A Deadly Substitution

 

“Your Majesty, I beseech you…”

“It is not your place,” the king continued rewrapping tampered-with food parcels. “I’m surprised it’s you who objects.”

“I live for the court,” the jester looked at his pointy shoes mumbling, “and this may bring the end of it.”

“What was that?”

Taking a deep breath, the jester lifted his head, bells on his hat jingling. “The commoners…they will revolt.”

“Nonsense!” The king’s face reddened, softened, and then he laughed. “Ah, another of your jokes.”

The jester cringed. “No joke, Your Majesty. Substituting carob for chocolate… It may be the end of the kingdom.”

 

 

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

February 4, prompt: Substitution – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that features a substitution. *Bonus points for fairy tale elements.

#BlogBattle is a monthly writing prompt for flash fiction/short stories hosted by Rachael Ritchey.

February Prompt: Revolution 

 

Freedom of Flight

 

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. 🦋 

#BlogBattle is a monthly writing prompt for flash fiction/short stories hosted by Rachael Ritchey.

January Prompt: Blank 

 

Remembering the Moon

 

When I was little, I wanted to visit the moon.

My mother laughed. Not in that way the other mothers laughed at their kids. Their laughter sounded like chickadees or Christmas bells. And they looked at their sons and daughters, ruffling hair or kissing cheeks, as if to say, “Aren’t they cute?” My mother’s chuckling didn’t say, “Isn’t she cute?” It was a combination of dismissal and disappointment. I never knew how someone could make laughter sound so unpleasant.

My father explained the distance between the earth and the moon. He was “practical” and had no patience for dreamers. That is to say, he had no patience for me.

My grandparents said I was spoiled. Which had nothing to do with the moon, really, but they never missed a chance to say it.

My teacher smiled and told me about astronauts. Which is exactly the sort of person she was. I should have expected her to do something like that. Instead of asking more about traveling to the moon, I demanded to know why she was telling me this. Then I cried and asked if I could live with her and she got that look on her face like when she had to send someone to the principal’s office. She didn’t call on me for the rest of the year. I remember being young, wanting things I couldn’t have. I remember Ms. Haley. And I know she remembers me.

 

 

 

#BlogBattle is a monthly writing prompt for flash fiction/short stories hosted by Rachael Ritchey.

Join in. Write a story. Read the stories.

Prompt: Moon

 

Gone Fishing

 

 

“This is boring,” Caleb whined.

“It’s father-son bonding. It’s fun.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “It’s…hot.”

“Something we agree on,” Caleb mumbled. “Can we go now?”

“I’ve got the boat until two.” His father sighed. “Crap. This is boring.”

“Race?” Caleb stood, pulling off his t-shirt.

His father dove into the water. “Head start for the old man!”

She rose from the waves. Glorious and horrible. Eyes gleaming, hair spilling over her breasts.

“Dad!”

“Aw, c’mon…” He splashed Caleb.

“Get back here! Swim back…now!”

She smiled at Caleb, her mouth rows of shark teeth. “Fear. My comfort food.”

 

 

I’ve combined two prompts again this week: A 99-word flash about “comfort food” and a thriller/horror with the word “splash”. It was, um, difficult. But I do love a challenge and it was fun. 🙂

 

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing prompt for flash fiction/short stories (with a word AND genre theme) hosted by Rachael Ritchey 

Week 18 Prompt: Splash
Genre: Suspense/Thriller/Horror

and Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch which asks writers to pen a piece in 99 words (this week’s prompt: Comfort Food).

May 4, 2017 prompt: Comfort Food – In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story write about comfort food.

 

*Artwork by Diane Özdamar

The Princess and the Pen

 

“What are you doing?” Her sister swished into the room, gown brushing the floor.

Without looking up, Keira sighed. “Brea, leave me be. I’m writing.”

“Writing!” Brea gasped.

“Well! There’s not need to say it like that!”

“But…” Brea fanned herself. “That’s what crazy people do! You’ll be locked up!”

Keira tapped her pen on the desk, “Uh-huh. I’ll get on that. Now, if you please…”

“Are you even listening to me? You’re always with your nose, unpowdered by the way, inches away from a paper with scribblings on it. Why, you’ll get ink on it! Think of that! This…this…writing…” Brea waved her hand at the desk, “it’s indecent. Absolutely improper for a princess.”

“I don’t care,” Keira sulked.

Brea stood straight, accentuating her incredibly impossible height of 4 feet, 2 inches. “I’m telling Father.”

“Oh, Brea! You mustn’t!” Keira turned to see her older sister wasn’t angry but scared. “Please.” She stood up, pushing a loose hair from her face.

Keira’s eyes widened. She pointed. “You’ve got ink on your cheek now! How will you explain that?! Oh, Keira, this isn’t proper. It’s dangerous.”

“Iridescent,” Keria said.

“Pardon?”

“Iridescent,” Keira repeated. “I’m trying to think of something iridescent to put in my fairy tale.”

