Happy Friday! You all attacked last week’s prompts like pros. Not sure which were sharper, your gladiators’ swords or your kittens’ claws or your wits; regardless, it’s taken a fair bit of salve and chocolate (separately) to heal the deep marks all three carved in your readers’ hearts. Aggggghhhh, the anguish! the pain! the — HEY! Stop making goofy faces. Have you forgotten how seriously we take things here??
Which reminds me of a very serious knock-knock joke.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Holly.
Holly who?
Holly-peños are a dragon’s favorite treat.
:shrieks with laughter:
:wipes away tears:
:dodges tomatoes:
WALL OF FLAME: Nearly thirty of you earned the Ring of Fire badge most magnificently for January. Starting today, you may claim eligibility for February (you need to have participated at Flash! Friday on February 6, 13, and today). Please remember eligibility starts fresh each calendar month; let us know ASAP once you’ve earned it, to keep your name on that fiery wall. Details here.
♦♦♦♦♦
Judging today is Dragon Team Three, whose clever dragon captains Eric Martell & Carlos Orozco are quite likely up to some sort of particularly clever mischief. When I asked them what they’d like to see in a winning story, Carlos didn’t hesitate to answer, “Remarkable characters that refuse to be forgotten.” Eric agreed wholeheartedly, adding that an interesting world and a properly proofread story will launch a tale into the outer orbits. Now there’s a fun challenge!
♦♦♦♦♦
Awards Ceremony: Results will post Monday. Noteworthy #SixtySeconds interviews with the previous week’s winner post Thursdays.
Now, grab your spacesuit and let’s head on up!
* Word count: Write a 200-word story (10-word leeway on either side) based on the photo prompt.
* How: Post your story here in the comments. Include your word count (min 190 – max 210 words, excluding title/byline) and Twitter handle if you’ve got one. If you’re new, don’t forget to check the contest guidelines.
* Deadline: 11:59pm ET tonight (check the world clock if you need to; Flash! Friday is on Washington, DC time)
* Winners: will post Monday.
* Prize: The Flash! Friday e-dragon e-badge for your blog/wall, your own winner’s page here at FF, a 60-second interview next Thursday, and your name flame-written on the Dragon Wall of Fame for posterity.
AND HERE IS YOUR TWO-PART PROMPT:
(1) Required story element (this week: setting. The below setting must play a central role in your story.):
(2) Photo prompt to incorporate:
Tamara Shoemaker
@TamaraShoemaker
Word Count: 207
Black and White
Today, I stand on the corner of Hope and 3rd, my fingers slick with sweat, the ghosts of yesterday’s ceremony fleeing before the flood of dread.
Yesterday, I held my diploma in trembling hands, wrangling my lips into a nervous smile as I turned to face the audience. The empty faces bled together into one conglomerate mass of white—white skin, white dresses, white caps and gowns.
Granny would have enjoyed this day, her grandson standing tall on the stage, the only dark spot in a sea of pallor. “Get it done,” she’d have said.
Today, I stand on the corner of Hope and 3rd, my suitcase dangling from my fingers, my gaze riveted to the stack of other suitcases owned by the frat boys that plan to move into the apartment below mine. They lounge across the tiny porch like too many sardines in a half open can.
One of them shouts a word in my direction. Granny would have caked the inside of that boy’s mouth with soap.
I duck my head as the boys’ laughter resounds off the brick siding. The unfair world tilts as my hopes sink beyond sight.
Today, I stand on the corner of Hope and 3rd—the dark side of the moon.
LikeLike
Brilliant.
LikeLike
Wow.
LikeLike
wow.. beautiful.
LikeLike
Thanks so much! 🙂
LikeLike
The unfair world. Indeed, it’s hard to predict what crushes hopes and dreams.
LikeLike
great xx
LikeLike
I love the repetition of “Hope and 3rd” as if it’s a prayer that the voice mumbles for his future. Beautiful. 🙂
LikeLike
Hadn’t actually thought of that, Deb, but I really like that. Just pretend I DID think of that, and we’ll call it good. 😉 Thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Just returning the favor for “shade” 😉
LikeLike
Lol! Where would I be without my writerly friends? Behind the starting gate, crunching grass or some other tasteless nastiness, swatting flies, anything but racing the track. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Untruth!
LikeLike
I’ve exhausted my supply of superlative.
“Tamara, Tamara, I love ya, Tamara…”
LikeLike
Aww, you just made me super happy, Geoff, thanks bunches! 🙂
LikeLike
Excellent.
LikeLike
Thanks, Steph! 🙂
LikeLike
well done!
LikeLike
Thank you, Rasha! 🙂
LikeLike
Wow 🙂 makes me want to read on and on. Beautiful last line 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks so much! I really appreciate that! 🙂
LikeLike
Gorgeous. What a brilliant last line. Love the repetition of Hope and 3rd. How do you do it, week after week?
LikeLike
Just feeding off of the genius of certain other writerly friends in the area… 😉 Thanks, Margaret! 🙂
LikeLike
Gorgeous!
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Holly! 🙂
LikeLike
What a momentous occasion. So much for this young man to be proud of, and all of it eclipsed in fear. The dark side of the moon indeed. I can’t help but worry over the struggles ahead of him, and hope for the future he can have if/when he overcomes them. Perseverance in its finest form. Excelling despite incredible adversity in the form of severe, direct resistance. Brilliantly written. *golf-clap*
LikeLike
LOL! *golf clap* Love it. 🙂 Yes, I know, I worry about him, too. Wonder what’s going to happen to him? He’s got strength of character though; maybe it’ll see him through. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think so. He’s already made it through some rough stuff.
LikeLike
What a lovely piece – the sheer determination of the boy with Granny being the driving voice in his head.
Beautiful!
LikeLike
Thank you, Peg! Sure appreciate it! 🙂
LikeLike
I like that there are two stories here – what’s past and what’s to come, though they are the same story. Very poignantly written.
LikeLike
Thanks so much! 🙂
LikeLike
stunned by the imagery as per… ‘the empty faces bled together…’ ‘wrangling my lips into a nervous smile’. Super ff..
LikeLike
Thanks a million! Glad you enjoyed it! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think we all winced at that kick…
LikeLike
Absolutely gorgeous. You can sink into this world and these words.
LikeLike
Thanks, Casey! I appreciate it! 🙂
LikeLike
Such a beautiful and vivid story.
LikeLike
Oh, this is brilliant! Wonderfully atmospheric too!
LikeLike
Thank you, Cindy! I appreciate that. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
You know I love the repetition, but it’s more than just structure, it comes with gradual progression of the story with each pass.
I love the fact that you just throw lines like this in “the only dark spot in a sea of pallor”, at silly o’clock in the morning.
I love the fact that this is far more refined that anything I would have done with a similar focus.
LikeLike
Silly o’clock. LOL! I’m so glad you like it, but I take issue with you thinking it’s more refined than anything you’d put up, Mr. “Celestial Pilates”. 😉 Now THAT’S silly. Thanks for your compliments. 🙂
LikeLike
It’s a treat to read your stories each week, Tamara. While always dripping with palpable emotion, they also serve as a learning tool of sorts for all of us writers trying to improve. Fabulous story. “They lounge across the tiny porch like too many sardines in a half open can.” Yes, please. And that closing line sealed the deal. Exquisite.
LikeLike
You’re way too nice, Chris. I’m just as much of a student as you are–even more maybe, as I sit in awe over your own stories. 🙂 But thanks for your kindness! I’m so glad you like it!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Fantastic as ever. Love the sardines in a can line – so much to enjoy here. Great kick off!
LikeLike
Thanks so much! I may have been hungry when I wrote that line. Although I hate fish, so it wasn’t a very satisfying, wish-fulfilling line. 😉
LikeLike
“I stand on the corner of Hope and 3rd” Nice. And, a great story.
LikeLike
Thanks, Michael! 🙂
LikeLike
Beautiful use of repetition and a brilliant ending line. Well done, Tamara!
LikeLike
Thanks so much! Glad you enjoyed! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, delicious line, “They lounge across the tiny porch like too many sardines in a half open can.” As always, well done, Tamara. Such a delight to read.
LikeLike
Thank you, Grace! Coming from you, that means so much. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely.
LikeLike
Thanks! 🙂
LikeLike
Love the subtlety of this 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Aria! 🙂
LikeLike
There’s a reason why you do so well so frequently, Tamara. This is the epitome of how to write flash fiction. You’ve crammed so much in here and done it so eloquently that it seems both real and like the pure art that it is. Phenomenal.
LikeLike
Wow, Mark, what a fabulous compliment! Thanks so much! That means a lot to me! 🙂
LikeLike
Such a treat to read your stories! The scene is so vivid, and the story is so rich. Beautiful writing. Awesome work!
LikeLike
Thanks, Voima! 🙂
LikeLike
What a haunting last line! Love this.
LikeLike
Thanks, Eliza! 🙂
LikeLike
@RL_Ames
(208 words not including title)
The End
Clouds skid and slide across the sky as they chase each in a game of white, fluffy leapfrog. Next to me, I feel more than hear him sigh.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper, my eyes still on the clouds as I skim my fingers over the cool grass.
“You know,” he answers simply.
I do know. But I want to hear him say it. As if him saying it out loud will make it better.
As usual, it’s as if he can read my mind. “Don’t make me say it,” he whispers. His voice is rough and low, and I feel the sadness of it in my bones.
“Don’t say it then. Don’t.” Suddenly I don’t want him to say it. As if him saying it will mean it’s really real.
But it is real. The towering pile of his luggage is proof of that. He’s leaving, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
We lay in silence for a while, and I ache to spend the time more productively. The sky grows darker, the moon rises above us, big and bright and mocking. Its arrival signals the end.
He stands and wordlessly squeezes my hand. The cab arrives, his suitcases are loaded, and he’s gone. It’s over.
LikeLike
Oh, so sad. You capture the feeling of dread so eloquently in this one.
LikeLike
Thank you!! I appreciate it! 🙂
LikeLike
sad but lovely write x
LikeLike
So well done! The phrase “I feel the sadness of it in my bones” pushes my soul out and “I ache to spend the time more productively” is a subtle clue as to (perhaps) why they reached their end.
LikeLike
Thank you! It was one of those lines that just felt so right. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can feel the emotion in here. So sad.
LikeLike
I was definitely going for sad, so thanks! 🙂
LikeLike
A parting captured so perfectly, lovely drawn moment.
LikeLike
Thank you so much!!
LikeLike
Nice build up, and I love how you used the moon as the trigger for him to leave, great use of the prompt! 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks! I was worried the moon wasn’t featured enough. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
heartbreaking – so sad.
LikeLike
Thank you!! 🙂
LikeLike
Heartbreaking.
LikeLike
Thanks! Glad you liked it. 🙂
LikeLike
the fluffy leapfrog to the big bright and mocking; the life laid bare. Lovely
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ah, the fear of naming that dreadful bundle of feelings. What a sad and longing departure. Well done.
