Content Warning: Contains violence and coarse language.
Unknown
1. Resistance: A Clean Kill
“Shhhsh, quiet down and grab that corner, hurry up and wrap the damned thing up in the rug.”
“Oh Christ, it smells like death, can’t we just leave it and go home?”
“Are you out of your fucking mind, if they find it those bastards will hunt us down like dogs? They’ll pick up our scent on that maggot-infested corpse and send a seismic ripple through the hive mind. There will be nowhere to hide, every god damned one of them will catch a whiff of you even if you are on the other side of the planet.”
“The last thing we need to do now is draw attention, especially when we are so close to closing the wormhole – now dispatch with the insipid bullshit and grab a corner!”
Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Thursday, 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.
The image for February 23rd, 2023 is one of my own images. It is a black and white image of an open milkweed pod, its seed having already been expelled into the wind.
Greg Glazebrook @ GMGPhotography
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.
Earth had been aware that the Accarians were coming for decades. Voyager 3’s propulsion system had catapulted it far beyond the limits of our solar system before transmitting one final message.
Following the height of the initial hysteria, humankind spent most of its time and effort squabbling amongst ourselves instead of building our defenses. I denied the message and the science that brought it to us outright but as I watch the portal form out back all I can do is grab for my AR15… and pray.
Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Thursday, 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.
The image for February 16th, 2023 is a tree and shed illuminated in a field as the last glow of sunset falls in the distance. Above the tree is a halo-like circle set against a star-filled sky with bramble and city lights silhouetted across the horizon.
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.
“What’s in that bubble floating on the wind, Daddy?”
“It contains the entirety of a life within; everything it was, everything it is, and everything it will become.”
The tick of the clock only moves in one direction from our insignificant perspective but that is not proof of times linearity; spacetime just ‘IS’. Everything has already happened, no beginning, no end, no entrance or exit from the trajectory set upon us. Perhaps by God or chance, I won’t postulate on the how or why beyond accepting that everything is relative.
It seems pointless to fret, if the path our lives will follow has already been settled I’m certain none of us know the outcome and in that sense, the risks we take are real, the love and tears and laughter genuine, and the direction we choose to go remains ours to determine.
Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Thursday, 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.
The image for February 9th, 2023 is the black and white portrait of a woman in profile (looking left), taken from the shoulders up. The image has been digitally enhanced to create a bird’s nest-like pencil stroke effect.
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.
I was the reasonable one, Dave thought sitting in the lot. The one who ensured contracts were in order and deadlines were met. I quit the tennis club, cycling, stopped seeing friends, giving everything to the job and this company. Peter, my old boss knew I was the glue that held it together before he retired but the new punk was blind. Always with the chide remarks about my gray hair and bathroom breaks. Always nitpicking my work, complaining about how formal I wrote or whining to colleagues about me returning from lunch a couple minutes late. Of course, never to my face or ever once acknowledging that I arrived early and stayed late, other than to suggest that if I wasn’t such a dinosaur I wouldn’t need to be here.
Then there is Bob. How many times do I have to complain about his hygiene? The guy hadn’t seen the inside of a shower in months and the stains on the same pair of pants he’d worn for weeks could have passed as a god-damned biohazard. To compound the matter, Sally was compensating by wearing a bottle of perfume every fucking day and twat-boss was on her case, not the real problem! We all have to work in this shithole, but it was hard when the haze of rose-scented Bobshit was permeating your brain! Something had to change!
Unknown
Sally observed Dave as he exits his car. It wasn’t like him to be late. He was talking to himself as he fretted, appearing agitated as he paced back and forth several times before opening the trunk. She continued to watch as he donned a heavy-looking vest she’d never seen before. He fumbled about in the trunk and with his belt for several minutes, but she couldn’t make out what he was doing.
His intention becoming clearer as he pulled the mask from atop his grey-fringed dome and headed towards the side door. Gasping, her hand instinctually shot to her mouth when she could make out what he was carrying. Realizing a reckoning of sorts was upon them she ducked into the washroom and locked the door. She was careful not to move or even breathe too loudly as she waited for the commotion outside the door to stop.
Lilith watched through the window as the woman rummaged through some old trinkets.
Charlton loved Inez. Plus, for a time she could bridle his deviant urges. Still, the demons slowly consumed him and they drifted apart.
Inez plucked the ring from its tiny box and a black cloud filled the room. Lilith grinned, her beastly servant becoming visibly agitated at its presence. She was right, Inez held the key to his soul.
Serena could feel her heart pounding and muscles tightening in the moments before the sedative took effect. Terrified to find herself in the one situation she had dreaded her entire life, where the lines begin to blurin between actuality and perception.
She struggled to push the harrowing shadow that hovered in the haze above her away but her lifeless limbs lay like dead weights at her sides. Not wholly unconscious but just beyond reality’s grasp, and left retreating into the darkest horrors churning in the recesses of her mind.
As consciousness crept back in and blinding light filtered through her eyelids signalling that she was somewhere else – was this the end?
She flung away warm blankets and struggled to lift herself against the push of the nurse’s thrust, “Everything is ok Serena, you are in recovery and the Doctor will be around to see you later but for the time being you need to rest.”
Greg's Blog 