Friday Fictioneers – The Healing Tree

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © LIZ YOUNG

The Healing Tree

That night the pain was worse. I silenced my cowardly groans, biting hard on a willow twig.

Our shaman nodded at me next morning.

“You are sick,” he said. “You must go to the Tree of Healing.”

“What do I do there?” I asked.

“It is your presence that heals, not what you do. Go!”

I walked. On the second day there was blood in my mouth. I kept walking.

On the third day, I saw the tree; I saw a light, brighter than the sun; I heard chanting voices.

The light faded and I fell.

The pain was gone!

Inlinkz – click here to join the fun!

Friday Fictioneers – No Way Back

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © DALE ROGERSON

No way back

The Christmas Market was in full swing. Anne glanced up from the savoury delights of the delicatessen and saw Charles. She stiffened and held her head high. She wasn’t going to approach him, not after last night.

Neither would she hide. She strutted past him, cutting him dead.

“Anne. Anne!”

The voice pursued her.

There was a flurry of feet, and there he was. She stopped.

“I’m sorry for last night, I really am. I was nervous. I drank too much…” He dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me, Anne?”

Anne fingered her bruised cheek.

“No way,” she said.

InLinkz – click here to join in the fun!

When did the wind change?

This is a poem by my friend Patricia Rogers. She is a writer I greatly admire, because, as well as writing beautiful poetry, she writes with courage and unflinching honesty. In another poem you can find on her blog, she writes of ‘living a little life’. But a little life described honestly and courageously can also be a significant life.

Patricia Rogers' Weblog

When did the wind change?
The first brittle leaves
stumbled down from the trees
in the heat of summer.
They lay on the ground
in plain sight
while the children ran
barefoot over the warm grass.
Nobody noticed.

When did the dark nights begin?
The sunset crept forward
so gently that darkness
came as a surprise.
The children were called home,
scampering into their lighted houses
one by one..
Heads were laid to rest.
Night fell.

When did the world change?
How long has it belonged
to someone else?
Summer slipped through my fingers
while I looked away.
Skeletons of bare trees
stretch upwards through fallen beauty,
reaching for home.
I keep walking.

IMG_0276

View original post