“But…” Brea tapped her chin. “That’s easy. I mean, honestly, have you lost your ability to think, sister? Iridescence is everywhere. There are numerous…”

“Such as?” Keira bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Well,” Brea inched closer to the desk. “Whatever the story is about, you can always add a dragon. Their scales are iridescent. Of course there are fairy wings, moonstones, mermaids’ tails, unicorns, sea serpents, and…um…” she giggled, “troll snot. Oh! Then there’s the rare…”

“No,” Keira slumped. “I’m writing a fairy tale. I need something that doesn’t actually exist.” Her sister’s eyes filled. “But thank you. I mean, those were excellent suggestions, Brea. You’re wonderful, helping me braincloud this way. You remember the fairy tales Mother read to us as children? The fantastical creatures and items in those worlds? That’s what I’m trying to remember.”

“Oh,” Brea dabbed her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Well, I seem to remember something…”

“Yes? What is it? What did it do?”

Brea shook her head, “I can’t quite place it.”

“I know,” Keira returned to her desk and plopped down. “It was like a sphere but not quite. A flying…thing. I don’t recall its purpose.”

“Yes! That’s what I’m thinking of. A sort of blobby, floating, purposeless creature. It…popped. On its own. Maybe that was its magic?”

“Popped. Yes… There was air inside, if I’m not mistaken. And it flew. Or, as you say, floated. Oh, blast it all!” Keira put her head in her hands.

Brea absentmindedly twisted her moonstone ring. She straightened her pink gown, tucked her hair into its ribbon, and turned to leave. “Well then. I’ll just tell Father you’re working on something for his grandchildren, shall I?” She smiled over her shoulder, “It’s called a ‘bubble’.”

 

 

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing prompt for flash fiction/short stories (with a word AND genre theme) hosted by Rachael Ritchey 

Join in. Write a story. Read the stories. Vote for your favorites here.

Week 4 Prompt: Iridescent
Genre: Fairy Tale

 

 

Image source

 

Thorns

 

 

“Spike!” Buffy caught a kick, flipping the vamp on its back.

Xander held up a cross and looked around. “What?! Where’s Spike?”

“You nincompoop,” Willow slapped Xander’s head, “get her the stake.”

He looked at Willow. “Um. Ow! Was that necessary?”

“Well,” Willow nodded, “I think it was.”

Buffy dodged a punch. “Could you two deal with this later? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of in a fight here.”

“Told you,” Willow murmured.

Xander grabbed the stake, gave a sideways look at Willow, and tossed it to Buffy. “Oops…”

Buffy vaulted over a nearby gravestone. “What do you mean “Oops”?”

“It sort of went in that bush,” Xander chuckled.

“Which one?”

“Sorry!”

“Huh?”

“Berry!” Willow shouted.

“You know…oomph! I can’t…bury this thing!”

“The berry bush,” Willow gestured. “Oh! Hey! Use the berries!”

Both Buffy and Xander stared at her. “What?”

“They’re blackberries!” She smiled proudly.

“Wow, Willow,” Xander rolled his eyes, “can I just say how not helpful that is. You want her to dust a vamp with fruit.”

Willow glared at Xander. “Buffy! The blackberries! Trust me!”

Buffy somersaulted over to the bushes, grabbed a handful of vines, and shrugged. “They do have thorns.” She jammed them into the vampire’s chest. He looked confused then lunged at her. “Well,” she punched him, “it was worth a try.”

“I can’t believe you two made it through sophomore year,” Willow snuck over to the blackberry bush, held up a vine, and pointed. “I meant the wooden posts. They hold up the vines.”

“Oh, right,” Buffy ran over and yanked a post from the ground, “I knew that.” She turned just as the vamp attacked, driving the splintered wood through his heart.

Willow coughed. “Ugh,” she waved her hands, “do they have to do that? They’re so…dusty.”

Buffy smiled. “Beats cleaning up goopy goodness!” She drew her eyebrows together. “That did not sound right.” They started out of the cemetery. “So, who’s up for pizza?”

Willow smiled. “Ooh, me!”

Xander stopped walking. “Do you have to ask?”

“Cool.”

 

 

#BlogBattle is a weekly writing prompt for flash fiction/short stories (with a word AND genre theme) hosted by Rachael Ritchey 

Join in. Write a story. Read the stories. Vote for your favorites here.

Week 2 Prompt: Thorn
Genre: Fan Fiction *

* This was RIDICULOUSLY difficult as I’ve never written or read any fan fiction. But it’s fun to step out of one’s comfort zone every so often.

 

Summer’s Song

 

 

She ran barefoot in the grass, hair streaming behind her in strands of moonlit ribbons.

Her mother called her inside but she wouldn’t go.

She was searching for fireflies.

 

Last year, right before her father died, he pulled her aside and asked her to listen to the crickets. Summer’s song, he called them.

They had iced tea that night in late July, the ice melting, glass beading up with droplets of water in the humid heat.

The sun cast desperate rays through tree branches, glowing orange fingers reaching out for someone to hold them. But she didn’t. And they nestled in the bushes waiting for morning.

