Tag Archives: #microfiction

Maybe…

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Image: Unknown

Maybe…

When Ida discovered that she could hear the voices of the dead speaking to her when she tuned into a certain radio station, she decided to change the station.

Well maybe not right away but as she sat in the courtroom listening to the Crown Attorney describe the trail of death and destruction she’d left in her wake it became evident.

“Forty-one injured and 17 dead in all Your Honour. Several were shot where they stood, and others were stabbed waiting for the bus or standing in line at the gas bar convenience. Three more were taken when the accused set that same gas bar alight. All blown to bits in the ensuing explosion including one poor soul whose legs were found sheared off just below the knees, still standing in front of the toilet where he’d been peacefully relieving himself.”

Was this ever going to end she thought but the anger in his voice kept rising as he continued, “Still more, run down in the street by the rust-coloured pickup truck she’d stolen from her ex, a.k.a. victim one. Mostly unaware of their fate as they went about their daily business and she’d have us all believe it was voices…” he paused momentarily before speaking again with greater emphasis. “VOICES OF THE DEAD – that made her do it.”

“Do you have anything to say to this court Ida?” the Judge asked.

Her own barrister counselled her to remain silent but how could she not say something. The families needed an explanation, closure.

“Well, your honour, maybe –” a quiver present in her voice. “Maybe I should have changed the station sooner.”

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Glass Slipper

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Tim Rebkavets via Unsplash

Glass Slipper

“…and on the left is Berg Eltz,” the guide delivers the canned script from rote. His German-accented English spills from the tour bus speakers as he navigates the narrow Elzbach River valley road. “The castle has been owned by the same family for over eight hundred yea…”

Elise’s mind wanders until the even temperament of his voice only fills the background spaces in her head.

Why did she want to see castles, Prince Charming was never coming. Hell at this point the evil Prince would do. She imagined being locked in the highest turret. A plaything to be ravished beneath the full moon, her hungry bones left to wait for the next time. Her mother insisted girls like them were destined for more mundane fates with men who were far less interesting. Men like her Dad who worked his fingers to the bone, sweating blood and tears just to survive.

Unknown

The bus stopped at the end of the long stone walkway leading to the entrance of Eltz. For the next two hours, the historic castle would be her playground. Her travel companions opted for the guided tour while Elise chose to walk the halls and grounds alone. ‘Bleiben Sie hinter der Linie’, ignoring the signs she sat on the edge of the Prince’s bed. A moment later she swung her feet up and lay back. The room was much smaller than she expected but it didn’t matter. She watched the door, expecting him to walk through at any moment, no one came.

As the stopover came to an end she thought of her own smaller castle back in Omaha. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. The thought of removing her glass slippers felt liberating. Pulling them from her feet she set them on the stone wall and walked barefoot onto the bus.

At the next stop Elise sat for a moment, not sure if this was scheduled or if the bus had broken down. As she looked out over the scenic countryside, she caught movement in her periphery. Turning her head and setting her eyes on a tall, dark and extremely handsome man. He was heading right toward her while he motioned with his hands.

Unknown

“Excuse me, excuse me… I think you left these at Berg Eltz.”

She nodded.

“I need to be certain,” he said as he dropped to one knee.

She raised her leg to meet his hand and he slid the slipper onto her foot…

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Four Line Fiction (2326)

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Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Tuesday, at 9:00am Eastern Time (Canada/United States) I will post an image I have captured myself, featured from another blog or plucked from one of the Interweb’s many royalty-free image sites. You as the writer are to use that image as a point of inspiration to craft a masterpiece of fiction in four lines.

HP Koch via Unsplash

This week’s image depicts a grey and white cat with a tinge of orange fur on its head sitting on an old bicycle rim and tire. The cat is camouflaged against a grey and white three-panel, rust-speckled background. The background panel at the right of the image is clearly marked with a left-hand print.

Be creative and have fun. I look forward to reading the tales you spin. Don’t forget to show your fellow bloggers some love -❤️- take some time to read, like, and comment on their masterpieces.

Click here for full rules and guidelines

Solstice

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Solstice

Spring, summer, winter, fall, rainy or dry, the seasons are born of a celestial love story.

Theia, travelling cold and alone through Sol’s domain. Oblivious to a fate inexorably tied to the maiden planet set within its path. Drawn towards the fiery sphere’s beauty, racing towards the edge of her influence not realizing he had moved beyond the point of no return. Her gravity pulling him deeper into her well, towards a climax that will devour him and knock her off kilter.

The impact tilted her axis and gave rise to Earth’s seasons. The debris from their joining spilled into the night sky. The seeds of a new life filled the space around her. Coalescing over millennia to birth a child from nothing more than a chance meeting. Their child, forever in lockstep with its mother, gentling shaping and reshaping her shorelines as it circles her.

Theia may no longer roam through Sol’s domain but his legacy lives on in the night sky. Its DNA is embedded in the Earth and the Moon, marking the months as Earth continues her journey around the Sun.

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Four Line Fiction (2325)

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Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Tuesday, at 9:00am Eastern Time (Canada/United States) I will post an image I have captured myself, featured from another blog or plucked from one of the Interweb’s many royalty-free image sites. You as the writer are to use that image as a point of inspiration to craft a masterpiece of fiction in four lines.

