Copyright – Claire Fuller
If a mirror existed that showed us our reflection, not as we appear, but as we feel; a pure reflection of our souls; what would I look like in such a glass? A rumbling volcano? An explosion of raging lava at a word said in a misjudged time? A spluttering of ash at a phrase uttered in a misused tone? But I guess it would be a mild volcano; no Vesuvius. Unsteady, yes, and explosive, but fading quickly; an Etna maybe.
You? What would your reflection be, my love? A statue made of marble, perhaps?
Emotionless, no explosions; cold to the touch, like marble?
All logic, no splutterings; clean and flawless, like marble?
For Friday Fictioneers.
Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy
Tyron smacked his lips happily. The perfect title hit him after two empty hours. ‘Seven mountains in seven years’, his answer to the challenge: ‘Wildest dreams’.
His finger hovered for a hesitating second longer. Then, click; the post was published. Continue reading
I met him once on my way to work. He was as expected; tall and thin, his figure bent by age, leaning on a scythe. His face was hidden by the black cloak, greening with age.
‘You can’t have come for me!’ I said. It wasn’t a question.
‘And why not?’ His was.
‘Because I’m too young. I still have much to do!’
I stopped and thought for a while. ‘Well, I’m on my way to work. Can’t just leave without notice. How would my boss cope?’
He paused and didn’t speak for a long while.
‘Have it your way then. I’ll take you later.’
He was waiting for me again on my way from work to home.
When leaves turn gold,
Copyright -Jennifer Pendergast
I know that their time has come.
With roses for cheeks
And chirping laughter,
I watch them enter in loud hordes.
The sky grows dark,
Eclipsed by pearly clouds.
Fragile branches sag under heavy ice;
Bags droop under tired, learned eyes.
I watch as hordes become silent clusters.
Snow melts. Unveils
Emerald leaves no longer burdened.
With roses back on their cheeks,
Straight backs, relieved shoulders,
I watch as one by one they leave, triumphant.
‘Your mama is so fat, that—’
A long, low booing resonated from the audience.
‘Okay! okay…Have you ever heard of the koi who was coy with his wife?’
‘Get off the stage!’
‘No, no wait…Okay; man walks in a bar—‘
Whizz. Glass shattered on the stage.
Damian ran out of the theatre for his life. He sat in the dark alley next to the backstage door analyzing the scribbled list in front of him.
‘Garbage Collector’ was next.
A man’s voice startled him; ‘How much for half an hour?’
Damian froze for a second, then shrugged. No reason ‘Male Prostitute’ shouldn’t be on that list.
Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy
For Trifecta and Friday Fictioneers. Two in one; economizing in this economy. The word given by Trifecta is: BOO – 3 (verb) to show dislike or disapproval of someone or something by shouting “Boo” slowly. Friday Fictioneers, on the other hand, gave us the lovely picture above.
I feel tentacles rising, slithering up, wrapping themselves around my brain, consuming it.
My full mental power comes to my defense.
I hack, but Doubt creeps up again and takes over my head.
For Trifextra. The challenge is to write 33 words on a beast in an unusual place. Hope this qualifies.