Zahra leaned towards the mirror, dabbing eye cream around her eyes hoping to see those dreaded fine lines vanish. She turned her face in the dim light, trying to catch a glimpse of the smooth-faced beauty that once won her pageant titles.
Her husband appeared behind her reflection. “Still as beautiful as ever!”
She smiled softly. She never noticed just how grey his hair had become. Were those wrinkles on his face from years of laughter, or from sadness? Guilt pinched her heart.
She took his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his eager lips.
The image made me think of a flower that has lost its bloom, and that led to thoughts of ageing beauties. Zahra, in arabic, means flower.
This story was in part inspired by a poem I once read about an ageing couple, (the title and poet eludes me, sorry). The husband looked at the lines on his wife’s face and found beauty in them, because they were borne from the history of their lives together.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by, Rochelle Wiesoff-Fields. The challenge is to write a full story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog to read more flash fiction from other writers.
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“What’s your favourite animal?” Clifford blew into his gloved hands and rubbed them together. He glanced at his step-daughter who skipped and hopped beside him. Each time her boots kicked up snow, she giggled. And something warm kindled inside him. He hoped she was warm enough.
“That’s easy. Unicorns.” She answered without skipping a beat.
“Unicorns? Izzy, they’re not real.” He bit his lip.
She stopped and bent to draw in the snow. “How do you know?”
“Well, I’ve never seen one.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not there.” A snowball hit him square in the face and Izzy skipped away, laughing.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by talented author and artist, Rochelle. Write a story in 100 words or less. Click the blue frog to read more flash fiction from other writers.
Thanks to Dale Rogerson for providing this week’s image prompt. Cosy and warm, despite the obvious cold weather. Personally, I hope Izzy always believes in the magic of unicorns.
Viggo awoke to the aroma of spiced tea. Smiling sleepily, he reached across the bed towards her but his hand fell on worn sheets.
He bolted upright. The boat lulled gently in the tide.
A single cup of tea sat on the counter by the sink. And a packet of his favourite cigarettes.
Lighting one he blew grey smoke around his tiny cabin. He loosed a slow sad chuckle. She was saying goodbye in the best way she knew how. Tempest, his beautiful gypsy woman of never-ending horizons was gone.
He sipped his tea. Cold from waiting too long.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by leader Rochelle. The challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less.
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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Bindi split the wood with a satisfying crack. Sarah always asked her why she did men’s work. Sarah did nothing but sit pretty. And since she had come to her homeless and in need, Bindi had come to hate her backstabbing, ungrateful ways.
“Have you seen Sarah anywhere?” Her husband Greg appeared unexpectedly. Wouldn’t you like to know? she thought.
Gazing off into the forest bordering their farm, she shrugged. “Probably ran away again.”
A smear of blood near the axe handle caught her eye.
“We ought to get a new axe. This one has seen its last.”
This serene picture of chopped wood discs, (thanks to Rochelle for this week’s image) inspired me back to thrillers. Guess where Bindi hid Sarah’s body?
Written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle where the challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less.
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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
“I feel sad.” said Afshan.
Aabid knew, but encouraged his daughter to talk, “Oh, why do you feel sad?”
He flung a piece of rubble the size of a football to the side. His arms trembled. The bombs struck in darkness. That was two weeks and three burials ago. Memories of his wife and two children clutched at his heart.
“Everything is gone. Ruined.” Such big words for a little girl, he thought sadly.
“Yes.” Grief threatened him as he was violently confronted by the ruins of his former life. “All we can do is look ahead. Start over.”
Written for Friday Fictioneers where the challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less. Hosted by leading flash fictioneer, Rochelle.
Thanks to Sandra Cook for providing this week’s photo prompt.
Things can change so quickly in life. Enjoy the present moment, and surrender to whatever it holds for you. A good attitude goes a long way. I tried to depict this in this week’s flash fiction, with Aabid surrendering to his loss and still looking ahead to whatever Life brings his way. I struggled with the title on this one.. The Aftermath was the best that came to mind…
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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
The first time their eyes met a deafening rip tore through her head
Mistaking it for her broken heart’s pieces cracking once again
She turned her gaze away, not wanting to shatter what took so long to mend
But something in his hazel eyes called to her through past lies
She dared another sideways glance a strange rising courage at the end
Pushed her into the unknown, where hopes renew and dreams begin
The second time their eyes met she did not flinch when the ripping sounded
A hazel gaze pierced through flimsy veils wrapping tight around the wounded
I read Erin Hanson’s poetry recently and was just so ultra inspired that I simply had to attempt my own. Last time I was inspired to pen rhythmic verse was in high school. So forgive me if it’s not perfect. The 100 word limit was quite challenging this time!
