Friday Fictioneers – Modesty

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L Hays

Modesty

Faith had lost her temper and yelled at Mom. She had wept.

She groaned as she pressed the long sleeves of her best dress. Plain. Modesty wear. Not at all suitable for a Prom. Was she supposed to be so modest that no boy would look twice?

She felt even more despondent when she saw the bare arms and elegantly stockinged legs of the other girls. And were those boys laughing at her? Faith watched with trepidation as Adam – handsome, desirable Adam – detached himself from the group and approached her.

He hesitated, then, “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

 

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What Pegman Saw – Assignation

“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 Ljubljana, Slovenia – or anywhere in Slovenia. I have taken a short bus ride to Lake Bled!

Image by Ales Krivec from Pixabay

Assignation

The sun crept above the horizon, peeping shyly through the winter haze like a bride through her veil. Andrej muffled his scarf closer. His ears prickled with frost. Would she come?

Streamers of mist drifted aimlessly, now hiding the dark waters of Lake Bled, now coyly revealing them. Watching intently, Andrej saw a more purposeful movement. There she was!

The swan stretched her silver-white wings wide, standing on the water. Andrej could see every feather. For a few heart-stopping moments the powerful wings beat, and then the swan folded them and drifted back into the fogbank.

There was a smile on Andrej’s face as he walked slowly back to the village.

Irina met him at the door of their cottage, her white hair gleaming.

“Come in before you catch your death of cold, you silly old man!”

Andrej kissed her.

“Ljubim te močno – I love you so much,” he said.

Friday Fictioneers – Memories

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story 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

Memories

I’m so glad I took that photo. Mum and Dad were standing close together looking down at the selfie on her phone. They were smiling, pointing out details to each other, storing up memories of the vacation of a lifetime.

Then Dad dropped. His knees buckled and he fell.

Pandemonium.

Paramedics arrived within minutes – I’ve no idea who called them. They fought for Dad’s life, but it was no good. He’d gone.

We got the body home, and Dad’s funeral was lovely – but Mum never recovered. She passed away a month later.

I’m so glad I took that last photo.

Friday Fictioneers – We Will Remember Them

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story 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 © Ted Strutz

 We will remember them

Liz glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes before her grandson, Oliver, was due to arrive.

She shuffled through the photographs until she found a small, square, monochrome print. Her brother Peter. She had snatched the shot as he entrained for the front in 1940.

Liz shook her head. Peter’s image seemed imprisoned by the margin. The severity of his mouth was belied by his apprehensive eyes.

What else did she have that she could pass on to Oliver?

A single page letter in Peter’s beautiful handwriting. A cutting from the local press, after…

A tear trickled down Liz’s cheek.

The doorbell rang.

 

What Pegman Saw – The Hunter

“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 Mongolia.

Image by Jacqueline Macou from Pixabay

The Hunter

Over the years, his thighs had moulded themselves to the curve of the leather saddle, and his brow was furrowed from squinting against the snow-glare. His left forearm was heavily muscled from carrying the bird, hour after hour, day after day.

Altan felt sad that his son wasn’t with him, but it was a good day – the air smelled bright, and the snow under his horse’s hooves sounded crisp. The bird perched on the leather gauntlet, feathers ruffled by the ever-present breeze. Occasionally it shook its head and Altan would chant gently, soothing it.

His horse crested the ridge and halted.

Altan slipped off the bird’s hood, watched the eyes focus, watched the head moving as it scanned the slope below.

Then it launched itself and dived, faster and faster, slamming into the wolf. Altan chanted triumphantly. Perhaps one day his baby grandson too would hunt with a golden eagle!

Friday Fictioneers – Resolution

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story 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!

© Dale Rogerson

Resolution

Lean as a hungry wolf, he loped through frosty streets towards the dojo, trainers scuffing against the pavement. He remembered his mother as she was before she killed herself. His steaming breath hissed through clenched teeth.

As he ran beneath the floodlights of the basketball pitch, a friend hailed him, “Hey, Connor, fancy a beer?”

Without breaking stride he shook his head, swerved off the road into the shadows between the trees and accelerated.

Every step stoked his determination, built his strength. He was nearly ready. Soon he would make his mother’s abuser pay. He would kill his father.