Like an apparition a deserted tea house appeared. I approached, the door swung open and there stood a short man with a benign face and goat like legs in trousers.
“It’s a blizzard; I can’t find my way back to the snow lodge.”
“Come in, I’m Melvin and I am happy I have another soul staying.” he said.
The log fire melted the icicles on my cheeks as I sipped a needed hot cup of tea.
“Where are the others?” I asked as I put the sulfur smelling tea down.
“They’re here, no one leaves,” he said amusingly. (98 words)
Each week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple hosts Friday Fictioneers where we’re challenged to write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words, more or less, based on the picture above.
read other friday fiction or post your own story.
Veronica, raven haired butte in latex aerobic gear, had bought concert tickets for tonight and hinted at a surprise for me. Tonight’s concert was an opportunity to get close to a celebrity and sell my dream. My dream, to market my designer potty, a replica of Henry VIII potty throne and I needed endorsement. Then I’ll earn money to escape the Iron Maid aka Veronica.
Living with a wrestler used to be fun, come home and be tackled to the bedroom. Disagreements were resolved with an arm wrestle. This later evolved to my face pinned down, choking on carpet fibers, limbs contorted to cause excruciating pain until I conceded. I never win.Now my body was singing anticipating tonight.and my subsequent freedom.
** *** ** ***
“Give me your mobile we’ll take a selfie outside the concert hall,” she pulls out my phone; she snaps a few shots and views them while I eye for a dubious security guard to grease his palm.
“You guessed, we’re in tune,” she bursts out.
“The baby throne.” she points at my mobile screen,”For our baby. I knew you be as thrilled as me. I love it, thank you.” She always wins.
Henry VIII throne, Dover Castle UK
Thank you to Al Forbes for our photo prompt this week and for hosting, Sunday Photo Fiction. He gives us a photo prompt and approximately 200 words with which we write our story with. It’s fun and addicting and everyone is invited to participate.
” I am tellin’ you, I’m right handed and I ALWAYS place the brush on my right. In the morning, I find the brush on the left side of the vanity and that is not all-”
“The confused brush can easily be explained”
“No one is allowed in my ensuite!”
“Dolores our session is almost over. Before I see you again I want you to continue your nightly routine but when you finish brushing your hair I want you to take the brush out of the room. Will you do that? Let’s build a bridge over your bathroom superstitions and focus on the root of your problems.”
“I’ll try, Doctor.”
That night in her ensuite standing in front of the sparse bathroom’s mirror, Dolores into her hundred-stroke brush routine is abruptly interrupted by a cadaverous hand manhandling the brush out of her grip and returning to its side. She instinctively reaches out to get her belonging. She is blocked by the sentry mirror. Standing motionless, mouth agape, brain lagging, she watches her reflection continue the count brush with its left hand.
It was her wearing the same cotton nightgown peeking out of a pink velvety Mother’s Day robe. She tilts her head left then right to view every angle of the mirrored doppelganger. It was her mien but distorted, instead of soft brown eyes it had pin pupils bulging eyes as on acid, combing strangled hair instead of her honey combed swirls. Unlike her bird of prey features, the furrow lines, cross knitted eyebrows slanting downwards gave her the impression of a predator bird. Complete with an intense fearlessness that she had never known.
Her amazement and dismay slowly usurped by vice gripped gut crunching horror when the brush turned into a razor-edged chef’s knife on the count of one hundred. Grinning her anti-self-slits its throat from ear to ear.
With nervous slender fingers, she cradles her stomach her other hand shakily opens the vanity drawer and takes out her diazepam (Valium). She takes too many but this was not normal- her brush was gone.
One Week Later
Read more Sunday Photo Fiction
“We have arrived. The sign overhead reads ‘ The Waterfront’ and has the same bearings as the ones entered on the GPS. Still let’s proceed with caution.” said She.
The Maître d greeted and asked ‘Table for two?”
“Yes, we have been told to ask for the special menu” said He.
The Maître d spasmodically twitches and in silence directs them to the side. For an interminable minute they waited while he made sure they were unobserved. He drew open damask drapes from behind him to reveal a doorway leading to the restaurant’s private subterranean level.
Each step down, the temperature sweltered, their ears filled with discordant buzzing and fetid odours undulated to their nostrils. At the bottom they were in a cavernous hall of diners in a tropical vivarium.
He and She tore off their humanoid flesh as taking off a heavy coat and draped it over their chairs. They were seated next to a family of big boned reptiles hoovering slug and cockroach bisque.
“Who says the Earth colony doesn’t serve civilised fast food.” buzzed She.
Read more Sunday Photo Fiction.
The first time I met my Godfather, I was drained travelling across continent to a designated spot in no-where-ville. So I didn’t believe my senses when his ’50’s Cadillac materialised. Greetings, hugs, he drove me to a building with an overhead sign reading ‘Aquarium’.