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by novelist and artist, Rochelle. The challenge is to write a full story in 100 words or less.
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Here is one of Erin’s poems. She is a talented young woman in her early twenties, touching hearts and moving souls since her teens with her magical prose.
PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz
Sweaty palms and a knotted stomach would not stop her. As a model she never thought she’d take off her clothes for money. But she had to eat and she had to pay the rent on her tiny apartment. All temporary until she got noticed, of course.
“Melody, are you ready?” a man with a silly french beret peeked out from behind a heavy door.
Nodding, she followed him into the whitewashed room. With a tug her robe loosened and fell to the floor. As Melody posed, serious faces peered out from behind easels. Eyes darting from model to canvas.
Hope you enjoyed this flash fiction. Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by leading lady in flash fiction, Rochelle. Write a story in 100 words or less.
Click here to read other’s flash fiction and get a different perspective of the same image. Thanks to Ted Strutz for this week’s curious image.
Click here to read other’s flash fiction and get a different perspective of the same image.
PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg
The boxes were filling up with old clothes, DVDs, CDs, books and even an old guitar. This was part of our plan to declutter. Detox. Create order out of chaos. Part of our marriage counselling ‘homework’. Create a space for love and togetherness to grow.
“Wait, not that one. Roy.” I took from his hands a green beenie, fingered the aged wool fondly.
“You haven’t used it in years, Katie. Chuck it!”
Ignoring him I placed it on the bed away from the boxes. Little did Roy know that it belonged to my late husband.
Screw cancer, I thought bitterly.
Just in case it is not widely known, “Beenie” is the term we use around here for woollen hats.
Thanks to Bjorn for the vivid photo for this week’s Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. The challenge is to write a story in 100 words or less. This has really helped me to grow as a writer making each word work for its place on the page (or screen.) I suggest you try it. And it is fun to get to know the other writers through their flash fiction.
Click here to read what other’s have written for this prompt and see the wide variety of perspectives a single image can inspire.
I have just celebrated one year on wordpress and I’m pleased that I got to spend all of it with you lot! It has been entertaining, fun and educational. Here’s to another year.
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!
PHOTO PROMPT © What’s His Name
Abdul stared at the smartphone. Cold fear gripped his heart. It seemed Karima left an audio diary on her phone. The police wouldn’t help him if they heard this.
He pressed play again, “Frankfurt. That’s where I’ll go. Simply pointed to a place on the map, blindfolded. That’s how much I don’t care anymore. Life is dreary here. My soul longs for adventure.”
His sister’s voice pulled at his heart through the mounting fear. He had to find her. Human trafficking was on the rise. Girls disappeared every week.
Karima was always reckless, but she’d never leave without saying goodbye.
Had a busy few weeks at work handling crisis after crisis, and kept me away from writing and Friday Fictioneers. But I’ve clawed my way back and I’m glad to be here this week!
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. The challenge is to write a full stroy in 100 words or less.
Read more flash ficion here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Ann Hall
“Do you believe in magic, Uncle Joe?” Little Farida asked as they strolled through an antique store.
“Black magic, maybe.” he mumbled, then pursed his lips and replied, “No, not really.”
Farida trailed her fingers on old trinkets, polished to a high sheen. Twenty years ago, his answer might have been different. The naivety of youth was magic in itself. Opportunities abounded, dreams were limitless and life never-ending. Then we grew up and traded magic for mortgages.
He watched his niece contemplate a row of coloured vases. “You know djinn live inside bottles?”
An enchanted smile lit up Farida’s face.
Sometimes when I feel jaded with the world, I wish I could go back to my teens. I’d do things differently. Take more chances for sure. The youth may be naive but in a way it is a blessing. It gives them the, admittedly blind, courage to take risks with a much bigger space to learn from mistakes. ( I hope I remember this when my daughter is a teenager!! I might take back my words!)
I added the black magic bit because in these parts of the world, the practice of and belief in it is widespread crossing different backgrounds and religions too. A black magic conference voted Botswana as having the most powerful black magic in Africa. (Weird but true.) Me, personally, I don’t give it much thought – other than in my fiction writing.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by leading author Rochelle. The challenge is to write a story with 100 words or less.
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