difficult conundrum, Oldest.”

And, indeed, it was not. At nineteen, it was high time Diarmid was married and settled. Besides, he was dressed for travel and carried a sword. I pointed to it.

“Do not be too quick to draw your blade, Diarmid MacDiarmid. You go seeking favour, not conquest.”

“Blades tarnish if they are never drawn.” His voice and manner were light.

“Better a tarnished blade than a dead bearer.”

I busied myself brewing a herbal tea.

“Here, Diarmid MacDiarmid, drink this. Drink slowly, and leave the herbs in the bottom.”

He sniffed it, sipped it. It was a bitter brew. Little creases showed at the corners of his eyes, but he drained the cup. I took it from him and looked at the residue.

I felt the hairs on my neck prickle with anticipation. I have ‘the sight’. It’s often a blessing, when you can reassure someone that they will have a full life and die of old age. But sometimes it’s a curse.

“All I can tell you from this reading is that you will live out your fate. For some, the way is…malleable. Choices will make a difference for them. That is not so for you; your fate is fixed, as straight and cold and strong as the steel of your blade.”

I looked up at him.

“All men die,” he said; but his face was pale. “I do not fear death.”

“You must drink again before I can tell you how your bridefaring will prosper.”

In truth I knew already.

He grimaced but nodded assent, and slowly drank from a second cup. As he handed me the empty vessel, he looked me full in the eyes.

“Tell me the truth, now, whatever it is.”

“I would never do otherwise.”

I stared into the cup. The story was the same.

“Your bridefaring will be successful. In a town far from here you will win the heart of a beautiful young woman. Her hair is red-gold like the setting sun in October; her eyes are blue-grey like the ocean after a storm. She is a king’s daughter, but those among whom she dwells know this not.

You will wed her, and return to your home where she will bear you a son. But, Diarmid MacDiarmid, I say this to you. You need not fear blade or fire or hemp; but beware of water, beware of the sea.”

Diarmid laughed, colour restored to his cheeks. His dark eyes were smouldering at the thought of the beautiful woman who would share his bed.

“I am a fisherman, Oldest. I must always beware of the sea. I bid you farewell, with many thanks for the favourable reading.”

He fiddled in his purse, drawing out a gold coin.

“For your good words,” he said.

I took it silently, and he left.

When he had gone I sat many minutes, my mind wandering the paths of the future.

What Pegman Saw – The Prisoner

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. Using the location provided, you must write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 150 words. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page,  from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. This week’s prompt is Carisbrooke Castle in the UK. King Charles 1 was imprisoned there to await execution.

I’ve tried something a bit different today, and I’m not altogether satisfied. Constructive criticism would be very welcome!

The Prisoner

Charles woke late after a restless night. He had a headache again. It wasn’t even a hangover – this time. He lay, watching the grey light brighten, until discomfort drove him out of bed.

He wrinkled his nose. Virginia, his late wife, had hated it when the bedroom smelled stuffy. ‘I should change the sheets; it’s been weeks,’ he thought.

“I really am trying, my love,” he whispered, but even her memory couldn’t pierce his numbness.

He needed to escape. It was sunny. Carisbrooke Castle was nearby; he’d go there

He was in the Constable’s Chamber when an old man asked him, “Would you like to see the new excavation?”

Charles nodded. They went down, deep below the keep.

“In there,” said the man, pointing.

Charles entered the dark room; the heavy door slammed behind him.

He could just hear the man through the door.

“This place has always been a prison.”

FFfAW – Two Tides

This is a story for the flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. We are given a photo prompt that is kindly photographed by our participants and approximately 75-175 words with which to create our stories. It’s fun and everyone is invited to participate. For more information, click here.

To read all the stories submitted for this challenge, click on the blue froggy button below.

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Footy and Foodie. Thank you for our prompt!

Two tides

The estuary was wide, and the far shore was half-hidden by the molten gold of the setting sun. Heidi gazed across the water; such a beautiful place; so many happy memories; such heartache. Alan’s absence throbbed like an abscessed tooth. How could he have just walked out on her?

“Bastard,” she typed into her phone, thought a moment, then clicked ‘Send’.

She spent a restless night, missing his warmth, his smell, his gentle snoring. She was distracted the next day, missing his laugh, his strength, his irritating way of interrupting what she was saying.

He didn’t reply to her text.

Somehow, she drifted to the estuary again that evening. She was so wrapped up in memories that she didn’t notice his approach.

He faced her, dark-rimmed eyes apprehensive.

“I am so sorry,” he said.

Word count: 134

Friday Fictioneers – Mugabe’s Gone

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Genre: Historical fiction

Word count: 100

Mugabe’s Gone

The television booms in the background.

He’s gone. Mugabe’s gone.

I can’t believe it. My breath comes in gasps. My legs wobble as I stand.

I go to my little store room. There is the clock, exactly where I threw it at 11:15 on the evening of January 15^th 1983. Shuddering, I feel for the photograph, hidden under some cloth.

Yes. Here it is. I hardly dare look.

My beautiful boy, my son, my Joshua.

“Don’t view the body,” they said. But how could I bury him without looking one last time?

Tears flood down my cheeks, my own Gukurahundi*.

      *       *       *

*According to Wikipedia, Gukurahundi is a Shona word which loosely translates as “the early rain which washes away the chaff before the spring rains”. It was the term used by Robert Mugabe and his supporters for the purging of political opponents during the 1980s.

