Friday Fictioneers – The magic of being eight years old

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

The magic of being eight years old

Blindfolded, little Fleur approached the crudely drawn donkey to try to pin its paper tail in the right place.

She didn’t like parties. She didn’t like Jessica. And this was Jessica’s birthday party. Fleur wished with all her might that she wasn’t here, playing this stupid game.

She reached up to touch the paper donkey, and instead touched – hair. She stroked it. It was warm, and soft, a living creature. She could smell it, hear its hooves as it fidgeted. It was big, bigger than she could stretch.

Fleur snatched off her blindfold and saw, gleaming silver – a unicorn!

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Friday Fictioneers – New Year Resolutions

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!

I’m sorry to contribute so little to Friday Fictioneers at present. I’m very busy with my novel “The Dove on the Pergola”. The first draft has now reached 80,000 words, and I suspect I have about 20,000 still to write. And then it will be time to edit, edit, edit!

I owe Rochelle a big thank you, because the germ of the novel came from a Friday Fictioneers prompt!

PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

New Year Resolutions

Laboriously, tongue tracing the letters, Danny wrote “Keep bedroom tidy” on his square of red paper. Tracy’s blue square read “Do my homework on time”. Deborah’s elegant script, written with a fountain pen on green paper said, succinctly, “Gym!”, while Michael’s resolution, scrawled on yellow paper and not entirely altruistic, was “Spend more quality time with Debs.”

Each of them placed their resolution in a sweetie jar which Michael ceremoniously sealed.

The magician tapped the jar with his wand, and immediately a fountain of glittering mirror dust erupted from it, sparkling silver, gold, sapphire, emerald and ruby.

Happy New Year!

Friday Fictioneers – The Wonky Wand

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 © Sandra Crook

The wonky wand

The fairy’s name was Gwendolen. She was dumpy, her iridescent wings looked clumsy, and the star on her wand flickered.

“Oh bugger!” she said, “I’m stuck.” She glared at me. “As long as you’re watching, I can’t leave.”

I looked away.

“And I must recharge my wand. Please wish for something you want really badly.”

I wished, and felt a surge of energy, tingling like intense pins and needles.

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

Gwendolen had gone. I strolled to the hotel bar.

“Hi! Are you Fiona?”

He was tall, with a warm smile.

“Good luck!” Gwendolen’s voice whispered faintly in my imagination.

My box

This Thursday’s guest poem is by Hope Owen-Gadd, my grand-daughter. It’s here because it’s the new poem that I’ve enjoyed most this week. Hope is 8 years old. I wish I could put such vivid images into my writing!

I will put in my box
The ping of a drumstick hitting a super cymbal,
A jewel of fire forest from the darkest caves,
The wool from a new born baby lamb.

I will put in my box
The gentle twinkling of a fairy’s wonderous wand,
A mouth-watering cherry pie freshly baked,
A spark from a shooting star.

I will put in my box
A bubblegum tree and a cat with wings
A parrot teaching a class,
And a teacher in the rain forest.

My box is constructed from the fossils of ammonites,
Shells, and sand, and sapphires,
With a crystal flower on the lid and love in the corners.
Its hinges are the scales of fish.

I shall hike in my box
On snow-covered rocky mountains,
Then stare into the ice cold eyes of a yeti
And rid my heart of fear.