All posts tagged: flash


“This is wrong.” Hannah said, aiming a kick at an especially infuriated column of white cloud. “I know this is all a shock,” said her Grandmother, “but you will get used to it. We were all surprised by the aneurism, none of your lot saw it coming and even I thought you’d have a month or two more.” “But this cannot be it!” shrieked Hannah, her voice coming out as a whisper despite her vocal chords straining; why would anyone need the ability to scream where she was? “An eternity of bliss will send me mad; its just too peaceful!” 


Conrad taught us to distrust our own minds. Caught up in the spin of some imaginary turmoil; he forgot that the rest of us were placed within his reach, waiting for some reassurance that this was not how it ended. Confirmation was never his strong point. Convinced we were the enemy, it became locked doors and unanswered phone calls. Coleen visited once a week only to find the casseroles she baked still cling-filmed at the back of the refrigerator. Considering it was twenty years before the funeral summons; I didn’t expect to cry when we carried him into the church. (Prompt: Each line must begin with ‘C’)

The Stone Men

Nicholas’s father told him he was stupid to fear the Stone Men. They couldn’t hurt him; they couldn’t even twitch a single finger. Nicholas though his father was stupid not to notice the way the Stone Men smiled and winked; granite flesh grating over pock-marked eyeballs as he and his father walked the garden paths. “They’re not real Nicholas.” His father told him. “You shouldn’t be so childish.” Nicholas shook his head and ignored his father. His father was old, too old to hear the Stone Men laugh. They croaked with pebbles bubbling in their throats and only words that had been spoken before to say. “They’re waking up.” he whispered, though knew his father would beat him for speaking. His mother wore her Stone Men bruises as warnings; “Fists need not be rock to break the bone.” she said, hands wrapped around his own. “This place is not ours, we do not belong among these men of stone, they will break us!” His father came to drag her from his room. “Don’t fill the …

The Wait

You were late. Kept the rest of us waiting; hands bearing down on pocket linings as we hunted for the warmth of previous hours before the storm. “He will be here.” she said, your wife of three months. We did not comment on the press of curves against the clarity of damp cotton; only offered her jackets which she refused with the comment: “They are not his.” We stood ankle deep in leaves, eyes towards the bank where track met road and carriages might run. We heard the horses first; they did not like the thunder. I wonder if you screamed as well? (Prompt: “The air was expectant…”)


(Visdare Prompt 29) She had cut short both her hair and hems. It made no difference. No matter how much she drank, how much she smoked, how fast she danced- She was still trapped. Then Jonathon got tied up with the wrong sort and ended with police sirens, desk drawer hand-gun and temple markings. That hurt; she had loved him after all. When she found his dairy and Friday nights at Barbers with initialled names that hid no one identities, she knew who the wrong sort were. She’d kept Jonathon’s gun. This was a different sort of freedom, one that came with photo smiles and determination that come Saturday morning… the nation would read her name.

Pause For Silence

“When do you stop?” he asked with fingers threaded through mine. I knew what he meant. He meant jumbled notepads, cluttered desktops and sticky note post-its with more tasks that I could fit around my laptop screen. He meant tomorrow’s ‘to do’ and yesterdays unfinished. “Can’t you pause?” he asked. “Let it all go for a bit?” “Sometimes.” I answer, avoiding speaking of night-time sleeplessness, too hyped from caffeine and brain hopping ideas, too frantic to concentrate and too many to ignore. “Sometimes there are moments of calm.” I don’t say that there are moments when I look at him and all I think of is that moment, even though I know it is clichéd and I should be beyond using such ideas. I don’t tell him that there is one uncertainty that dwarfs and mutes every aspect of chaos in my life. I don’t want think of how quickly I might call this love. Visdare 30

Friday Fictioneers (Two Attempts)

(Copyright for picture: Douglas M. Macllroy)  The Right Height? “How high?” he asked. “High enough.” she replied dropping the rucksack to the ground. “High enough for us. For this.” “You think so?” He shuffled forward, sending pebbles skittering towards edge. “Don’t.” she said. “You’ll spoil the surface. We want this to be perfect.” “Perfect.” he repeated, holding fast where he was. “You want this to be perfect.” “We want this.” she insisted. “We’re doing this for us. Not me.” “For us.” he nodded. “Have you got the camera?” She muttered something and dived into the rucksack, rummaging around until she pulled free the Victorian style camera. “Ready?” he asked. In Love We Are Immortal “Aphrodite.” he called, hands loose at his sides as he saw her standing near the edge once again. You could not see the mortal world from here, but she could pretend that they felt her watching. “The others are waiting.” he told her. “Artemis and Apollo are already at each other’s throats; we need you to keep the places from going …

Always Room For Something Else…

“Busy?” he asked when her voice finally answered, breathless and distorted through pen caps. “Just a bit.” she mumbled, phone pinned between her ear and neck as she juggled ring-binders, manila folders, notepads and tea-cups. “Deadlines.” she told him, throwing back her tea and scowling when she swallowed. “Urg, stone cold tea, definitely not the right mug.” she said, “but never mind that, what is it you need doing?”

Worth It?

A punch from her was similar to getting kicked in the head by a wild horse; but that comparison was made later, after the whining noise in my ears had ceased and the world didn’t lurch quite so sickeningly whenever I swallowed. Afterwards I spoke to the guy still trying to plug the nosebleed she’d caused with one crack from her forehead. At five foot three she had to stand on her toes to reach, but the bouncer had gone down like a tonne of bricks. “This happen before?” he asked watching them handcuff her wrists. I nodded. “Blimey.” he whistled. “Can’t be worth it.” “It is.” I said. “It bloody well is!”


Grampa Phillip was her mother’s father and after the funeral he stuck around for a bit. Natalie didn’t mind. She’d liked Grampa Phillip and it was nice to have him poking fun of Dad’s useless attempt at putting up shelves in the study, even if everyone else seemed set against acknowledging he hadn’t gone yet. He received visitors now and then. Only one really, and he didn’t seem to like the gentleman much. Natalie giggled when the skinny man turned up and Grampa Phillip swore and kicked him out the house. “I’ll be there when I dam well chose to be! Can’t you see I have a granddaughter to spoil first!”   When he did leave, they all went with him. The whole family, aunts, uncles, cousins; everyone. Natalie watched them all pour through the doors of Grampa Phillip’s house and set about business. “Needed a good clean for a bit.” he grumbled, waving at the pile of newspapers from 1943. “Never seemed the time to get around it all though; so what would have …