Inside, I guess being a weekday and nearing closing time the chamber was empty. He directed me to stand in front of the ceiling to floor tank. Then it happened. The tropical fish moved in a patterned formation as looking into a kaleidoscope. Like did my reality slip into dreamin’? I looked at my Godfather and saw his spindly fingers moving in circles, waves, somersaults. I looked at the tank and looked at his fingers; in disbelief I did it again just to be sure. OMG, it was him!
He orchestrated the fish to form HAPPY BIRTHDAY:).
‘Sick’ he thought it was my birthday, I wished it was.
Check out other stories at Flash fiction for aspiring writers
Under the eternal ceiling of shimmering starlight and on the precipice of the nebulous, the newlyweds Nerofuto and Ishtara stare into each other’s flaming eyes and exchange gifts. He gave her the moon ring pendant of radiance and she heirloom cuff links of togetherness.
He swirled her around, she raised her hair and awaited him to clasp the necklace. The cuff links palmed in his hand and as he curled it to maneuver the attachment, their sharp points spiked him. He unclenched his hand but his reflexes weren’t quick to catch the falling cuff links as they rebounded off the precipice. The Titans watched mortified as the cuff links fell and splashed into a diminutive blue planet.
“Gather round everyone this erected feature is what the locals call ‘God’s Gift’. Nobody knows the anchors origin. The metal can’t be found on Earth and scientific testing show it predates existence. The anchors radiate under the moon’s watchful eye..-An enigma.
Folklore says couples who rub the anchors do not break up. The Island boasts of a zero divorce rate.”
The honeymooners and couples of the tour group rub the anchors before moving on.
“What remains to be packed away, the Lego- ice cream van and Skeletor. “
“Look at how they are positioned it looks as if Skeletor the apex of villains is ordering ice cream for two.”
“I wonder if he is ordering for Mrs. Skeletor or is she getting some R & R in the secret lair and it’s his time with Junior.”
“Ice cream is good for their bones. It staves off osteoporosis. Three servings a day and warring with He-Man keeps his bones lubricated.”
“Now that we know his vulnerability he is not your wet your pants, tie your stomach in knots villain.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, all He-man has to do is POW him with an osteoporosis epidemic, wipes out nemesis. He-Man can hang up his sword end of show.”
“I disagree. It’s a magical realm, nobody eats anything. Do the show’s royals resemble any Royal you’ve seen? Skeletor must be made of cartilage. “
“Then why is he ordering ice-cream?”
“Maybe he’s not; maybe these pieces shouldn’t be stored but used as prompts to fire the imagination for a writing challenge.”
“Or they’re arranged to say I’ll buy you ice-cream as a thankyou for helping me pack.”
The Challenge for Sunday Photo Fiction is to write a story with approximately 200 words using the photo as a prompt. At the end there is a link to read others’ stories.
Walking through the empty rooms I want to leave nothing behind except the stench of loser. Another failure which necessitates a move to my parent’s home for refuge. Awaiting me will be “I told you so…”, never ending lectures, “better to do it this way..”and one thousand and one other critics. Then the overindulging of the ‘poor’ children”one more toy isn’t cataclysmic…” Last time it took me weeks to get them to acquiesce to “no you can’t have another plastic thinga-ma-jig.” without a long winded verbal wrestle. Why am I going there? That’s right, a roof over our heads.
These thoughts exhaust me, what is the point, I trance into futility.
A thud and a subsequent scream, their fighting breaks my trance. I take a deep breath and put on my self confidence mask to face my depression busters-they need me.
“Beeeep. ” the taxi is here; great the rain has stopped.
Jassie peers through rain droplets on the cab window and tugs my arm to show me the rainbow.
“Where to?”the cabby asks.
“Take us to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” Jassie instructs while I buckle Asia’s seat belt.
“Hmm” I smiled. A new beginning, a new rainbow…
The Sea’s fury was determined to hammer the boat down into its depth. Meiko’s parents were busy bailing the water out to notice Meiko talking over the side.
“You wished to be a mermaid, not drown in the storm, I have been sent by the Sea Spirit to help you.”
Meiko catching glimpses of an iridescent tail said ” Will you promise to stay with me, I am frightened.”
“Trust me. We can travel the World to view untold of beauty. You will never have to work with your parents again. School with others, like us, in pristine waters down in the warm South where we are plenty.”
Meiko smiled her acceptance and with a heave ho of a wave she was enveloped into the water.
Suddenly the waves dissipated, the clouds fleeted away to let the golden rays complete a postcard picture of calm sea.
Through teary vision Meiko with her fish tail and a dolphin by her side were spotted flipping in and out of the ocean heading South.
The Sea Spirit’s demand for balance have been appeased.
Overfishing – Global Crisis.
Freak Sea Storm Claims Little Girl.