Returning home at five, I’m a prisoner in a wheeled metal furnace. Air steams; my body melts. A fly hums drowsily, fogging my brain with dreams of cold water sizzling on my tongue.
For Trifextra. I put this in the present because it is something I am experience everyday. The AC in my car doesn’t work. I hate Summer. I hope you got that. Spring; now that is a season!
It was as they say; a light at the end of a long tunnel, dark and lonely. I walked towards the light. I say ‘walked’ but, in truth, I can’t remember walking, or feeling my legs for that matter. Let’s say ‘moved’. I moved towards the light. Not because I was drawn to it, particularly, like a moth towards a candle, I went to it because, in the blackness that surrounded me, there was simply nowhere else to go. Continue reading
Her arms slithered around my waist, slowly; seductively caressing down, down my legs and up again. Continue reading
mohammadali / Love Photos / CC BY-NC-SA
‘Why did you do it?’
‘So I could fly.’
‘But you can see everything from up here!’
‘It’s not the same.’
‘Say that to yourself when you’re trying to type in those feathers!’
For Trifextra. I think I was overwhelmed by this incredible picture this week because it took me quite a while to come up with this…and still I’m not happy. *sigh* Sometimes, it just happens!
Copyright – Janet Webb
Mrs Pry tsked to herself; that dress had been up there all week. She had assumed at first that it must be some sort of Halloween decoration, but that apartment was still uninhabited. Mrs Pry curled her lips and let the curtain fall, mumbling and grumbling to herself all the way to bed.
Mrs Pry was deep asleep when clouds parted and revealed the full circular moon. And she was snoring loudly when the dress shifted, and floated up, making a bee-line across the city to where a pair of trousers and a shirt waited, ready for a dance.
For Friday Fictioneers; I loved the picture this week, so enthralling, but I keep thinking I’ve seen it somewhere, maybe on TV. Oh well! Hope you liked the story.
Thunder shatters the skies. A lonely mansion stands atop a hill. Inside, a marble telephone rings, its cry hardly audible above the ravenous storm outside.
Heavy breathing sets in.
The breathing now assimilates bellows propelling a simmering fire.
‘Seriously? You called me at—what—precisely midnight to just breathe into the receiver? Can you be any more of a cliché?’
The voice croaks, ‘The call is coming from inside—
‘That’s. It.’ An eardrum-shattering whistle cracks like thunder through the speaker.
The line goes dead shortly after and the rest of the night passes on peacefully.
Copyright: Danny Bowman
For Friday Fictioneers where the prompt this week is the picture on your left.
The inspiration for this story came from a mix of countless horror movies and a little snippet from real life. I’ll not go into details unless you ask me to, but I just want to say that blowing a die-hard whistle into the speaker does indeed result into the annoying caller hanging up with a moan of pain and a bad-tempered harrumph.
Her feet were strung up with steel wire, precisely one foot apart. The wire cut into her skin, releasing fat drops of blood up her ankle towards her knees. Her arms dangled freely, occasionally caressed by white tufts of her hair as it swayed with the breeze coming in through the cracked window. Continue reading
‘Ladies and gentleman, kindly proceed to exhibit C… Thank you…
‘This is what Earthlings used to call a Bar. Archaeologists have found evidence to suggest that in establishments such as this, Earthlings used to worship their ancestors. Little is yet known of the rituals that used to be played out in here except that the essence of the dead humans was captured and stored inside the glass containers you can now see behind the long altar. The ancestors’ spirit was then ingested, producing a feeling of euphoria or dysphoria, depending on whether the spirit trapped inside was good or evil…’
For Friday Fictioneers. A little hint of Sci Fi for you this week. Hope you like the history lesson!
My station gives me the right to marry three women, so I did; Ofelia, Costanza and Furya. My three wives gave me three sons, birthed on the same day on the same hour, equal in age to the second; three sons, three heirs with equal rights to my throne. Continue reading
Copyright -Kent Bonham
Something was wrong with this house. He’d felt it the minute he walked in; it was alive, hungry.
Voices rumbled, crowding Nate’s head in different languages; tongues. But it was the skeletal faces that disturbed him most, staring down at him, eyes wide.
The rumbling took on a new note. Nate looked up. The dragon at the top of the stairs opened its jaw. It dashed at him, slithering.
‘Ssh! What the hell’s wrong with you, man? Everyone’s looking!’
‘The stairs, Matt. Can’t you see?’
‘Damn! Let’s get outa here, before anyone else realises you’re stoned off your ass.’ Continue reading