Flash Fiction: Lines

Silence. Water smothered their surroundings. A faint silver line separated the blue coming from the sky and the rippled liquid mirror. Sheila sighed, naked without her electronics. Her capturer refused to let her paddle, nothing to do but sit. The lack of personal space triggering anxiety. She could be on her X-box playing Mind Craft or on Snapchat showing off her new gold ankle bracelet. Instead, she suffered a slow torture. Screams would only echo. Death awaited. Her fingers fidgeted. What lies beneath the raft? Swimming monsters waiting to be fed?   

The man stopped paddling. Sheila’s heart pounded. No, it couldn’t be happening not after all her hard work.

“I’ll be good.”

Tears sprung and trickled along her cheeks. This is how it ends. Monster. He pulled a bag from between his feet and unzipped the zipper. His weight tilted the boat as he dumped the contents into nature’s bin; her laptop, mobile phone and gaming system clunked as they hit the barrier and sank.

“I warned you this would happen if you didn’t limit your screen time.”

Life over, Sheila vowed never to speak to her father again. Christmas changed her tune.

(195 Words)

 

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Yarnspinnerr for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Other stories using the prompt can be found here

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Flash Fiction: The Bench

Ice covered the bench just as it tombed Sarah’s heart. As the seasons changed her husband suffered an agonising death. Cancer. She nagged him for decades to give up the cigarettes.

“She’ll be alright, Sar, only live life once.”

Left behind she watched their young grandchildren grow alone. The once joyful backyard, home to bitter-sweet memories. The outdoor fire no longer burned.

Sarah’s granddaughter tugged at her hand and pulled her towards the door.

“I need to show you something.”

Rolling her eyes, Sarah followed Abby into the frigid air. Oh to be young again? To look at the world with wonder.

Abby ran through the snow laughing. She turned and beckoned Sarah to come closer. Not the bench, the love seat… Sarah loved the girl and couldn’t disappoint her. Abby brushed the snow off the bench seat.

“Grandpa wants you to sit and create new memories, he’ll always warm you in the snow.”

Her little granddaughter pointed to graffiti David carved into the wood; Sarah + David, an infinity symbol crossed through their names. For the first time, Sarah smiled.

 

(180 Words)

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Yinglan for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Other stories using the prompt can be found here

Flash Fiction: Ground Zero

 

Out of her dirty car window, she saw the house demolished. She waited for relief to hit her, making the world ok again. It never came. Instead, her emotions were as flat as the ground before her. Should have stayed away… no, had to make sure.

The house of horrors reduced to nothing more than several diary volumes. Would she be able to move forward? In her mind’s eye, her childhood home still stood tall. Shivers ran through her spine. Don’t go into the second bedroom. It’s location now covered in a mound of gravel. Was it enough to trap and hold the dirty spirit? Where did earthbound ghosts go when their haunting ground become ground zero? Wiped from the land of the living the medium told her. “Blow up the house and you’ll find peace. Rebuild.”

And here she was, builders preparing to rebuild. Sighing, she turned the ignition. The motor roared. No point in staying, her job done. The next tenants spook free. The car crawled along the construction site.

“Didn’t think you would get rid of me did you?”

The spirit of the local serial killer grinned at her from the back seat as they left the lot.

 

(200 Words)

 

This week’s photo prompt is provided by wildverbs for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Thanks to both. 

Flash Fiction: Thread

The spinner of fate looked at her collection of threads; completed, wrapped around their reel. Life over. Such a shame. More vibrant the life, richer in colour the thread. The blacks and grey separated into their own collection; fated to entertain the devil. It would be easier to destroy the wicked, rid their dark souls from existence but contained energy was controllable, free-roaming energy corrupted and expanded. The rainbow threads destined to be recycled and the bright upcycled.

The spinner focused on the living thread between her fingers. A strong and charismatic life, not ready to be cut short. Much potential in troubling times. Dropping her scissors, destiny prevailed. A neon green thread glowed from the box of completed lives. A knowing smile crept on the weaver’s lips as she took the illuminating twine and tied the end to the mother thread in her grasp, weaving a new life. A magnificent leader to be born in an age of chaos.       

160 Words

 

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Yarnspinnerr for Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers 

Flash Fiction: The Door

Knock, knock. Hello God are you there? No? The knob isn’t warm. Must be safe to enter. A kid peers out the window, comforting. Innocence. Although, I can’t see his eyes. Do they glow red? Can his head swing backwards? I saw that movie. Bet the walls are painted green with puke? Danger, danger. Step back down the steps before the door opens. You can check in, but never check out. Yeah, know the song but this isn’t California. Why does the door have a sinister mint coloured eye? The all-seeing eye – watching you. It knows you stole from the supermarket when you were a metre high and the things you like to do with peanut butter. Nobody knows that. God does. This is hell. The door creeps open, cracking on the hinges. No turning back. Can’t fight fate in death. A black hooded figure stands at the door with a silver sickle in hand.

“Welcome to purgatory. You really shouldn’t have smeared my doorknob with peanut butter little shit. Trick or treat.”

174 Words

Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers