Friday Fictioneers – To an unknown hero

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 © ROGER BULTOT

To an unknown hero

The rock band was deafening, and I hardly heard the first gunshots. People started to scream. I laughed with excitement, and, as the light show dazzled, I turned to Michael, clapping my hands.

“We’ve got to get out,” he yelled, and pointed.

A hooded gunman was pumping round after round into the dancers.

Michael pushed me towards the nearest emergency exit. Shots ripped splinters from the door frame. Michael stumbled, blood pouring from his leg.

People barged past. “Please?” I begged them. “Please help!”

Eventually somebody stopped, and between us we manhandled Michael to safety.

Thank you, whoever you are!  

Inlinkz – click here to join the fun!

What Pegman Saw – Pride!

“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.

WPS - Pride 191109

Pride

“We must have gay rights!” declared Marcel, banging his fist on the bar. “Both parties pledged reform in the 2015 election. It’s time they lived up to their promises!”

Akeem watched him from his corner in the shadows. He loved Marcel’s courage, his forthright way of speaking. Less forgivably, in the eyes of most people, he loved Marcel’s strength, his beauty, his lustrous, curly black hair. He wanted to kiss him, but he was afraid. Besides, Marcel never noticed him…

“We shall have a Pride parade. Who’s up for it?”

Nobody stirred. Awkward conversations started. Everybody knew this was a gay bar, but Marcel had gone too far. Akeem’s pulse raced, and his breath came quick. He stood up and sidled to the bar where Marcel stood, dejected.

“I’m with you,” he said.

That June, he and Marcel danced hand in hand among the rainbow crowd of Guyana’s first Pride celebration.

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!

FF - Modesty - 191023

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.

 

kermit

Click here to join in!

 

What Pegman Saw – The dance of life

“What Pegman saw” is a great weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. Do join in!

Just use the location provided, and 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 Taşlıçay, Ağrı, Turkey. Click on the blue frog to read other people’s stories!

WPS - The dance of life 180616

The dance of life

I stand in the square and watch.

Holding hands, bodies proudly erect, young men dance to the harsh, reedy yearning of the qernête and the repetitive, rhythmic throb of the daf. They are Kurds and proud of it. They fly their flags and get into trouble with the police. Some of them may go further; I wouldn’t know – but the smell of trouble clings to them like gun-smoke.

What good will a separate Kurdistan do us? This fertile land, this gateway from east to west, has been overrun by Assyrians, by Romans, by Arabs; even our own countrymen have made war against us. So many overlords. So much bloodshed.

I look over to the mountains, to snowy Ararat towering above. Once, many, many generations ago, my forebears and their flocks danced down that mountain following the slowly receding waters.

Our peaceful dance will live on forever, while nations pass away.

Friday Fictioneers – The girl in the night club

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

FF - The girl in the night club 180509.png

PHOTO PROMPT ©Jill Wisoff

The girl in the nightclub

The four-piece combo was playing fit to bust, and a girl with black shingled hair was dancing the Charleston. Her cheeks were pink with excitement, her bee-sting lips cherry-red, and her blue eyes flashed as she moved. Her gold dress flickered in the spotlight.

‘Why not?’ I thought, and joined her on the dance-floor.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. I turned, ready to move fast. I looked up – and up – and my gaze had still only reached his Adam’s apple. The deepest bass I’ve ever heard rumbled from his seventy inch chest.

“Dance respectfully, bud. That’s my daughter.”

In the Keukenhof Gardens

This story is a fictionalised account of an actual experience I had in the Keukenhof Gardens. These gardens are in Holland, close to Amsterdam. They are absolutely magnificent, and are open to the public for eight weeks every year, a ‘must see’ if you’re visiting Amsterdam.  You can read and see more about the gardens here: https://keukenhof.nl/en/discover-the-park/open-2018/

DSC01584

In the Keukenhof Gardens

Orange, scarlet and golden blooms sing softly beside the dark lake. Silver light reflects peacefully from ripples in the lake’s waters. The scent of thousands of flowers glows in the air.

I walk, slowly, along curved paths. Gravel scrapes under my feet. April sunshine lies warm and weightless across my shoulders. A gentle breeze strokes me, like feathers, like silk, like the tender fingertips of a lover.

Faint and distant music hangs like wood-smoke in the air, tickling, teasing, and I follow. The tuneless tune allures, rousing me, and I follow. The tone becomes harsher. There are others on the path. Still I follow.

The path broadens, the music loud now, raucous dance-music on a mechanical organ rasping out the joys and sorrows of the world. People talk, laugh, shout, and the dance sweeps up their voices into harmonious dissonance. It booms in my head like brass and tinkles like crystalline snowflakes.

All the emotion in all the world shrills through those organ pipes, crashes with those cymbals, the drum beats driving the dance before me and after me. I sing beside the deep waters; I dance beside the orange and scarlet blooms. Silver tears ripple silently down my cheeks as I see my part in the dance – and rejoice that it holds so much of the gold of love.