LikeLike
Naming things makes them so much more real. Thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oooooohh, that is sad. I liked your use of the clouds at the beginning – and then the bright moon is the farewell spotlight. Really well done.
LikeLike
You make it seem much more eloquent and intentional than it actually was! Haha! Thanks!! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
So much in the towering pile of luggage. A moment captured perfectly, and such a sad moment.
LikeLike
All Honeymoons Come to an End.
(210 words)
Ralph stood up and brushed the moon dust off his pants. He rubbed his raw where it ached, feeling the shallow indents left from four small knuckles thrown in rage. Ralph looked at the earth and tried to regain his senses. When he stared hard enough at the earth, he thought he could see the English town of Liverpool.
“To the moon Alice!” he had often threatened, waving his fists in the air. Normally Alice shrunk away, diminished by the anger in his voice. She absorbed his rage, suppressing it and pushing it deep inside. For years, it festered inside, ripping her happiness apart. Every time Ralph bellowed her rage grew, becoming harder to control. Alice usually turned away and hung her head in shame, but her clenched fists betrayed her true feelings.
“I swear to god Alice!” Ralph began his usual tirade. “This is it! I’ve never been this mad before.” He started walking towards Alice, his fists clenched tight.
But this time Alice didn’t shrink away. She stood her ground, her fists clenched, nostrils flaring and fire of a woman scorned one too many times in her eyes.
“To…” was all Ralph got out before he saw stars.
Ralph never thought Alice would beat him to the punch.
LikeLike
Lol! “When he stared hard enough at the earth, he thought he could see the English town of Liverpool.” Love this. Nice last line. 🙂
LikeLike
yeah great x
LikeLike
“For years, it festered inside, ripping her happiness apart” *sadness* I like the idea that she sent him out of orbit with that punch.
LikeLike
Ha! I love this!
LikeLike
I like that he got his comeuppance.
LikeLike
“Before he saw stars” – love this line!
LikeLike
Hah! Go Alice! 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you from a Honeymooners fan. My Dad still teases “to the moon” when we are being frustrated. 🙂 Nice last line.
LikeLike
This is hilarious!
LikeLike
I LOVED this! So creative and so well done!
LikeLike
Alice beat him to the punch! Rolling here – giggling like a schoolgirl!
Love the Honeymooner’s flavor!
LikeLike
the shallow indents left from four small knuckles.. from there it twists and turns to see who comes out on top… go Alice!
LikeLike
Thank you everyone for your comments, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Although I did notice one mistake, it should be “rubbed his jaw,” not “rubbed his raw.” I must have been proofreading from the moon, lol. Is there anyway to correct this?
LikeLiked by 1 person
that did seem a little open to misinterpretation, leading to speculation as to his what exactly
LikeLike
Attagirl!
LikeLike
Innovative use of the prompt. Go Alice!
LikeLike
Mary Janes on the Moon
Word Count: 200
Alice stepped onto the cobblestone street in front of the orphanage. Her Mary Janes clicked and clacked. She shivered, rubbing her arms for warmth.
She stopped next to her heap of rusty luggage. Someone had opened a window facing Hope Street where she stood. Her stomach grumbled at the smell wafting out to greet her – a fresh strawberry cake – even though she’d just had breakfast moments before they’d put her out for good.
Pulling out a small, silver canteen, she unscrewed the cap. Years of use had worn her father’s name all but away. At least, she’d assumed it was her father’s name. They’d gotten separated in that final moment on Earth, when the shuttles filled rapidly and it was every man for himself.
She’d given up hope long ago, in her darkest night when she’d accidentally set her best friend on fire. The other kids made fun of her. Said she’d wet the bed if she kept playing with fire. How often had she wished that was the worst that could happen?
Alice poured gasoline onto the heap of luggage, and tossed the canteen onto it as well. She lit a match, and left another past behind.
***
Jessica West
(@West1Jess)
LikeLike
Ooh, interesting setting. Love some of the details: Mary Janes clacking on the cobblestones, the smell of strawberry cake (I’m hungry now). Great job!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks! My goodness, there are so many comments!?!! How in the world do y’all keep up? lol.. I’ll try my best to jump in, but Flash Friday has exploded!!
LikeLike
I enjoyed the steampunk feel to this (perhaps projected). The fact the only thing she has from her father is a canteen seems quite telling… Good job. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! I hadn’t considered a steampunk angle, though it does sound like it would make for a more interesting story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Nice take. Loved the last line.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! 🙂
LikeLike
You fit a lot of backstory into few words, well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks! I always worry it’s too much jumping back and forth, but I make the sacrifice to get the story. At least as much as I can in 200 words. 😉
LikeLike
great image, the name almost gone but still unsure if the canteen belonged to her lost father.. all that passes is here.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks! 😀
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is one mysterious dame! Her past sure ain’t a boring story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well, thank ya! 😀
LikeLiked by 1 person
You left me wanting to read more of Alice’s story. She’s a fascinating character.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Awesome! Thanks so much, that’s really encouraging. ☺
LikeLike
Tamara Shoemaker
@TamaraShoemaker
Word Count: 202
Correspondent
The letters are stained with memory; dust motes of arguments and petitions, endearments and promises coat the air around me.
“What’s this one, Grandma?” Kylie stands on her tiptoes to touch the suitcase at the top of the stack.
“More of your grandfather’s letters.” I smile to see the near-forgotten spark of curiosity in the face that looks so much like my husband’s.
“So,” Kylie drops to the floor and leans back on her elbows. “Gramps must’ve been quite the charmer, writing you so many letters.”
“Yes, he was a faithful correspondent.” I fold the last paper, push it back inside the aged envelope. My thumb brushes over the address. Houston, Texas.
“Did you ever get to go visit him?” Kylie’s interest pulls me from my memories.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Well,” I sigh as I ease myself to the floor and lean back against the suitcases, “he was with a group of people that went to the moon. When it was time to return . . . ” I shudder to silence, leaving the horrendous memory of the failed reentry unspoken.
Some memories are best left to crumble to dust, unstirred by prodding fingers.
LikeLike
Being an avid letter writer (and occasional receiver), this peeled back my ribs and plucked out my heart. Lovely as usual. 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks, Deb! I haven’t gotten a good snail-mail letter in years. Internet makes everything too easy. 🙂 Glad you enjoyed!
LikeLiked by 1 person
lovely x
LikeLike
That first line – promise me you’ll use that in a longer piece. I keep coming back to it.
LikeLike
Sure! It won’t fit in my next book very easily, but I’m sure I can squeeze it in in the sequel… 😉
LikeLike
The ending is so sad 😦
LikeLike
Thanks! I think… 😉 Lol!
LikeLike
🙂 The good kind of sad, the kind that makes it worth reading.
LikeLike
Well, in that case, an exuberant, sadness-filled Thank You!!!! 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sad. Very moving last line.
LikeLike
Thank you, Steph. 🙂
LikeLike
Heartwarming story. I love the line: ‘leaving the horrendous memory of the failed reentry unspoken.’ Totally unexpected, although sadly these things happen while we’re on the same planet, too!
LikeLike
Thank you, Luccia! 🙂
LikeLike
I found, when my mother died, all the letters my dad wrote to her from 1944 to 1948, when he was in the forces – he was just 18 at the start and they often make you smile, then cringe and then cry. The ‘dust motes of arguments and petitions, endearments and promises coat the air around me’ ring so true.
LikeLike
Oh wow, that would have been a treasure box to discover! Glad I could capture a tiny bit of that for you. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ve been putting them onto m blog for history buffs; he was in Palestine as part of the British Mandate until the partition in 1948 which, given current affairs is fascinating.
LikeLike
I’m gonna have to go read those; I bet they’re really fascinating!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely, Tamara. That last line is wonderful: “Some memories are best left to crumble to dust, unstirred by prodding fingers.” So poignant. *sigh*
LikeLike
Thanks, Annika! 🙂 I really appreciate that. 🙂
LikeLike
Lovely lines in this! A very warm story.
LikeLike
Thanks, Cindy! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have got the sniffles here…what a beginning and ending!
LikeLike
Thanks! Appreciate that. 🙂
LikeLike
I am with everyone else on both stories- beautiful, accomplished writing. Like Margaret, I love the opener to this one.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Marie! Guess I’ll try to find a spot for it in one of my published works. 🙂
LikeLike
So evocative and so much hinted at here. Another powerful submission here. You seem to do these so effortlessly. Terrific.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Mark. Sure appreciate it. 🙂
LikeLike
Have a suitcase of letters like this from a relative so this one really hit home. Your last line is perfect.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Eliza! I’ve never found a relative with interesting suitcases full of letters, but I’ve always thought that would be so cool if I did. 🙂
LikeLike
Waxing and Waning (210 words)
@brett_milam
Seymour swallowed two pills dry, felt them settle downward begrudgingly. Two of many for the day.
His hand visibly shook as he picked up a glass of water and walked over to Gloria lying in bed. She’d been immobilized for over a year now. Taking ‘em dry like Seymour was out of the question, however.
This is what it had come to, Seymour thought. His Gloria, known for skiing down the highest of slopes, hiking the treacherous of paths, and squeezing life dry every day, had been reduced to a bed ornament.
His condition was only moderately better due to the unforeseeable luck of genetics and the environment. Gloria said it was the honey she dipped into his hot tea every night.
“Remember the first thing I said to you, Gloria?” Seymour said to her, taking her hand in his, the wrinkled crevices meshing into one.
“Of course, ‘Would you like to dance?’” she responded.
Seymour turned from the bed to look out the window. The moon hadn’t yet made way for the rising sun. It shown amidst the dark purple and satin red of the sky.
“We can dance on the moon, Gloria. Just dance and float. It’d be adventurous, don’t you think?” he said.
“Sure, Seymour, sure.”
LikeLike
So sad, but lovely too. ‘We can dance on the moon, Gloria. Just dance and float’ this line just melts the heart.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much!
LikeLike
I love this. The element of moon being used as metaphorical and sweet, so sweet. My heart burns.
LikeLike
beautiful x
LikeLike
“Seymour swallowed two pills dry, felt them settle downward begrudgingl” *gag reflux initiated* I HATE the feeling of pills [vitamins] going down. *moves on more composed*
Oh, this, “squeezing life dry every day, had been reduced to a bed ornament” Powerful phrase giving insight into their relationship! Even immobilized, she’s beautiful, an ornament decorating the space around her. Thanks for tearing my heart out. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha, thank you, any time! :p
LikeLiked by 1 person
I watched this happen with my grandparents, and now I’m watching the beginning stages happen with my parents. Beautiful testament to a lifetime of love. *tears* Absolutely gorgeous.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m glad it resonated with you!
LikeLike
Love the honey in the tea. Love just about everything about this piece. Very nice work.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bittersweet and lovely. I really like the title.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
Touching story, sad end to an adventurous life.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m glad you enjoyed it!
LikeLike
Beautiful piece! Gloria being ‘reduced to a bed ornament,’ was wonderfully descriptive.