This week’s image depicts three-quarters of an antique typewriter cropped along the right edge of the image. The aerial point of view shows the typewriter sitting on a darkly stained rustic wood table, its boards filling the entire background of the picture.

Patrick Fore via Unsplash

Be creative and have fun. I look forward to reading the tales you spin. Don’t forget to show your fellow bloggers some love -❤️- take some time to read, like, and comment on their masterpieces.

Click here for full rules and guidelines

I Didn’t Do It

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Image: Unknown | Graphic Design: Greg Glazebrook @ GMGCreative.

I Didn’t Do It

It had been a long night. The club manager demanded she stay, a plaything for some VIP clients who were looking for more than drinks and dances. Saying “No” was never an option, at least she’d earn some extra cash but it meant her boy would be alone. The sitter couldn’t stay any later, she had to get to her own job in the morning. Hopefully, he’d sleep in and not notice she was missing.

Tired, sore and feeling dirty and used she pushed on the small door that swung inwards revealing the tenement flat she called home. Exhausted, she stepped inside and as she approached him, fear flashed in his eyes. He dropped the gun on the sofa and told her he didn’t do it.

Strewn across the milk crate coffee table and old worn couch she’d salvaged from the dumpster out back lay her old photo albums. The pages were torn and set adrift in a sea of unwashed dishes, an overflowing ashtray, and other shit. Every picture had been removed and hot-glued to the furniture and walls of their one-room prison. Surreal, the scene played like a 3D movie around her. Their tiny life illuminated in the orange and yellow glow of sunrise streaming in bands through the bars of the apartments only window.

“I know,” she said. How could she be angry with him, it wasn’t his fault. Her knees buckled as a wave of guilt and shame crashed into her, taking her breath and making it difficult to draw another. She wrapped her arms around her seven-year-old miracle and began to sob.

He squeezed back and said, “It’s going to be okay Mommy. Please don’t cry.”

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Dad’s Lessons

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Unknown / Post-processing by Greg Glazebrook @ GMGCreative

Dad’s Lessons

The summer of ’63. Jinny and I talk about running off in that old Sharknose Ford. God knows what we’d have gotten up to in the flatbed. Me, a sixteen-year-old life support system for a boner and Jinny completely smitten. Nothing good could have come from two teenagers high on the hormones of youth.

“Patience,” he’d say gripping the keys in his dirt-stained hands. “You’ll be the driver someday.”

God knows where we’d be if he’d let us run wild. Dad’s gone but Jinny and me still look something spectacular sitting in the front seat of that old truck.

Unknown / Composite image created by Greg Glazebrook @ GMGCreative
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Four Line Fiction (2324)

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Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Tuesday, at 9:00am Eastern Time (Canada/United States) I will post an image I have captured myself, featured from another blog or plucked from one of the Interweb’s many royalty-free image sites. You as the writer are to use that image as a point of inspiration to craft a masterpiece of fiction in four lines.

I posted this image last week and got no responses however it such a great image I thought I’d try again this is week…

This week’s monochromatic image depicts a man busking on a subway station platform as a couple of people wait for their train. In the background, a train crossed through the image in a blur of motion.

Florian Schneider via Unsplash

Be creative and have fun. I look forward to reading the tales you spin. Don’t forget to show your fellow bloggers some love -❤️- take some time to read, like, and comment on their masterpieces.

Click here for full rules and guidelines

What Are the Chances?

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0fjd125gk87 via Pixabay

What Are the Chances?

“Turn off the transporter beam Umek, and put this thing in cloak mode,” Temu said while shielding its six eyes and looking away from the lonely soul standing on the side of an old Earth road.

“What don’t you think he can see you?” Umek shot back, “You are a humongous moron.”

 “Whatever, just get us the hell out of here!”

“Awwww, come on, he looks like he needs a lift and we could use some company. Besides, if he turns out to be a dick we can just drop him off at the next galaxy.”

“Are you nuts, we ain’t no bleepin’ Galactic Uber service. Did you not read the sign we passed about a parsec back?”

“What are the chances…”

“…that he’s a bloody axe murderer! I’d rather not find out.” Temu interrupted.

After a brief pause, Umek continued, “…where is your sense of adventure, aren’t you getting sick of being trapped in this tin can with me yet?”

“You have no idea…”

Credits and Additional Information

Four Line Fiction (2323)

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Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Tuesday, at 9:00am Eastern Time (Canada/United States) I will post an image I have captured myself, featured from another blog or plucked from one of the Interweb’s many royalty-free image sites. You as the writer are to use that image as a point of inspiration to craft a masterpiece of fiction in four lines.

This week’s monochromatic image depicts a man busking on a subway station platform as a couple of people wait for their train. In the background, a train crossed through the image in a blur of motion.

Florian Schneider via Unsplash

Be creative and have fun. I look forward to reading the tales you spin. Don’t forget to show your fellow bloggers some love -❤️- take some time to read, like, and comment on their masterpieces.

Click here for full rules and guidelines