Hidden Obstacle #WritePhoto

There was something behind the rock.

She hitched her bag back over her shoulder and stepped off the path. Hidden in the ferns, she had time to think. Was there another way to get to the hill? Could she wait it out? Should she confront it?

A million more questions plagued her, comforted her, kept her still in body, if not mind.

She was stuck in the safety of not moving on.

The rock was fairly small for a boulder in these parts, wasn’t it? Or was it large? She didn’t dare peek, relying on the accuracy of memory.

Fear danced with reality and the rock became a boulder, then three, then a wall. Late morning shadows stretched before her, creating shapes of all that the obstacle could be.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, another, another… On opening them, she saw the dark shape of the ferns. Felt the fear of the woman waiting in them. She stepped out from behind the stone, reached out her hand, and walked with her to the hill.

Here is my attempt at #writephoto, a weekly writing prompt for poetry/flash/short stories hosted by Sue Vincent. (So pleased Sue was feeling able to bring #writephoto back. Please do visit and write a little something.)

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Posted by Sarah Brentyn

There would be no escape.

That was it then. She’d gotten turned around somehow. Night clawed at her bare legs, ripped through her thin, cotton gown.

She’d never been afraid of the dark but, tonight, it had teeth. It chewed her psyche, swallowed her hope of leaving this place.

A spot of light caught her eye. The beam from a flashlight bobbed just beyond the gate. A hand stuck through the bars, dangling keys from its fingertips.

She ran to the light, laughing.

They’d catch her and she’d be back here but no matter. First, she’d have her revenge.

The weekly 99-word Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

January 21, prompt: Clichés – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that rephrases: “light at the end of the tunnel”.

Freedom of Flight

Posted by Sarah Brentyn

She always knew she’d be the one to die.

Ever since she was a child, butterflies landed on the chains that bound her feet as she worked.

She stood with the others before the sacrificial stone. Stained with blood and carved with butterflies, it spoke to the village of fear. Freedom caught mid-flight.

Each girl’s hand held a slip of paper.

One after another, they faced the crowd, lifted their arms. One after another they displayed their papers. Blue ovals.

She unfolded her sheet. Blank.

Today, she would be the reminder. Although they had wings, they would never fly.

The weekly 99-word Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

January 7, prompt: Butterflies & Stones – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about the contrasting prompts butterfly and stones. 🦋