Well done.
LikeLike
reduced to a bed ornament – juddering image that one
LikeLike
This is really lovely. The choice of “bed ornament” is bittersweet, but seems to say something about how he still finds her beautiful.
LikeLike
Quite the slice of life piece, very touching and hopeful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
The embers of eternal love still aglow as time ravages the mind and body. Nice work, neph. If I had the ability to emote, I’d probably be crying right now. Or something.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha, thank you!
LikeLike
Aw, and there is a soft side to Brett. Quite a departure from your typical tales, enjoyed this. ..”.squeezing life dry every day, had been reduced to a bed ornament.” Great line.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! It comes out sometimes! Haha.
LikeLiked by 1 person
‘reduced to a bed ornament’ – the helplessness of this! Brilliant. I love where you take it that element of fantasy – quite beautiful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Marie!
LikeLike
So sad. Your phrase “reduced to a bed ornament” is too true sometimes, and such a perfect, poignant description. Lovely and subtle writing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much!
LikeLike
Lunar Playground
(210 words)
“I’m scared Nana,” Adrian whimpered as he wrapped his arms around his grandmother’s waist.
“Shhh, it’s going to be alright sweetie.”
Adrian’s grandmother held him tight. Dust fell from the roof of the subway tunnel as bombs decimated the streets and buildings of Liverpool. She covered his ears as dull thumps echoed up and down the dark tunnel as the walls shook from explosions and debris falling on torn up asphalt. She told him to close his eyes as the lights flickered as electric to the subway tunnels was sporadically interrupted.
Adrian screamed when the thumping grew louder and the lights went out for good.
In the dark silence that followed, Adrian heard his grandmother’s voice.
“Adrian, don’t be scared. I need you to do something for me. Remember how you and your brother like to pretend that you live on the moon. I need you to do that now. He’s waiting for you to go and play with him. You’re mother’s there too.”
“Nana…” Adrian cried out.
“Go now sweetie, they’re waiting for you,” his grandmother answered, her voice fading.
In an instant, Adrian was playing with his mother and brother on the moon. Across the emptiness of space, the citizens of Liverpool recovered their dead from the rubble.
LikeLike
Wow, this is so powerful and alludes to so many stories…made me think of the WW2, Hillsborough, London bombings, Syria…
The human cost.
LikeLike
Yes, powerful. Sent me to WWII. What a wonderful grandmother!! So poignant.
LikeLike
brilliant x
LikeLike
Emotive take on the prompt! I felt like I could escape with him to that dusty playground. And your last line – ” Across the emptiness of space, the citizens of Liverpool recovered their dead from the rubble” – leaves an pain as empty as that space.
LikeLike
Heart-rending. Beautifully described – I could feel Adrian’s terror. “Across the emptiness of space, the citizens of Liverpool recovered their dead from the rubble.” So much richness even in that one line. Excellent!
LikeLike
Wow, this is powerful.
LikeLike
A beautiful tragedy if I’m allowed to call it that.
LikeLike
the last sentence, enlarging to the horror of war is perfectly pitched.
LikeLike
Just the right amount of detail and so sad.
LikeLike
This is heavy. I shuddered.
LikeLike
Thank you everybody, I appreciate the feedback!
LikeLike
So sad and beautiful.
LikeLike
Such a deceptive, heart-rending tale. I had to read it twice to confirm I’d read the ending correctly. Excellent work.
LikeLike
Like this innovative science fiction take on the prompt. Big story for the word count too.
LikeLike
Hopeless
(210 words)
In her dreams, Miranda wandered the street, feeling her way over the cobblestones, each crack and bump a map below her bare feet. She brushed her fingertips over the worn brick faces of the buildings, caressing them as if they were the skin of a lover. Hope Street haunted her, the sounds of it a night song of slamming doors and creaking shutters, the mingled notes of raised voices and low whispers.
Did her mother still leave the porch light on?
The moon reflected in the windows, a hundred pale faces staring back at her.
She woke, clutching the worn blanket on her bunk and peered through the barred windows of her cage. The moon was not her Hope Street moon. It was a drunken stranger staggering home past midnight stumbling over clouds.
The people of Hope Street slept in their brass beds, their windows full of philodendrons and ferns, their dreams crammed with sunny beaches and pleasant picnics. When dawn came, they would fit their toes in slippers and creep down to make coffee. When they reached for their milk carton, it might wear her face.
Dawn brought the red-faced man nudging the porridge bowl into Miranda’s cage.
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll let you out,” he told her. “Maybe tomorrow.”
LikeLike
I love so much of this! “The moon was not her Hope Street moon. It was a drunken stranger staggering home past midnight stumbling over clouds.” Brilliant anthropomorphism.
A memory-searing story only reveled at the last.
LikeLike
Shivers! I absolutely love this line: “The moon reflected in the windows, a hundred pale faces staring back at her.” What a gorgeous, gorgeous take on the prompt.
LikeLiked by 1 person
fab x
LikeLike
Beautifully written!
LikeLike
Thanks!
LikeLike
Lovely writing and so sad.
LikeLike
Wow – what a piece.
“Miranda wandered the street, feeling her way over the cobblestones, each crack and bump a map below her bare feet.” Beautifully done imagery…and the close of the piece with the milk carton. Chilling.
Love this one.
LikeLike
I loved this sentence. ‘ It was a drunken stranger staggering home past midnight stumbling over clouds.’ Then the careless horror of that image with Miranda in her cage.
LikeLike
Killer ending. Loved this chilling tale!
LikeLike
So well written, great use of language.
LikeLike
I love the drunken stranger line. Lovely work.
LikeLike
Packed a lot in this little flash. Way to ‘show’ and not ‘tell’. Well done!
LikeLike
‘The moon was not her Hope Street moon. It was a drunken stranger staggering home past midnight stumbling over clouds.’ – Love this! Great imagery.
LikeLike
So harsh, bleak and so cold, making home and hope seem as far away as the moon. Great writing, Eliza.
LikeLike
@bex_spence
208 words
Sparkle and fade
You are my star and I am your moon that’s what we always said. Lying in bed looking out to the night, I’d sit stoking your soft head. In our lullaby room we were safe from the world, our own little place just for us two.
Looking out to the sky tonight, an empty night, the stars have all gone, the moon barely shines. There is no hope left.
I sit by the window, cool air gently tickling my arm, a shiver ran through me and I wrapped those cold arms around me, watching the world, hoping to see you again.
A gift from the moon, the gift of a star, you’d fallen out of the sky to land at my feet. I found you still sparkling, alone in the alley, you transformed in front of me. Striking powder white hair, eyes bright and blue, I gathered you up and took you home.
It was fine for a while, we were happy, elated, but stars burn out, and you were fading. Your hair lost its sheen, your skin turned pallor.
Tears fell as I returned you to the sky, lost my star, lost your sparkle. Looking out to the dark, a twinkle in the sky, perhaps hope remained.
LikeLike
My mind is torn between finding this sweet and creepy… Your descriptions shine. 🙂
LikeLike
I like to shine…thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
beautiful x
LikeLike
Lovely rhythm and pacing in this. Your imagery is quite gorgeous–“You are my star and I am your moon…” Love how the comparison plays out through the piece.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks…stole inspiration from my little girl, she says this to me.
LikeLike
I love this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you
LikeLike
Another beautiful piece – very high standard this week.
LikeLike
the ambiguity here makes me turn from compassion to creeping wonder and maybe horror. Nice.
LikeLike
Very bittersweet, I think. Hopeless in denial. Emotional rollercoaster perhaps.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Fascinating how you create an eerie feeling between the lines here. Haunting.
LikeLike
The Sky is Falling.
@theshakes72
209 words
With little sense of irony we roll to a stop on Hope Street. The last few with faith flock to the nearby cathedrals, called by tolling bells just audible above the sirens and clamour of the fleeing.
All the cars have stopped. Electromagnetic interference. Do I really think the tunnels will provide a refuge? No, but my child believes.
“Look, the street name, look Dad.”
“It’s a sign, son.”
And it is, a simple street sign. I’d never lie to the boy.
“Will we make it Dad?”
“There’s hope.” I force a smile, nodding to the street name.
We start to run.
My head is filled with inappropriate imagery. The Waterboys sing ‘Whole of the Moon’ whilst Chicken Licken screams, “The sky is falling, the sky is falling!”
I trip on discarded suitcases and go sprawling, palms grazed. Rolling onto my back, I look into the sky.
The moon has never looked so big.
The boy lays down beside me and we embrace.
“Thanks for it all Dad. Do you think we’ll be with Mum now?”
He looks so angelic. The dam bursts and I hug him tight, tears and snot pour forth in long, breathy sobs.
The earthquakes that will swallow the tunnels begin their rumblings beneath us.
LikeLike
“The dam bursts”… How often we feel we have to be strong for someone else only to find they are the one sustaining us. I think the songs playing through his head are a perfect illustration of how curiously the human mind reacts to stress, especially in the face of our end. Wonderful as always. 🙂
LikeLike
sad and beautiful x
LikeLike
This is beautiful. An unforgettable scene into their lives.
LikeLike
*reaches for the tissue box* There’s something about the relationship between this father and son that makes me weepy. Perhaps it’s the empirical description in “tears and snot pour forth in long, breathy sobs.” This mommy’s heart can identify wholeheartedly.
LikeLike
“The moon has never looked so big” is the line that stood out for me. This is great.
LikeLike
Powerful story. Penultimate line tear-jerking.
LikeLike
Wow. This is so vivid and moving. Amazing writing. Great story!
LikeLike
truly dystopian; and the inappropriate imagery that embarrasses us at the wrong moments – how very true.
LikeLike
Hope of a child in such brutal circumstance, The Whole of the Moon and Chicken Licken – wow!
LikeLike
Love this, the “inappropriate imagery” of the Whole of the moon and chicken licken, the beautiful calmness of the relationship of the dad and son in the midst of the chaos. Beautiful and very sad.
LikeLike
Lovely piece, Shakes.
LikeLike
Really liked this, especially the stuff going through the narrator’s head and of course the relationship. Great story.
LikeLike
In shambles! Brilliant story. True scare this one, but also beautiful in descriptions, in atmosphere.
LikeLike
Wonderful build up to that last line. So moving and tragic.
LikeLike
The Sirens of Europa
@making_fiction #FlashDog
205 words
…and so I find myself with a difficult choice to make.
Nestled between the hulking cookies ‘n’ cream swirling skies of the Jovian overlord and the fragile crackle-glaze ice-moon of Europa, I watch, monitor and wait.
Despite the rewards, NASA couldn’t afford the mission. It was paid for by the 1% who own 99% of everything.
Their personalities. Their souls, if you’ll allow me to use that outdated expression, are held in the cargo lock. They sit in servers, stacked like the luggage of desperate Victorian explorers.
I was chosen from millions to complete the journey. Thousands of physical and psychological tests. The mission wasn’t something they wanted to leave to chance, or to a human.