Fireflies danced around their heads, lighting up the porch, and her father beamed with them. Nature’s nightlights, he said.

They sipped sweet tea to a chorus of insects.

She traced a line down the side of her glass, peeking through her hair at her father. Will you be here to listen to the chirping and watch the blinking bugs tomorrow? she wondered.

Her father was dying.

She was old enough to know he would be leaving soon and young enough to ask him not to go.

He had laughed. She remembered that vividly because it startled her and the sweaty, cold glass slipped from her hand.

And it felt so good to cry. For the lost sweet tea that pooled near her toes and for her father who was being forced from the world he loved with a smile on his face.

 

 

#Blogbattle is a weekly writing prompt for flash/short stories hosted by Rachael Ritchey – Join the fun every Tuesday

Read more wonderful stories and vote for your favorites here.

Week 67 Prompt: Tea
Genre: Drama

 

 

Fading

 

 

She flipped through the photo album. Empty.

She stared at it, wondering again what kind of flower decorated the cover. Her mind tried to find the word for its color then thought about the emptiness again.

Running her fingertips over the delicate petals, she closed her eyes and started humming a lullaby she used to sing to her daughter at bedtime.

Notes floated around her room and she frowned trying to recall the name of the song.

Round and round like the seasons. Cycles of summer, autumn, winter…spring.

Yes. Those flowers blossomed in the spring.

In and out and back again. In the dirt, planting seeds, watering can sprinkles the earth. Stems push through the soil, leaves grow, petals unfold.

Peach. It was peach, that hue. The cover.

Pink.

And the flower, a rose. Carnation. Daisy.

Emptiness. Pink. Flowers. Spring.

With things that are alive trying to sprout from things that look dead.

The album was closed but she knew it was empty. They took the fading photos—black and white memories she was starting to lose.

 

 

#BlogBattle is a bimonthly writing prompt for flash/short stories hosted by Rachael Ritchey 

Join in. Write a story. Read the stories. Vote for your favorites here.

Week 62 Prompt: Photograph
Genre: Drama

Guides

 

 

She’d always welcomed the voices.

Though Greta knew not to let on she was hearing people speak inside her head, she didn’t think it was a bad thing. They were her angels. Guides.

Despite her family’s worry that she would end up alone, Greta was far from it. She had friends, a job, and her books. Admittedly, she was by herself quite a bit of the time but she liked it that way. And, with her guides, she never felt lonely.

She didn’t have a boyfriend, as her brother predicted. They were teenagers when he had teased her about it. It had hurt then but it was a distant memory now, like looking back at an old friend and feeling a remote sense of pity. Greta wasn’t a pretty girl and she didn’t “grow into her looks”, as her mum used to say. But friends often described her as having a “Mona Lisa smile”.

It was the voices that formed her knowing grin. They moved with her in a steady rhythm, galloping alongside her own thoughts.

Until the day her father died.

The voices began growing urgent, aggressive. They became a stampede that trampled her mind.

 

#Blogbattle is a weekly writing prompt for flash/short stories hosted by Rachael Ritchey – Join the fun every Tuesday

Read more wonderful stories and vote for your favorites here.

Week 59 Prompt: Voice
Genre: Drama

 

This is a piece I extended from a 99 word flash I wrote in February.

 

 

Roots

 

 

She spent seven years looking for an anchor.

That’s what everyone said she needed. A partner who could ground her, keep her rational, responsible, sensible.

Keep her from herself.

She found him and attached herself to his sanity. His kindness soothed, his composure balanced. He tethered her to this world like a kite string.

Often, she thought of him when she gardened, digging her hands into the soil, marveling at thin strands stretching, reaching down to set themselves.

She daydreamed about roots reaching up. Why not? Into possibility? Into open sky where they might breathe? No, the fragile flowers grabbed earth and wrapped around and held so tightly it took great force to rip them out.

Like the plants, she lived because she was smothered.

Yes, he tethered her—and that is the only way she existed at all.

In early spring, temptation decided to push its way into her pretty life. It shone not like the soft streaks of sunlight through tree branches, but like a flashlight—its beam bright and unforgiving. It exposed her. And the delicate ribbon tying her to him morphed into a thick chain. A leash.

She wouldn’t be a dog, even a beloved one. She was a bird and needed to fly.

Wiping her palms on her jeans, she picked up dirt-caked shears, cut the cord, and walked away. Away from comfort—the home, the garden, and him.

She brushed off dust from the place where she had established respectable roots and danced to a place where her thirst for what she wasn’t supposed to want could be satiated. Because what she needed wasn’t an anchor, but an oasis.

 

 

#Blogbattle is a weekly writing prompt for flash/short stories hosted by Rachael Ritchey 

For Week 53, Rachael is celebrating one year of #blogbattle fun by having participants choose a post and re-enter it. I haven’t been participating that long and I don’t get a story in every single week, but I’ve written a few. It really lets me stretch my writing muscles. Thanks, Rachael! 

This one, from week 23, is my first flash for #blogbattle. 

View all the wonderful stories and vote for your favorite here. 

The prompt: Oasis

Genre: Drama