Flash Fiction Friday: Bob of Mongaloo, a 353 word story short.

It is a chilly autumn night out and about in the Mongaloo Mountain ranges. There is a beast watching two teenage boys with intense interest. The two young men are sitting down congratulating themselves with some stolen beer after a five hour trek up the mountain trail and a two hour struggle trying to pitch their tent and get a fire going.

Donavan, the younger of the two boys sits staring up at the stars. “The air is cold on this dark night. But the fire is warm and the stars are bright.”

Barnett snorts shaking his head at his cousin. “Donavan sits warming his exhausted muscles by a raging campfire while stating the obvious in poetic verse.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Barnett gives Donavan a look that indicates his feelings have been hurt. That look then turns into a cheeky and devilishly handsome grin.”

Donavan turns to look at his cousin, a smile spreading across his face. “Modest aren’t you.” Then his attention returns to the stars. “But seriously look at the stars, have you ever seen them so bright.”

“Jesus, I Don’t know Don. Probably just look brighter ’cause there aren’t any lights up here.” Barnett walks over to the tent to retrieve a large back pack. He pulls out a cooler bag on his way back to the fire. “Give me a hand with the camp oven will ya. I wanna get this lamb cooking.”

There is a rustle in the nearby bushes drawing both boy’s attention. Out steps a magnificent dark purple dragon “Did I hear someone say lamb.”

Both boys are frozen still, slack jawed, staring at the Doberman sized dragon. The dragon continues to walk over to the fire without taking its eyes of the lamb roll in Barnett’s hands. The only things that move on the boys are their eyes as they follow its strutting stride. The firelight causes a glittery glow to cascade along its back and large folded wings. It sits down opposite the boys, perched on its hind legs while taking them both in with its iridescent green eyes.

“Hi my names Bob”.

I’m not completely sure who these characters are yet really, but they’ve been in my head for over a week so I thought I better remove them and put them down on paper (so to speak).

It started with the line “The air is cold on this dark night. But the fire is warm and the stars are bright” entering my head with the image of two boys by a campfire on a mountain top. We’ll have wait and see if the boys and their dragon entre my dreams again and become anything more.

Nothingness: Friday Fictioneers 100 Word Story Challenge

I sit in this chair and ponder the nothingness as it consumes the land that surrounds me.

I sit in this chair and as my earthy energies wane the emptiness compounds on me.

That a world so full of life could be dissolved into nothing but a crust astounds me.

Why before now hasn’t a hero come and found me.

Maybe I am supposed to be the hero and fight the nothingness from within. This thought it empowers me.

I sit in this slowly dissolving chair and read a book from the library of fight and suddenly the nothingness clears.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Fields where writers around the world create 100 word stories inspired by the one image.

This week’s PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

For more information, CLICK HERE to see Rochelle’s website.

Or CLICK HERE to view the other Friday Fictioneers stories for this week.

I Hope So: Friday Fictioneers 100 Word Story Challenge

Pete jabbed his finger in the direction of the historic car that had pulled up across the road from the little cafe he frequented on Fridays “Hey Barb, how much you think It’d cost to restore something like that”.

The elderly shop assistant squinted from behind the counter out into the street “Hmm, more then you can afford Pete my boy”.

Pete stood, stretching out his aching muscles “I’m going to make it big Barb. Just you wait and see”.

Barbara sighed as she watched him get up and leave “For your sake I hope so Pete. I hope so”.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Fields where writers around the world create 100 word stories inspired by the one image.

This week’s PHOTO PROMPT © Al ForbesPHOTO PROMPT © Al Forbes

For more information, CLICK HERE to see Rochelle’s website.

Or CLICK HERE to view the other Friday Fictioneers stories for this week.

Dear Diary: I want a sleep in!

He stands next to my bed smiling at me. The most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

The cheeky devil is lucky he’s so damn cute. He is up, so as far as he is concerned the rest of us should be.

“Mummy get up” he squeals as he jumps up and down with way too much enthusiasm for six o’clock on a Sunday morning, especially after waking three times during the night demanding a drink and his blanket to be pulled back up.

“It’s still nigh nigh time buddy (I yawn) It’s still dark outside (I stretch) Go back to sleep (I roll over).”

“NOOOOOOO Mummy get up”.

Buzz Lightyear’s turbo boosters ignite at the touch of my son’s finger, then he crashes into my head announcing “To infinity and beyond”.

I get up and slump out to the kitchen to make some Crumpets, his current favourite.