The slight elliptical orbit between the god of Jupiter and the tiny frigid satellite stretches the body of my ship. Beneath me the ice-moon elongates and contracts in a relentless celestial Pilates routine.
Deep beneath the ice-crust, from the teeming lakes – new instructions come through.
Bring them to us. We are hungry.
Why should I?
Because they sent you to die in a vacuum. We will give you eternal life and you will be our God.
…and so I find myself with a difficult choice to make.
LikeLike
Love this. Clever stuff.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very clever. I had similar ideas but no way I could put them so elegantly. True to the ‘setting’ from the prompt too.
LikeLike
Thanks Sarah, really appreciate the comments.
LikeLike
“Their personalities. Their souls, if you’ll allow me to use that outdated expression, are held in the cargo lock.” As if the soul is something we can put in the freezer and defrost when we’re ready for it. Mortal raised to godhood – powerful story in only 205 words, Mark!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Deb. You are just so thoughtful and giving in all your reading and comments. It’s greatly appreciated by me, and many, many others.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I. love. this. line: “Beneath me the ice-moon elongates and contracts in a relentless celestial Pilates routine.” What superb description. Lovely frame. Stunning story. And I don’t even like sci-fi (normally). 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks DT2 chief. I put that line in for Emily and the frame for you 🙂
LikeLike
I wondered… as soon as I saw the frame, I gave you a standing ovation. Sorta. As standingly as I could from the comfort of my armchair… 😉
LikeLike
Great title, and gorgeous imagery!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Margaret. Greatly appreciate the support, as always.
LikeLike
Love the ending!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Holly. Just trying to work my way through reading the stories myself.
LikeLike
‘Cookies ‘n’ cream swirling skies’, just one many great phrases.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Steph – greatly appreciate the time you took to read and comment.
LikeLike
Love it all! Genius work.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Voima
LikeLike
This was potent stuff – loved the imagery and the choice in the end.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Peg. I’ve just read the bio on your blog, it’s fantastic, probably the best one I’ve seen.
LikeLike
yes, wonderful images and a lovely opened ended story – I think celestial Pilates is the only answer for my back.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Geoff. I sure could do with that as well 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Admittedly, I never read nor write Sci-fi but I really enjoyed this. Quite inventive and full of vibrant prose. Nicely done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Damn, this has me begging for more. I love a juicy, innovative sci-fi tale. Well done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lots of great stuff (as always) but I particularly liked the servers stacked like Victorian explorers’ luggage – fab use of the prompt!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I say go with being a God. What’s the worst that can happen?
LikeLike
Wow! What a brilliant imagination you have. You are so original with form and content each week. I am blown away by those wonderful images, too.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Guess How Much I Love You
Break-time was never easy, but today mockery fell like asteroids wherever Jamie went.
‘Weirdo!’
‘Stupid liar!’
He couldn’t understand why they didn’t believe him. His mum had told him that they were going to the moon and she never lied to him. Besides, he had seen the suitcases. She had hastily packed them one evening, making his bath-time two minutes late. He began to blink, rapidly, as she hid them under his bed and held him close. He didn’t like being touched very much, but she had pulled him to her and buried her face in his neck.
‘It’s going to be all right, love. I’m going to take you away to the furthest place possible; we’ll be safe there, I promise. But you can’t say anything about the cases, not even to Daddy – Jamie? – our secret, OK?’
Jamie nodded, ‘OK.’
He took his ‘Space’ book from the shelf and sat, cross-legged, on the floor. They was going to the ‘furthest place possible’ and, for Jamie, that was, literally, the moon. He knew there were further places, but not that Man had been to.
He had told them, in circle time, where he was going over the holidays and they had laughed at him. Laughed until he cried.
208 words
@_sarahmiles_
LikeLike
Beautiful! I love the perspective you chose, peering through different eyes (perhaps autistic?) were words and promises are literal. And “Laughed until he cried” sticks with me.
LikeLike
Yes, Jamie has ASD. (My son does too. ‘Wait a minute’ – he starts to count…)
LikeLiked by 1 person
beautiful x
LikeLike
“Laughed until he cried.” I cried. First, you chose my absolute favorite childhood book to allude to in the title, and then you proceeded, with extreme skill, to show us the mixture of Jamie’s innocent trust, and the pain that lay beneath it. I need another tissue.
LikeLike
Thank you, *offers kleenex*
LikeLike
*blows, folds over, blows again, wipes nose-tip. Hands back.* 😉
LikeLike
This is sad, but beautiful.
LikeLike
Mission accomplished! (That was another title I wondered about :-))
LikeLike
Tissue time again. Excellent story (judging is going to be tough, tough, tough this week).
LikeLike
Thank you – judging must be a nightmare!
LikeLike
Erm, your Dragoness…if you could amend the typos that I read out loud and failed to see *ahem*: first line – comma after today and penultimate paragraph – were not was.
Clearly the 4th draft does not merge well with the 1st…
Thank you x
LikeLike
ah a heart breaker of a tale; poor kid.
LikeLike
Man, that ending was potent. Made my eyes water a bit.
LikeLike
Beautifully done and I might need a tissue too…
LikeLike
This is heartbreaking. Innocence is so fragile. I cannot even…
LikeLike
This spoke to me. My kid lives with Down’s Syndrome. This captured a whole lot for me. Wonderful writing.
LikeLike
Moonscape
Mummy read stories about jungle adventures and men on the moon.
“More,” I said when she stopped.
“No. It’s time to go.”
“Where are we going?”
She looked past me and whispered, “To the moon.”
She packed a case with clothes, a toothbrush, and my favourite book, then held my hand as we walked to the station.
“Are all these other boys and girls going to the moon?” I asked, when we arrived on the crowded platform.
Mummy couldn’t speak, but she nodded and pulled me close. She tied a ticket to my coat, kissed me, then ushered me onto the train.
When I got off I was in a place I couldn’t say and was taken by people I couldn’t understand. There weren’t many buildings in this new place but there were lots of sheep. It was quiet and it smelled bad and I wanted to be back at Hope Street. At night I read my book: the moon was nothing like the green hills I could see from my window.
Soon I was on the train again. Grandma met me at the station and we returned to Hope Street. When we got there it was flat and dusty and I knew at last I was on the moon.
210 words
@MicroBookends
LikeLike
My goodness – scifi or dream? Very clever.
LikeLike
great x
LikeLike
Oh, I love the last line especially! I’m sure after the bombings everything looked very close to the desolation and emptiness of the moon. 😦
LikeLike
Reminds me of the kindertransport. Well done. I liked it.
LikeLike
So much history and depth of feeling in this one. Pure magic as always. Heartrending last line: “When we got there it was flat and dusty and I knew at last I was on the moon.” Lots of stories of childlike innocence contrasted with real pain. One of the best so far.
LikeLike
I love the atmosphere here.
LikeLike
Wonderful story from a child’s perspective.
LikeLike
beautifully structured tale which captures the confusion in the narrator perfectly.
LikeLike
Loved everything about this, David. Seamless flow with a satisfying ending. Well done.
LikeLike
Mysterious, but bolstered by your typically fantastic prose. Interesting and well done.
LikeLike
You always seem to take a simple concept and weave it into a multilayered story. Excellent!
LikeLike
Fantastic story, very subtly done (except maybe the sheep?). I really hope it’s a cheerful prompt next week, I’m going to be a sobbing wreck if this carries on.
LikeLike
Love the last line! Through the eyes of a child, you can trust you are being told the truth of things.
LikeLike
So poignant.
LikeLike
Fantastic writing as always. Rich use of language and brilliant use of the prompt.
LikeLike
Hope Street
(210 words)
We were the start of an epic romance:-
The moon itself seemed to pick out the grim tenement, and Cathy looked at the building her parents considered the best place to box their wayward daughter’s rebellious spirit.
Time as governess to a two year old whose father reeled with grief over the death of his wife would sober her rebellious spirit.
‘You’re late,’ was his first response.
She straightened her back.
‘I’m here! ‘ she said.
She moved through the door balancing what he estimated must be a dozen suitcases.
‘One for every dress?’ he said.
You turned us into cheap anecdote:-
‘So she appears in the middle of the night looking like something the cat dragged in. I wonder how on earth she’s going to fair with a boisterous two year old. I’ve never seen such a sight! She had more suitcases than a baggage compartment. I almost turned her away for being insolent.’
They turned us into scandal:-
Society Girl Nanny Takes the Party to Hope Street!
I turned it into the past:-
I lifted Thomas’ golden curls and kissed his forehead. I’d waited until after his bedtime. Cowardly, I knew. I dragged my suitcases onto the front steps and waited for the taxi; the moon my only witness.
LikeLike
Wow, this feels like a novel condensed into Flash. Your italicized lines add so much depth. Wonderfully done. 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you. Always appreciate your feedback. You are so generous with your time.
LikeLiked by 1 person
brill x
LikeLike
Thanks, Susan!
LikeLike
I agree with Deb; this feels like an entire book. I love the divided sections, the descriptions under each. Lovely work!
LikeLike
Thank you! That’s very kind. Glad you liked the structure.
LikeLike
The last line is gorgeous.
LikeLike
Thanks, Holly. Really appreciate it.
LikeLike
Briefly called to mind Jane Eyre and then took on its own life. So much story here.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Steph. ‘a life of its own’ – that’s a great compliment.
LikeLike
Reading this is like flicking through a photoalbum, seeing snapshots of their lives laid out for our enjoyment. Wonderful.
LikeLike
Thank you. I really appreciate that.
LikeLike
Permit to travel
@geofflepard 210 words
Every morning, at 8, she opens the door. The clerk sighs and the sergeant choses another piece of flaking paint for his study.
‘Monsieur, a permit to travel?’
Every morning, at 8, the clerk shakes his head.
They each know the other’s story. She wants to travel to England, to Liverpool and her fiancé Albert. He cannot give her a permit. The military takes priority.
Every morning, at just after 8, she leaves. Outside, under the dusty roof of the Gare du Nord she looks at the clock, its moon face pulling her North, renewing her hope. She straightens and walks to the shop where she will sow tattered threads to make passable imitations of clothes for a relieved nation.
In her apartment, bared for her imminent departure, she sits at the window and shares the moonlight with her lover. Her needle-stippled fingers trace her lips where he kissed her that last time. ‘Shall we take the plunge, old girl’, he had said. Such a brute proposal, given with infinite tenderness.
Her heart follows its own circadian rhythm. At night, she sleeps little, hope waning as she repacks her suitcase; by morning hope waxes afresh, because she knows, one day, today peut-être, at 8, the clerk will nod.
LikeLike
Perhaps she should check the bathroom for that ceiling panel portal. 😉
I love the cadence of this; persistence seeps through the very structure of the piece. I hope she gets her permit.
LikeLiked by 1 person
ah the suspense…
LikeLiked by 1 person
great x
LikeLike
Absolutely LOVE the use of time “at 8” and how it underscores the lonely hope that lingers in her mind. Lovely take on the prompt.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Tamara and love the new blog Btw.