The Sirens

I don’t often attempt to write poetry, and this piece was originally intended as an exercise in descriptive prose. However, a rhythm gradually infiltrated the writing, so I tried laying it out as a poem and worked on it in that form. Whether that makes it a poem, I leave for you to judge! BTW It helps if you know the story of Odysseus and the Sirens.

The Sirens

A nightingale that heard them sing

Would blush for shame.

The lines of melody intertwine,

The words blend, rhyme.

Oh, to be whole, free from the pain of loss!

So many heroes dead, friends hewn by sword,

Skewered by spear, or crushed by rocks.

Now peace. The voices offer peace.

“Helmsman, steer to shore!” I beg,

But wax-stopped ears are deaf.

I struggle with my bonds.

My vessel’s oarsmen beat the waves to froth and past we go,

Past surf that breaks on rocks like knives,

And on the rocks the Sirens feast

On rotting flesh and broken lives.  

What Pegman Saw – Five Star Wife

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview, and this week it takes us to a beach resort in Mexico. Using the 360 degree view of the location provided, you must write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 150 words. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page,  from where you can also get the Inlinkz code.

Five Star Wife

“What a dump!”

“Sun, you said. Sun, sand and sea! And there they are!” Sue gestured at the gritty beach with the sullen Pacific half a mile away. The sun beat down. It was thirty degrees and only ten in the morning.

“Five star luxury, you said” grumbled Jeff.

“The hotel is lovely. If you don’t fancy the beach, go back, sit by the pool and ogle that American girl!”

“I didn’t…” began Jeff.

“Oh, it’s all right. Look, but don’t touch.”

“Anyway, I’d rather be with you.”

“Then sit here, in the shade, and quit moaning.”

The barman smiled at her.

“Could I get a sangria for me and a beer for him?”

“Of course, Senora. I’ll bring them to your table.”

“Do you have wifi?”

“Naturally.” He handed her a printed card. “Network. Password.”

Sue strolled back to Jeff and ruffled his hair.

“Miserable old git,” she said, tenderly.

Friday Fictioneers – Witness

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Genre: Horror

Word count: 99

Witness

“Now, Billy, tell the officer what you saw.”

“The room was dark. There were just some flickering candles. There was a man chanting, and another one drawing something on the floor around a big table.

I saw a woman lying on the table. The man who’d been drawing picked up a knife.”

The boy licked his dry lips.

“I was scared. I ran. I’d just got outside when…”

Billy swallowed hard.

“Yes?”

“There was an enormous flash of lightning.”

“Sonny, there was no storm.”

A fireman strode up. His face was white.

“Officer. We’ve found something in the basement.”

What Pegman Saw – “Life and Spirit Free”

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. Using the location provided, you must write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 150 words. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page,  from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. This week’s prompt is Athens, Greece.

Genre: Historical fiction – 17 November 1973

Word count – 150

Life and Spirit Free

The night’s blackness is beaten back by the soldiers’ arc lights.

Stinking exhaust from a tank blows across the road towards us as we cling to the gates of the Polytechnic. Somebody has a radio. My Giorgios is still broadcasting from the heart of our struggle.

“Polytechnic here! People of Greece, the Polytechnic is the flag bearer of our struggle and your struggle, our common struggle against the dictatorship and for democracy!”

Giorgios, I love you!

The tank’s engine revs.

It creeps across the road. Surely it’s not going to crash the gates? There are a dozen of us hanging on to them!

Alex, next to me, yells at the soldiers massing behind the tank.

“Brothers in arms! Disobey your orders! Support us in the struggle for liberty!

‘From the Greeks of old whose dying

brought to life and spirit free…’”

I join in.

The tank is coming.

Aagh! That hur….

Historical Note

From 1967 – 1974 Greece was ruled by a military junta. They used all the techniques of a totalitarian state including arbitrary arrest and torture. Students were at the forefront of the resistance, and in November 1973 they occupied Athens Polytechnic, and improvised a radio station using laboratory equipment.

On the night of 17 November 1973 the army stormed the Polytechnic, using a tank to break down the gates, to which students were clinging. No lives were lost during the assault – although there were many injuries. However, later in the day soldiers shot dead several people outside the campus, including 17-year-old Diomidis Komninos shot through the heart by a sniper.

I have quoted a translation of part of the Greek national anthem, which students were singing as the tank attacked.

Greek National Anthem

I shall always recognize you

by the dreadful sword you hold,

as the Earth with searching vision

you survey with spirit bold.

From the Greeks of old whose dying

brought to life and spirit free,

now with ancient valour rising

let us hail you, oh Liberty

 

Friday Fictioneers – Love in store

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

Love in store

Spenser was a hunk, with dark hair and eyes, and a body sculpted by Praxiteles. He swaggered up to Laura, diminutive, bright, management potential.

“I’ve got tickets for a show tonight. Come with me?”

Laura shook her head.

“Thanks, Spense, but I’m busy.”

“Sure, Babe.”

Laura hoped her manager, Craig, would notice her refusal, and ask her out. She loved his gentleness.

Instead Craig said “I must have a word with Estelle,” and sidled across the floor.

“Estelle. Would you like to dine with me at The Purple Pig this evening?”

But, alas, glamorous Estelle only had eyes for – Spenser.