“Cartoons on the TB Mummy”.

I turn on ABC kids so I can go and have a shower in peace.

There is a crash, a yelp of pain, and a “Riley what are you doing”, followed by a grumpy and tired Daddy stomping down the hall.

Charge gives a howl and Ellie a bark to let us know the commotion has gotten their attention. The whole house is awake and it’s only ten past six. Good job Riley, let’s see if you’re so keen to start the day in ten years’ time when you’re a teenager, ha.

I stand in the shower with the heat right up and ponder the long term effects of sleep deprivation. I sigh knowing all this will only get worse once the second child arrives.

Flash Fiction: Eastcliff, a 120-word-short-story

I ponder the old walls that are keeping out the savage night.

The hungry wind rattles the shutters and tries to make its way through the gaps in the floor boards.

The fire crackles and pops keeping my body warm, but the flickering fire light creates shadowy demons in every corner.

I get up and turn on the light. The blub buzzes to life and the demons disappear.

I lay down and let the wind with its howling beauty sing me to sleep.

A loud thumping noise raises my awareness suddenly.

Sunlight is glowing around the outside edges of the shutters.

I smile, Bandos is here to check up on me.

The little hut and I survived another Eastcliff night.FullSizeRender

Flash Fiction: Timothy’s close call, a 270-word-short-story

I’m not sure where this story came from. I was sitting in front of my computer thinking about rose petals floating on water, for no particular reason, then they turned into leaves and so this story began.

 * * *

Timothy sat upon his raft made of gum leaves floating on top of the seemingly endless stretch of brown water. Every ripple on the water’s surface threatened to submerge him.

Jennifer loved jumping in puddles and she could see a beautiful long and muddy one up ahead. She raced with her dog Pippin and splish, splashed, sploshed up and down until she was drenched and gasping for breath.

Suddenly Timothy was flying through the air clinging to his raft. The last thing had seen before he found himself air born was a giant human girl covered in pink thundering towards him.

Jennifer squealed in joy.

Timothy screamed in fear.

Pippin felt a tiny pinprick between his shoulder blades, he thought nothing of it and returned to chasing Jennifer with glee.

* * *

When Timothy regained consciousness he was in some sort of warm musky yellow forest. He promptly passed out again.

* * *

When Timothy regained consciousness again, he struggled to comprehend where he was, until he saw the pink clothed giant human girl above him. Terrified he started to run. He kept running until he was falling. He’d run right off the edge of the warm musky yellow forest that he’d now registered was in fact a dog.

* * *

When Timothy regained consciousness again, he thanked the universe that he’d been born an elf giving him a nearly indestructible body.

It was a long and slow trek from the human domain to his magically protected part of the bush lands. On the way he recounted tale to every fairy and elf he came across. He Vowed never to stray that close to humans again.

* * *

Flash Fiction: Burned, a 250-word short story

His blood called to my blood like a magnetic current. No matter how much I tried to fight, I couldn’t escape his pull. My body moved towards him without my permission. My chest felt tight and my heart raced as if trying to explode out of my chest.

I stood in front of him shacking slightly as he surveyed my nightdress with his shining golden eyes.

He was a strong and powerful delantie, blessed with earthly powers far superior to any other being in existence and still young at 240 years. I was an ordinary 24-year-old human female.

He gave me a look that was dark and deep with desire and I knew the pure bliss that was to follow. But I wasn’t going to make it out of the night’s visit unscathed, I never did.

The more we were together, the more I burned for him when we were apart. I was terrified of the consequences of our union, a union I’d only ever known to end in death, usually for the human when their body was shredded by the earth power realised by the delantie in the heat of the moment.

I woke up the next morning, naked and alone, feeling even more hollow then the time before. But I had made it through. I knew that the burning need to be with him would begin building again. I knew that he would appear again and so the cycle would continue until he had burned me up completely.

What happened here?

There is a wooden rocking chair covered with dust.

And a mattress eaten away by time.

Discarded on the bare window sill sits an old teddy bear.

He saw it all and he still continues to see.

Love, illness and pain.

Death, dust and gloom.

She used to throw him into the air, then hug him and spin him around.

Now her fragile little body is buried six feet underground.

Thirty years on and you can still feel the haze of immense pain in the air.

That is why they lock the door and try to forget what happened here.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was trying to work out what to post today. Whether to write a piece to enter this week’s Friday Fictioneers or whether to share a little bit more of my work in progress Discovering Home.