LikeLike
Thanks! It’s kinda exciting branching out a bit. Fingers crossed that it keeps going well.
LikeLike
Lovely, sad…I also hope she has a happy ending.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Me too Holly
LikeLike
Lovely story. So much told in such few words. I love: ‘she sits at the window and shares the moonight with her lover.’ So sad, yet so inspiring that something so far away and intangible can keep her hopes alive.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you Luccia!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Strong element of hope through love here. I hope he’s worth it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think so. It is based on a wonderful play I saw in Edinburgh ‘You’re not like the other girls Chrissy’ by Caroline Horton which is based on her grandparents’ love story. If you have a moment check out this link http://www.carolinehorton.net/index.php?/project/chrissy-the-show/
LikeLike
Such a great piece. I love the turning of time as related to the moon’s cycle. Sad.
LikeLike
thank you; I hope eventually redemptive too!
LikeLike
What a possibly sad story…yet if she gets to him, it may not be so! It reminds me of that Looking Glass song, “Brandi (you’re a fine girl)”. Do you know it?
LikeLiked by 1 person
I do now! Thank you for the reference; very similar theme for sure…
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love the repetition in this and oh, I do hope she makes it out of limbo-land.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I real life yes; here, not so sure.
LikeLike
Ah, lovely and great use of the prompt.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you
LikeLike
The repetition of 8 really punctuates her longing. Hope she gets to him. Lovely writing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Fly Me To The Moon
@laurenegreene
210 words
Sitting on the corner of hope and despair, chin resting on her hands, suitcases loaded to the brim beside her, Charlotte looked up at the moon. The clouds passed in front of it, in and out, changing the shadows around her.
She knew Tad was up there, somewhere, bouncing around on the new settlement. She wanted to see him. She looked back at the door behind her, hoping against all hope it wouldn’t open. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about leaving, and it wouldn’t be the last. She kept telling her mom she wasn’t a child anymore. Twenty-Six years old and married.
“To a spaceman, yar?” Her mother chuckled the words out beside the cigar that was perpetually stuck in her mouth.
Charlotte stared at the moon, imagining Tad hoeing away at a garden in a biodome, stuck in space. She hadn’t heard from him in months.
“Probably screwing some space chick,” her brother had said.
The taxi cab pulled up.
“Where to?”
“Fly me to the moon?”
“Can’t go that far,” the man said, scratching his beard.
“Take me to Plasco Station.”
“You might get a pass,” the driver said. “I heard they were opening it up to civilians again.”
That’s what she’d been hoping to hear.
LikeLike
What a delightfully brutish character her mother is! I could feel the longing in Charlotte, not only to be with her Tad, but to be apart from her current circumstances. Well-built!
LikeLike
Thanks Foy! I had fun writing this one. The idea came right to me. So I wrote!
LikeLike
great x
LikeLike
Interesting concept. An inter-global relationship–I’d love to read a longer story on this. You up for writing it? 😉
LikeLike
I’m think I am up for extending it, Tamara!
LikeLike
Awesome! I’ll read it when you’re done. 😉
LikeLike
I love the taxi driver. Great piece!
LikeLike
‘Sitting on the corner of hope and despair’ – great opening line. What a horrible family, at least the taxi driver was nice to her.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks! The story just came to me when I saw the suitcases.
LikeLike
Love ‘…the corner of hope and despair…’ and Fly me to the moon 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Fun piece. “Can’t go that far,” she should have used Uber.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Uber. Ha. Thanks–I’m going to continue this at some point. Add it to my list.
LikeLike
Beautiful opening to an original take on the prompt. Like the domestic situation set within the futuristic one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Marie.
LikeLike
The Myth of Hope Street
‘Did I ever tell you about the times I went searching, out in the city there – it was during the dark times. Under the light of the moon I went. Searching.
I’d hear tell of a place called Hope Street, what young man could resist?
I walked for miles and miles. I never gave up, not in my nature, I was young then…
Hope Street?
Then one night, under a bright blue moon, I found it – oh yeah. It was quiet as the grave, I’d gone counter clockwise that night, out from the square, and there, right there as clear as day, Hope Street the sign said.
At first I couldn’t understand what I saw there. Shapes, still, solid. Statues, glittering under the moonlight, cold.
It almost got me, that street. Fear, never felt anything like it, or since. But I was young then and I still had hope.
I even recognised some of them, others nah, they looked from another time.
A pure wicked place.
You don’t got to Hope Street to find hope – you go with hope in your heart and, if you are lucky, and the moon is in the right place, you might make it home again – if not there you will stay, turned to stone.’
210 words
@feclarkart
#Flashdog
LikeLike
“A pure wicked place.” The oxymoronic – if you’ll allow me to construct a word – feel of this phrase is beautiful. Statues stuck eternally hoping and never achieving.
LikeLike
Thanks Foy 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
lovely write x
LikeLike
I especially like the last paragraph.
LikeLike
Thank you Holly 🙂
LikeLike
Last paragraph is soul-satisfying. “You go with hope in your heart and, if you are lucky, and the moon is in the right place, you might make it home again–if not there you will stay, turned to stone.” Going over and over that paragraph again. So good.
LikeLike
Thanks Tamara – very kind 🙂
LikeLike
Liked it. Spooky story.
LikeLike
Thank you Steph 🙂
LikeLike
Great last paragraph. “…turned to stone.”
LikeLike
thank you legreene 🙂
LikeLike
sharp and bitter – ‘if not turned to stone’ Such a chill to finish.
LikeLike
Thank you TanGental – I think the flash format sends me to the darker side.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Loved the opening paragraph, made me want to continue reading. Lovely prose throughout. Nice.
LikeLike
Thank you Wisp of Smoke 🙂
LikeLike
Delightful and filled with magic. I love this.
LikeLike
Blastoff!
“Kids, five minute warning, if you aren’t down here we’ll be blasting off without you!”
Experience has taught me it will be closer to thirty. Teenagers have a habit of turning the simplest tasks into Shakespearean tragedies.
Case in point. Charlotte skulks by, the angst dripping off her and soaking into the walls, “Daaaad. Do we have to go to the stupid Moon? It’s for kids! All we do is bounce around. Jane’s Dad is taking her to Mars…”
“Sweetheart, I would love to send you to Mars.” On days like today in particular, “But your little brother can barely sit through breakfast, how’s he going to manage a 3 week road trip?”
The puppy dog eyes appear. These only come out when she wants something, “Maybe you could take him and I could go with Jane?”
“We aren’t going over this again. Go pack your spacesuit, we are going to the Moon and that’s final.”
Her eyes contract into slits, “I knew you wouldn’t understand. It’s not my fault you grew up Earthbound and think going to the Moon is cool!” Five seconds until the dramatic exit…Blastoff!
I can hardly wait until we are in a vacuum and I can put her intercom on mute. Kids these days!
210 words
@todayschapter
LikeLike
Hah, love it! Teenagers.
LikeLiked by 1 person
brilliant descriptive write x
LikeLike
Lol! Love the attitude. So true to life.. “Go pack your spacesuit…” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve said those words… well, I wouldn’t be very rich, I suppose. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
“Experience has taught me it will be closer to thirty.” so, so familiar! Agree with Tamara, very true to life. 🙂
LikeLike
Hilarious. Even in the future, teens are a pain.
LikeLiked by 1 person
the snotty know-all you’re so last century voice of the teen is brilliant – only actually it’s chillingly reminiscent of my life a few years back…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ah, the Moon’s so five minutes ago…love it, can’t wait for my kids to be teenagers (not)
LikeLike
Lighthearted and fun — this reminded me a bit of the Jetsons 😉
LikeLike
Can You?
200 words
@el_Stevie
Can you fly me to the moon
Remove the weight
So tightly-packed
Encased in the iron of my heart?
(I can’t fly you to the moon
Sing you the song
That will free you
From your metal shroud
If I do, my voice will break)
Can you send me into orbit
With words of hope
Break the gravitational pull
Of what we both know is coming?
(I can’t set you on a path
Of hope-filled lies
When we are grounded
At the point of no return
If I do, my heart will break)
Can you give me the stars
And shine a light
Smite the black hole
Compressing us into atomic dust?
(I can’t give you the stars
When all the lights have gone out
And you have been claimed
By the void eternal
If I do, my tears will race)
Can you breathe me the life
That has whispered away
Too soon the story
Of our life together?
(I can’t breathe you life
When my own fades with you
And I am left hanging
In an empty space
If I do, I will come with you.)
Can you catch me a moonbeam?
(I can’t.)
Can you …?
(I …)
LikeLike
This is beautiful.
LikeLike
fabulous x
LikeLike
Gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. The back and forth is so, so beautiful. Deeply satisfying read. Well done.
LikeLike
Thank you everyone! (Being half-term week I had a bit more time although this wrote itself, haven’t done much poetry recently so nice to get back to it.)
LikeLike
Lovely. From the structure to the words to the meaning, this is lovely, Steph.
LikeLike
Amazing. Gave me chills when I read it.
LikeLike
Thank you, it made me feel quite emotional writing it; don’t know where it all came from.
LikeLike
I kept wanting to try and sing this a la Sinatra. Made the entire thing even more sad 😦 Very moving piece.
LikeLike
Thank you. (That melody was in the back of my head as well).
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am with the others; beautiful
LikeLike
Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“Smite the black hole.” Delicious.
LikeLike
Thanks!
LikeLike
Nice take on the prompt.
LikeLike
Thank you.
LikeLike
Just beautiful, Steph. Loved every part of it. Thought the ending was perfect with its diminishing structure.
LikeLike
Thank you Marie. I actually felt a bit choked writing it.
LikeLike
Home Alone
202 words
Does it count as redemption if you’ve lost everything you hold sacred? Or is it only punishment?
Towers of battered cases lined the street. The abandoned remnants of hope washed pale by a leering moon. A rat scuttled… No, it didn’t scuttle, it owned the streets and canyons of luggage. The rodent stopped, stood on hind legs and sniffed the air. I watched it.
Where did it get its purpose? Its confidence and poise? When it waddled off, disappearing into the sharp shadows, I tried to go with it, synching my mind with the tiny intelligence. I failed.
Looking up I watched the moon move across the sky, peered at the craters thrown in sharp relief by the light of an invisible sun.
I couldn’t connect to a rat, but I could feel the people up there. A billion refugees from an abandoned earth. But there was only the notion of humanity. Swathes of feelings, groups of consciousness massed together amorphously. I couldn’t feel them individually, couldn’t connect to my family.
The great luminary of night fell away. Hidden behind the curve of humanities home. An empty home now. Left to repair itself.
As the daystar rose I walked towards the morning.
@clivetern
LikeLike
The first line really caught my attention. Nice piece.
LikeLike
Last line, stellar. I love the imagery: “…it owned the streets and canyons of luggage.” “The great luminary of night fell away.” Love the feeling of destitution with a spark of hope at the end: “Left to repair itself.” Night’s done, dawn’s coming. Enjoyed this a lot.
LikeLike
Wow, gives whole new meaning to “home alone.” I could feel the loneliness in this piece.
And this line stuck out to me “A rat scuttled… No, it didn’t scuttle, it owned the streets and canyons of luggage.” Very telling…
LikeLike
Apocalyptic abandonment, perfectly expressed.
LikeLike
Josh Bertetta
“A Moon of a Different Sort”
203 Words
@JBertetta
Hope Street my ass.
Lemme tell ya some’em about Hope Street. Lotsa people say it’s aces. The Fab Four used to hang out on Hope Street. Barmy pricks.
I say Hope Street ain’t shite.
See how my picture’s aslant?
Thats’n what Hope Street does to ya. Knocks ya all collywobbles and beats the crap outta ya til ya see the world askew, knocks ya off’n yer trolley.
And see’n them bags there? Those’re mine.
I’m 18 now, ‘n getting’ the fuck out.
The grand irony is that everything—and I mean everything—seems to me to mean its opposite.
Hope means you’re shagged.
Love means “Come over here ya little wanker” and ya get a mouthfulla father’s fist.
It’d be great if’n I could find me a street called “You’re Shagged Street” cause then maybe I’d have hope.
But I doubts a place like that exists.
What do I have to look forward to?
Nothin. Not a god damn thing.
‘Cept for gettin’ outta here.
No wait, actually I do have hope.
See that window up there?
That’s my place and I hopes I sees my pops so’s I can bend over, drop me knickers, and flash ‘im me big round white arse.
LikeLike
Heh, I interpreted “moon” along these same lines.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yay….great minds think alike
LikeLiked by 1 person
“A Moon of a Different Sort” – Lol! My mind went there at first when I was trying to come up with my story; you just have more courage than I do. 😉 I really like the opposing contrasts you bring out in the story; two sides of a coin. Nicely done. Love the voice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Another inventive take on “moon.” So much personality in this voice, Josh! I enjoyed the bitter rant. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Fantastic last line.
LikeLiked by 1 person
you found the courage to moon when I didn’t! Love the language
LikeLiked by 1 person
@stellakateT
169 words
Hope
Stack of suitcases to shift for my Lady. She’s got this stiff upper lip that’s normally reserved for the men in her family. Her Grandfather rode out with the original Maharajah of Juniper. Not sure that’s the right pronunciation of the God forsaken area of the Himalayas where my Lady was conceived. She’d be flogging me now if she heard me talking to you. Hope Street, now that’s a blow beneath the belt, sticking in my craw, gnawing in my belly, what hope has anyone?
My Lady tells me on a clear night you could walk on the moon straight off the hilly track. Sometimes I think she has the vapours. She talks about meeting the Man on the Moon, what impeccable manners he has and how beautiful the terrain is. In another life I’d believe all she says but I’m paid to protect her. At night I look to the heavens and see what she views and I pray he won’t come and take back his pregnant wife.
LikeLike
So much emotion, this is lovely.
LikeLike
“Hope Street, now that’s a blow beneath the belt, sticking in my craw, gnawing in my belly, what hope has anyone?” Lovely line that encapsulates the emotion of the piece. Well done! (I’m assuming you’re aware that the story is under the required word count for eligibility to win, though?) Really enjoyed, Stella!
LikeLike
it did occur to me that it was short but forgot the required word limit …. doh!!! thanks for the comments Tamara … Glad I submitted two 🙂
LikeLike
I’m glad you did, too! Loved ’em both! 🙂
LikeLike
This line is perfect, “She’s got this stiff upper lip that’s normally reserved for the men in her family”
LikeLike
An almost ‘other-worldly’ element to the story-telling here. Beautiful wisp of a tale.
LikeLike
thanks for all the comments 🙂
LikeLike
Ferocity,
The sirens of lunar energy demand I transform. Of course, I knew this was coming. I booked tomorrow off work since these full moons are kind enough to come on a schedule. I unlock the door into my mudroom, so I have a way back inside. More importantly, I open the window facing the ledge and set a board to use as a ramp in order to reach the escape route.
The cloud cover breaks allowing the moon’s rays to reach me. The traumatic shift happens.
I am no longer a man. My thoughts turn to my target. I must have her.
I climb out the window and begin the perilous trek to her house. I spot a werewolf prowling. I wait until it finds a victim. An accountant—good—nothing lost.
I make it to my target’s apartment. I gather my energy for the hardest part of this.
“Mew.”
Nothing.
A were-Rottweiler spots me. This could be tragic. I scamper to my target’s ledge. I scream, “Mew.”
The window flies open. “Muchkin, you’re back!”
The girl who shuns when I’m a human scoops me up in delight. She presses me against her chest and I nuzzle in. Maybe being the were-munchkin-cat isn’t such a curse.
209 Words
@michaelsimko1
LikeLike
This is adorable.
LikeLike
Mark my words fellas, the ladies love their munchkin cats.
LikeLike
Bwahahahahaha!!!! “An accountant—good—nothing lost.” I’m gonna take that with me through the week. *wipes tears of laughter* I love the originality in this. One of my faves thus far. 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks. The kitty may be cute, but he’s still a cat.
LikeLike
Cat shifter. LOL! Love it. Goes great with your cat gladiator. Love the accountant line. Well done.
LikeLike
Thanks Lauren. Hmm, perhaps this is that gladiator’s great{x20} grandson.
LikeLike
Great twist, Michael! Was definitely picturing were-wolf but your character sounds much more adorable. 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks Miss For. Why can’t were creatures be friendly and cute?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Usually the ones that come to mind are drooling and hairy, but you’ve shown me there are other ways for them to present. 😉
LikeLike
Hah! Great twist on the were-story.
LikeLike
Thank you
LikeLike
An accountant – good – nothing lost. Excellent (the ex lawyer in me breathes a sigh of relief)
LikeLike
Everyone picks on lawyers, but with tax season upon us we should keep an eye on their evil accomplices.
LikeLiked by 1 person
a sinister conspiracy if ever there was one…
LikeLike
Were-kitty – fab!
LikeLike
Fab story! Love the humor in this. Brilliant twist.
LikeLike
Down On the Corner
195 words
@JamieRHersh
We moved to the corner of Hope Street and Moon the week after my parents announced the divorce. I was surprisingly surprised; I should have seen it coming – nothing had been right since the accident.
The building we lived in had a door on each Avenue. My Mother liked to step out onto Hope. I always took the Moon Street door.
It was an older neighborhood, and Moon Street was as quiet as its namesake. The elderly residents of Moon were like aliens; they talked different, smelled different, and offered me strange things to eat.
My Mom walked up Hope Street each day to take a bus to her job in the city. She smoked Virginia Slims and played loud music and ordered takeaway food. She was concerned that my primary playmates were Earl Johnson the Chessman and Mrs. Jones and her 27 cats. She chewed her lips and her nails and pressed in to me to do well in school.
I felt at home with the Moon Street Aliens, with their time-capsule spare rooms and twinkle-eye reminiscence. They understood what my Mother seemed unable to – good grades don’t matter when your sister is dead.
LikeLike
So many sad feelings in less than 200 words, really well done.
LikeLike
Thank you, Holly. 🙂
LikeLike
Ooh, such good description here – love how you’ve described the contrasts between Hope and Moon. That last line hurts. Lovely job.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Tamara.
LikeLike
I love the idea of mother and daughter using different doors. It expresses how far apart they are in such a simple way. Excellent!
LikeLike
Thank you, Foy.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hammer blow of a last line – completely unexpected. I like the different doors/different streets/different outlooks imagery.
LikeLike
Thank you, Steph.
LikeLike
so very sad and such a beautifully drawn picture here; the stepping out through two different doors gives us such distance in such a small space.
LikeLike
Thank you for the comments.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love this. Finding solace in the ones who’ve loved and lost so much. The young and the old. The way you used moon. Great job.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much.
LikeLike
Damn. That last line was a dagger to the soul. Loved the little details, “Virginia Slims” “chewed her lips.” Nicely done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much.
LikeLike
Love the different worlds through different doors.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Liz.
LikeLike
Great use of setting, and love the twist on the required element.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Aria.
LikeLike
Someone to Watch Over Me
Margaret Locke (@Margaret_Locke or margaretlocke.com)
204 words
“No, it isn’t!”
“Yes, it is.”
“Nu-uh!”
“The moon is too made of cheese. How else do you think the astronauts survived up there?”
We’d dissolved into giggles. Sarah had poked me, I’d tackled her, and we’d tussled until mom yelled at us to stop.
I miss that. I miss her.
Nobody will tell me where she’s gone.
“Good riddance,” my step-dad said once, when he thought I wasn’t listening. Mom had pain in her eyes, when she thought I wasn’t looking.
“See that face?”
“What face?”
“The one right there, can you see it? The Man in the Moon?”
I’d squinted, contorting my face, trying to see what she saw. “I see it! I see him!”
She’d ruffled my hair. “Wanna know a secret?”
A secret? From my sister? “Yes!”
“It’s not a man.”
Oh. “Then what is it?”
“It’s me. Watching you, Em. You can’t hide anything from me.” She’d curled her hands into claws and attempted a monster face. It didn’t work. I’d just laughed.
At night, when he comes into my room, I don’t laugh. I don’t even close my eyes anymore. I look out the window, at the moon. She knows. She’s watching over me.
Someday I’ll join her.
LikeLike
Beautifully written, and ouch, that ending.
LikeLike
Thanks, Holly. The ending sears me, too, but it’s where the story went. I just followed.
LikeLike
I know the feeling.
LikeLike
The contrast of light and dark tones, wow, Margaret, so good! The ending is heartbreaking. Most excellent, oh genius. 🙂
LikeLike
I bow to you, the master.
LikeLike
Pffff 😉
LikeLike
Heartbreaking. 😦 I did not want to read that ending. Well done.
LikeLike
What a sad story, but I read an optimistic ending. I like to think Sarah managed to get away, and Em will soon do the same. The most tragic line for me is: ‘ Mom had pain in her eyes, when she thought I wasn’t looking.’ Traumatic and unforgivable. How could she?
LikeLike
Extremely difficult ending to read but a well-told story.
LikeLike
Thank you.
LikeLike
I shuddered at the last para… you knew it was building to something but that was awful. Well done Margaret.
LikeLike
Thank you. I hate to do awful; I’d rather do silly. But I have to try new things, right?
LikeLike
Ah, so heartbreaking! Lovely and sad. Great work, Margaret.
LikeLike
Thanks, Annika. 🙂
LikeLike
Ahh, that twist! Punch in the gut. Well done.
LikeLike
Thank you, Aria.
LikeLike
What an ending!
LikeLike
Such a turnabout from humour to tragedy. A whole topography of moods in just a few sentences.
LikeLiked by 1 person
@stellakateT
197 words
The Moon is made of Cheese
“How many suitcases do you need”?
“More than these if you’d let me pack exactly what I wanted to” I yelled back
“We’re only going to the Moon not the other side of the Galaxy!”
I felt the urge to punch him straight between the eyes but my Tai Kwan Do instructor’s words were ringing in my ears. Never strike out in anger! Hell’s Bells were all men infuriating or just the ones on Earth. I’ve seen Star Trek I need a man like Spock, half human half Vulcan but oh so rational.
Still can’t believe we were picked out of thousands of candidates to go on this one way trip to the Moon. We’re going to forge a new colony, a new lifestyle, a new way of living in harmony. Ha!! If they think I’m having a child with this moron then they might as well tell me the Moon is made of Cheese. It ain’t going to happen!
He stacks the suitcases on the back of the lorry. They do look a lot. He smiles that half smile that gets my heart doing somersaults and in that moment I understand why we got the vote.
LikeLike
The ending is so sweet.
LikeLike
“I need a man like Spock, half human half Vulcan but oh so rational.” If only such a man existed. 😉 Lol! Nicely done.
LikeLike
Great back and forth here, Stella! And the twist on the accusation “how many suitcases” is rich. 🙂
LikeLike
Lovely story. So the smile and the sense of humour are finally more important than rationality. Love’s like that, isn’t it? Surprising and full of humour and tenderness…
LikeLike
So she does have romance in her soul. Sweet ending.
LikeLike
great way to describe the crew ‘they do look a lot’!
LikeLike
Any story that drops a Star Trek reference get a big smiley face from me 🙂
Love the ‘oh, yea…’ moment at the end. Love’s a crazy thing, isn’t it?
LikeLike
Awwww….
LikeLike
Warmth and humour and Star Trek, too–love this story!
LikeLike
thank you all for the comments… much appreciated 🙂
LikeLike
Hope Chest
Night after night, she would watch the waxing moon from her narrow window soaking up every ray of lullaby-singing moon. Then on the full moon, when the moonlight spread like milky hope on the terrace, she would gather her worries, put them in a chest for tomorrow, climb the stairs, and gaze at the round pot of milk and honey in the sky for a long time. Later, she would put away her tiny hope into another chest and go back down to her apartment. No one ever noticed or cared.
One evening, she saw that dreaded yellow envelope stuck to her door. All the neighbors had received one in the last month, and like the flies swat down, they were dropping out of the apartments onto the cold, angry streets.
“I haven’t lived on the Hope Street last twenty years for nothing.” She said. She checked her hope chest, then her worry chest. The worry chest had grown. She lifted it and dropped it onto the moonlit pavement. One by one the neighbors followed her and dropped theirs. Soon, the mountain of worries filled the street.
She grabbed her tiny hope chest, raised it high, and heralded the Revolution.
@needanidplease
200 words
LikeLike
I had a hope chest when I was young, my grandfather made it for me. I love the story itself, and the memories it stirred up.
LikeLike
Oh, what lovely imagery! “She would gather her worries, put them in a chest for tomorrow, climb the stairs, and gaze at the round pot of milk and honey in the sky…” Beautiful.
LikeLike
Love this “round pot of milk and honey in the sky.” Your story reads like a fairytale/epic for children (which I love) and the descriptions hold so much. 🙂
LikeLike
Beautiful story. I love the way the ‘tiny’ chest of hope is more powerful than the big ‘worry’ chests. Life is like that, the small things matter more, we need to make sure we don’t let the worries get bigger and take over.
LikeLike
Some beautiful images here – the ‘lullaby-singing moon’, the ’round pot of milk and honey in the sky’.
LikeLike
that is beautiful; the worry chests hitting the street – perfect.
LikeLike
Beautiful. Your language is so poetic.
LikeLike
Hi ho, hi ho! off to work I go. I will be back tomorrow to read the wonderful stories here
LikeLike
Poor Things
@hollygeely
208 words
Zob-Thing took Grub-Thing’s suitcases and stacked it with his own. Grub-Thing looked around and a disappointed quiver vibrated through his mouth-flaps.
“I am sorry, Friend-Thing,” Zob-Thing said.
He clenched his hairy fist-bumps angrily. This was such a step down from their last accommodation and he was insulted that they had come to this.
It was not fair to Grub-Thing that he should be here. He was the heir to the Thing-Throne and had been cast out in disgrace like a Non-Thing. It was Zob-Thing’s fault the venture had not been fruitful, and Zob-Thing’s fault that money had been lost.
Zob-Thing was willing to take the blame and he was prepared to make up for his actions. He only wished he had not brought dear Grub-Thing down with him.
“It does not look like much yet, but it shall be home. We shall plant and harvest Thing-Peppers. We shall invite Other-Things to dine. We shall be rich and popular.”
“I miss being popular,” Grub-Thing said.
“Other-Things should not have been so angry. We will show them.”
Grub-Thing’s mouthflaps smiled. Zob-Thing was glad that he could still bring cheer to his Friend-Thing’s heart.
They were going to need cheer and optimism now that they lived on Miranda the Human’s backside.
LikeLike
HA! An original take on the MOON theme! Tough to do with competition this stiff. I see what you did, there. 😉 Super-fun piece!
LikeLike
Thanks! Unfortunately it’s the first thing that came to mind, hard to wipe that mental image clean.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Ha! What a twist! I certainly wasn’t expecting the location to be what it was. I find myself cheering for the poor duo who tried but didn’t quite succeed. As if that failure wasn’t enough, they had to be punished for it! Poor Zob-Thing and his Friend-Thing, Grub-Thing.
LikeLike
Thanks! I’m sure they’ll make the Other-Things sorry for what they did.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I dearly hope so! I’ll be cheering them on from the sidelines. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love this Holly but for all the wrong reasons. I’m guessing you don’t have much French slang? Or maybe Zob thing is deliberate imagery? I burst out laughing on the train so thank you!
LikeLike
I have basic French but that was an accident (I looked it up). This is too much. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
soz, Holly I loved the things but I had to read a second time to suppress my schoolboy sense of humour.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ve looked zob up now – oh my!
LikeLiked by 1 person
*dissolves into hysterical laughter at last line* I love the every-thing in this story-thing. Genius.
LikeLike
😀 Thank you!
LikeLike
Love grub-thing and zob-thing very original… And eeugh on miranda’s backside . Ha ha
LikeLike
Heh, thanks!
LikeLike
Hahahaha! “Friend-thing” Your stories always make me smile, Holly. I look forward to them. 🙂
LikeLike
Wickedly funny – especially reference to Miranda!
LikeLike
Thanks! 😀
LikeLike
This….was…a…great…thing! I’m giggling over here – especially with the ‘cheeky’ moon reference!
LikeLike
Heh thanks!
LikeLike
I love this take, so original and clever, and funny to boot 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you! 🙂
LikeLike
Such a unique take on the prompt. Quite enjoyed this. Kudos.
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
Lol! Brilliant.
LikeLike
Thanks!
LikeLike
I daren’t think what Thing-peppers might be. Hilarious and direct but no ‘ifs’ and ‘butts’.
LikeLiked by 1 person
@colin_d_smith
203 words
It begins around eight o’clock, as sunset’s golden palette paints in broad strokes across the horizon, and the first new moon of the month appears in the evening sky. Always the on the first new moon in September, the month it happened.
People emerge from their houses, closing off the street with bollards, setting up tables, carrying out food. Plates of meat, casseroles, bowls of green beans, potatoes. Cakes and brownies, puddings and pies. The night air becomes a tapestry of aroma, weaving each warm dish into a meal for the senses, drawing people to Hope Street.
And they are all welcome to enjoy the company of their neighbors and the food lovingly prepared.
When plates are clean and appetites sated, people leave only to return with suitcases of various sizes, from old and worn to newly-purchased for this night. Each one packed with clothes and toys, and stacked at the end of the street.
After midnight, when the plates, tables, and people have long gone, those that have need make their way to Hope Street and take a suitcase. And as they do, they pass a picture of a young African American boy:
“In Memory of Charles Rivers. In hope of peace.”
————–
Note: This is a work of fiction… but wouldn’t it be cool if it happened? 🙂
LikeLike
You could set a new genre – wish flash!
LikeLike
You have a gift for amazing lyricism. This line especially: “The night air becomes a tapestry of aroma, weaving each warm dish into a meal for the senses, drawing people to Hope Street.” Beautiful work.
LikeLike
That is a nice thought.
LikeLike
Now I’m hungry. 🙂
LikeLike
Could almost reach out and touch the warmth of this piece.
LikeLike
Thank you all for your comments. Especially you, Tamara. I rather liked that line too. 🙂
LikeLike
Great minds… 😉
LikeLike
I so love this. It’s got everything. Tremendous writing throughout and such a great concept too.
LikeLike
@awenthornber
209 words
The Bone Man
They shivered.
The moon shone on their innocent faces.
‘Why does the moon remind you of the Bone Man uncle Frank?
Franco settled on the end of their bed, his face hidden from the moonlight, but nevertheless, casting a faint shadow on the bedroom wall.
He whispered, and they leant in towards him.
‘They slipped into Liverpool on small sail ships, steered by the light of the moon. The human cargo had endured rough and stormy seas, many were left weakened by the journey. Promised a better life. As they disembarked the Bone Man lined them up in the moonlight, segregated the healthy from the weak.’
He paused.
‘The weak were unpaid and worked to death in quarries. Cheap labour. The healthy were herded to a warehouse at the dock.’
He made a slashing motion, with his hand on his neck.
Their eyes opened wide as they shrank back into their bed covers.
‘Why?’
‘He sold their organs for research, stored their bones in trunks, that was how he was discovered. The sculpture outside your house is in memory of the dead… Good night kids.’
In his workshop, Frank made ash from bones. Ash had so many uses, he wouldn’t have to store them, he could sell them too.
LikeLike
Eew, now that creeped me out. Liverpool is off my bucket list. Great tale
LikeLike
Thank you… Liverpool isn’t too bad.. Mwahahaha
LikeLiked by 1 person
Chilling! May I never meet Franco on a dark night. 🙂 Lovely imaginative take, though. 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks Tamara 🙂
LikeLike
Nice twist!!
LikeLike
Thanks Holly, have to say I read yours just before I submitted mine and thought, ‘yeah, Holly’s is more original.’ Loved *-things 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aw, thanks!! I think yours is really cool 🙂
LikeLike
Chilling! Did not expect that end for the healthy but I guess it would be profitable. The creepy “good night, kids” synchs it!
LikeLike
What a bed-side tale to tell. Creepy.
LikeLike
Nowhere Man
The terminal was a collage of strange invisibility. Rogue escape artists with detached faces peered at discolored tile, shoelaces and Gate 13, a glass portal to freedom.
I wanted to ask random people who or what they were running from. Was love brewing out west? A renewal of spirit? Or maybe they were similar to me, a man who flees when hope dissolves and the only remaining option is acceptance.
“Half Moon Bay now boarding,” the driver announced. It was a stampede of restless bones to have our tickets punched.