While I was staring at my desk calendar debating which to do, the image of a dusty old rocking chair came to mind. I wrote down whatever flowed and then tidied it up to be 100 words only.

It’s a little sad and dark. I guess the ominous way I’ve been feeling lately has worked its way into every part of my brain.

Prologue: Discovering Home

So my attempt at NaNoWriMo 2015 was a bit on the Go Slow. Life got in the way. But I intend to finish the story I started.  So far I’m calling it, Discovering Home, but that’s its working title and may change.

The longest continuous piece I had written before NANoWriMo was only 1200 words and I beat that on my first NaNo day with 1696 words. But I hadn’t actually expected to hit the 50,000-word mark on my first attempt. I feel like I’m ok with beginning and ends, but struggle with the middles. It’s probably why I love writing the Friday Fictioneers 100 word stories, there isn’t room for middle fluff. Next year I will definitely try to plan for my book, rather then just seeing what happens like this year.

I decided to get myself motivated again I’d share a little bit of my work in progress.

Disco Home CollageBlurb (thus far): Joe is a young woman trying to decipher the secrets of her family history after her grandmother mysteriously disappears.

A fictional story about family with a romantic (maybe) and paranormal (definitely) twist.

* * *   Prologue   * * *

My Grandmother’s house only had two bedrooms, but those two bed rooms held a lot of secrets. So many secrets that I believe that still don’t know them all. But I’m getting there. For the past six months I’ve been reading through my grandmother’s diaries. She wrote in a diary every day. There is a half-finished entry from the day she disappeared. It reads “the trees are quiet and look still, but I can feel something moving, hiding in their branches. I think it’s about time I told Josephine about th…” and that’s where it finishes.

Finding the diary open and my Grammy Mac missing has prompted me to sift through her private diaries. A part of me keeps expecting her to walk into the bedroom and scold me like when I was five and caught going through her things. But she never does. And the longer she’s gone, the more I wish she would.

I always thought my grandmother and I were close, she practically raised me. But in reading her Diaries I realise there was so much more to her. So much more I wish she had shared. My dad went AWOL when he found out my mother was pregnant with me and my mother chose the voices in her head over me the day she drove of off the Newton Street jetty.

My grandmother was born Martha Josephine Fionnula Mac a’Bhaird, yeah it’s a mouthful. She was born in 1938 in Glasgow, Scotland. But grew up in the small town a Cranford away up in the snowy mountains of New South wales, Australia. She was raised by three aunts, they brought her over from Scotland when she was only seven years old. I’d never heard her speak of her mother or father. I wished I’d asked more, but I always felt uncomfortable bringing it up.

I am lost. I am struggling without her here. Even with the age difference between us she was always my best friend. I stare out of her window and glare at those trees. Oh how I wish they could tell me something, anything, about where my Grammy has gone.

Today is the 25th of December 2005, Christmas Day and it’s my 18th birthday. Six months Grammy’s been gone. Six months since I’ve slept or eaten properly. Endless reading of yellowed pages and elegant handwritten script. I can’t even remember the last time I left the house or showered. I don’t smell too bad, so I’m guessing it’s only a few days. I know this isn’t how she’d want me to live.

I’ve made the decision to move all the furniture and Grammy’s personal items into a storage unit. I intend on selling Grammy’s house. My boss at the local newsagents was really kind and understanding, it took her two months of me not showing up to work to fire me. There really isn’t anything left for me here.

I can’t really explain how I feel; I know it’s not natural. I understand grief and depression, but this is something more, it’s like I can’t physically do anything but obsessively read through the diary’s. Sometimes I think I can feel a presence in the trees, but then I realise I haven’t slept for thirty plus hours and I am just sleep deprived.

© Sarah Fairbairn

At Peace: Friday Fictioneers 100 Word Story Challenge

She felt at peace as she stood on the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean.

The Sorceress had foretold the outcome of this day 90 years ago when she was a mere 15.

She’d had a good life with her human family, a full and happy life.

She felt a tightness in her chest as she stumbled forwards and fell.

Her heart spluttered and seized as she spiralled down through the air.

All the pain disappeared the moment she hit the water and her consciousness faded.

Verna the mermaid had gone home, to her final resting place at sea.

* * *

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Fields where writers around the world create 100 word stories inspired by the one image.

This week’s PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

For more information, CLICK HERE to see Rochelle’s website

Or CLICK HERE to view the other Friday Fictioneers stories for this week.