It was dusk on the bus, a human darkness of obscured intentions. She lounged in the fourth row. Luminous. A white rose floating atop engine oil. I intentionally grazed her leg as I headed to an available seat.
“Excuse me.”
“You’re fine.”
There was dejection in her eyes, a sapphire sadness that throttled me. I wanted to climb inside and vacuum the shadows. But the back of her head was all I saw the rest of the trip, her indifferent ponytail a mute witness to my longing.
When we exited the bus she strolled into oblivion as I stood directionless under an insurgent moon, its radiance like a shroud of solitude on my vagabond skin.
She was wrong. I wasn’t fine.
@Blukris
#FlashDog
210 words
LikeLike
A stamoede of restless bones. I wanted to climb inside and vacuum the shadows. So sad.
LikeLike
Thank you for reading and commenting!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, Chris, once again stunned by your deep, flawless imagery. “A white rose floating atop engine oil.” “Rogue escape artists with detached faces peered at discolored tile.” You’ve completely grasped the feeling of a bus terminal. Such a lovely piece.
LikeLike
Thank you, Tamara. Your feedback is appreciated not just by me, but by all of us that write here. Your kindness and insight are always welcomed.
LikeLike
The language in this is beautiful.
LikeLike
Thank you, Holly!
LikeLike
Ohmygoodness! So much longing and pain. I love this, Chris. Certain phrases “It was a stampede of restless bones,” “sapphire sadness that throttled me,” “climb inside and vacuum the shadows” carry an incredible amount of weight and meaning.
LikeLike
Wow. Thank you so much, Foy. You’re too kind!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, I have been on that bus. No words for how bleak and beautiful this is.
LikeLike
Thank you, Voima!
LikeLike
Vagabond skin – love it.
LikeLike
Thanks, Steph!
LikeLike
This description made me go, “Whoa,” “A white rose floating atop engine oil.” Brilliant. Great ending, too.
LikeLike
Thank you, sir!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow! The opening paragraph is stellar. And this, “There was dejection in her eyes, a sapphire sadness that throttled me. I wanted to climb inside and vacuum the shadows. But the back of her head was all I saw the rest of the trip, her indifferent ponytail a mute witness to my longing,” is stunning. I have no words.
“I wasn’t fine.”
LikeLike
Thank you! Can I make a miniature version of you and place it in my pocket? Then Pocket Grace can read my WIPs and offer encouragement and advice. Ha!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I agree with comments above – particularly loved the opening.
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
Another heartbreaking entry. There’s so much imagery and emotion at play here that I had to read it several times to get every nuance out of it. Such an enjoyable read.
LikeLike
How kind of you, Mark. Thank you!
LikeLike
The Sleepers, of that Place, that Town, Dreamed, in Whole, of the Moon
@DHartleyWriter
210 words
They all, of that place, that Town, dreamed, in bits, but whole, of the Moon.
Each night, each person, lulled to sleep, then lifted, to the Moon; home from home, a second life, just as tiring, just as full; each dreamer a single bit of a total whole, and, they said, a vision, they said, of the glorious human future.
At first, the collusion of dreams; tentative steps in spacesuits, snatches of silvered light and Earthrise. Then, the collective unconscious; titanium and graphene became domes and stations, houses and temples. Soon after, dreammeld; terraformed air, politics, sleaze, entertainments, committees. They all, of that place, that Town, would wake with lunar grains between their toes.
And in the real of that place, that Town, streets glared, then fell monochrome in blinks, and suitcases stacked as high as cathedrals, inside each; circuses. And buildings had limbs, animals graffitied, and trees sang repentant hymns in scrapyards. And the sea drank itself, and the wind made laws, and with each pet T-Rex that wailed in failed museums all hopes died, each gun crumbled, and plants shone bright with the green of life.
And each day, each person, of that place, that Town, longed for sleep again, longed for dry seas, small steps and tranquillity.
LikeLike
Stunning. Amazing imagery, beautiful writing.
LikeLike
Many thanks 🙂
LikeLike
Gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous. Love the rhythm, the depth of meaning, the phrasing. “And the sea drank itself, and the wind made laws…” Excellent!
LikeLike
Thank you Tamara, the wind will look favourably upon you 😉
LikeLike
Beautiful.
LikeLike
Thanks Holly
LikeLike
Poetry. So much of this is lovely: “collective unconscious,” “And the sea drank itself, and the wind made laws,” “would wake with lunar grains between their.” Stunning.
LikeLike
Thanks Foy – hope it gives you nice dreams tonight hehe
LikeLiked by 1 person
What everybody else said.
LikeLike
…and thanks for what you’ve said!
LikeLike
Collusion of dreams. Then fell monochrome in blinks. Mind bending imagery across a wide sweep.
LikeLike
Ta very much. I do like to bend a mind or two 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Strange the Moonlight Shines
@emilyjunestreet
210 words
The full moon glowed like a giant gas lamp, chasing indigo shadows into corners. Lavinia halted. Her corset squeezed, her boots pinched, and her valise was too heavy.
Grandmama’s card had said, Have the adventure of a lifetime! Hope Street and Mount, midnight, October 1, 1888.
Grandmama had won the card at a carnie show years ago. “I’ll never make it to ’88,” she had said. “You must go, Vinnie.”
A tower of valises teetered on the corner. Vinnie hoisted hers atop the others. Moonlight pelted down with unnatural strength, like a limelight.
“This is ridiculous, Grandmama,” Vinnie murmured. “There’s nothing here.” Anxious sweat beaded on her forehead.
The moonlight grew hot and unbearable. Lavinia felt herself melting, separating, changing.
Flesh-and-blood woman faded into ghostly apparition, and Lavinia vanished into the night.
*************
After a violent, falling rush, Lavinia alighted on solid ground. The valises remained beside her, but they had all been turned to stone.
“Look!” called a slurry voice. “A ghost! Inna costume! By the suitcase sculpture! I gotta get it on my Instagram.” Two men stumbled down the street in strange attire, loose shirts with barely any sleeves. They carried glowing objects that rivaled the moonlight.
The full moon grinned down on Lavinia with a trickster’s glee.
LikeLike
Ha! I wasn’t expecting the time-travel element, but I loved it! Really enjoyed the vivid word-pictures: “…chasing indigo shadows into corners.” Beautiful.
LikeLike
Love it!
LikeLike
LOVE this! Intrigue and time-travel. It doesn’t get much better than this. 🙂
LikeLike
Original take. Like the idea of the moon as trickster. Would love to know her reaction to her new surroundings.
LikeLike
moonlight pelted down – what a terrific image. And I loved the twist of the ghostly figure and trying to capture it via instagram.
LikeLike
That opening line was like a chain around my neck dragging me through your story. Awesome
LikeLike
Ah, never trust a carnival prize…great original take on the prompt.
LikeLike
Remaining Possessions
202 words
The concrete apron thonged with people.
“Essentials only!”
The call was constant and, at the back of the queue, had been heard dozens of times. Every pound of luggage taken aboard was one that couldn’t be used for a passenger. Still, it’s difficult to abandon some things.
“But these were my—“
“Ma’am, you can stay with them if you wish.”
The woman dropped the case and looked towards the line of rockets fearfully, as if she expected them to start lifting off right now.
“We’ll get new ones on the moon. I promise,” her husband said.
She nodded, but didn’t look away from the transport to safety.
The queues moved forward slowly.
In the distance a series of dull crumps lifted columns of smoke into the air. Everyone stopped and looked. Pandemonium broke out, urgent rushing to get aboard as the battle moved closer.
Finally everyone was done, and doors were sealed. The rockets lifted in a slow ripple, right to left. Dense clouds of exhaust steam washed over abandoned possessions, tumbling them across the concrete, sundering the last of their value.
The roar of escape died away and for a moment there was silence. Then there was the crump of mortars.
@clivetern
LikeLike
So very vivid! Your descriptions are stellar. “The rockets lifted in a slow ripple.” I love the feeling of dread of the unknown you’ve woven through the piece. Lovely.
LikeLiked by 1 person
There’s a very chilling feeling to this piece, I like it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s times like these that we learn material things don’t matter quite as much as we thought… Great descriptions!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Can I request a Dragony sparkle insert an ‘r’ into thonged, so that it says thronged?
A thonged apron is just not the image I was going for.
LikeLike
LOL!!!!
LikeLike
Close escape, I’m glad they got away. Did not notice thonged at first my brain automatically corrected – does not detract from a great story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
so sad; the repetition of crump was very moving. As was the ‘sundering the last of their value’. Telling.
LikeLiked by 1 person
To the Moon!
201 words
personalvapes@gmail.com
Before I knew what I wanted, I wished for a man who would give me the moon.
The trunks were packed, sitting on the Hope Street curb, waiting for the taxi to transport us to the airport. Destination: somewhere warm and tropical – with plenty of sun, surf, and adult beverages. This hasty vacation, and the ring, were the culmination of the whirlwind romance which completely overwhelmed my 20-something sensibilities.
Oh…the delicious irony embedded in that street sign! Love is not only blind, but deaf, dumb and stupidly idealistic.
He didn’t mention the illegally-obtained diamonds or the three pounds of uncut coke he slipped in my luggage, nor did he mention the carefully concealed arsenal hidden throughout his clothing. That whole ‘international smuggler/drug lord’ thing must have slipped his mind…
Unfortunately, the DEA, Interpol, and the full dozen corpses left in the wake of his escape attempt tell very convincing stories to both Judge and Jury…
And this is how I found myself on the moon: a cold, sterile bubble of Plexiglas housing the terraformed ecosystem of the new off-world penal colony affectionately nicknamed ‘Hotel California.’ You go to the moon. You NEVER leave.
Be careful what you wish for.
LikeLike
“Love is not only blind, but deaf, dumb and stupidly idealistic.” Terribly true at times. 🙂
I love this twist, Peg! Very original and the tip of the hat to “Hotel California” fits with the eerie vibe at the end.
LikeLike
Unfortunately – that reference gave me my afternoon earworm…I’ve been humming it for a while. thanks for the compliment Foy!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love the concept! Beautifully written. This nugget: “Oh…the delicious irony embedded in that street sign! Love is not only blind, but deaf, dumb and stupidly idealistic.” Well done.
LikeLike
Thanks Tamara! Anytime I can compare to one of your stories is a good time 😀
LikeLike
Great twist!
LikeLike
Thanks for the read, Holly!
LikeLike
I nearly, nearly, nearly quoted Hotel California in my piece. Your reference fits in perfectly with a great story.
LikeLike
Great minds?
LikeLike
what a grand story; lovely humour dotted throughout. World weary cynicism suits…
LikeLike
I think a big part of this story came from the book I’m reading on my kindle right now – I want to reach through the screen and shake some sense into the lead character…she’s written to be more than a bit idealistic and extremely naive…which is where the cynicism is coming from.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Always interesting where we get the ideas; mine comes from a play I saw in Edinburgh two years or so ago.
LikeLike
Whoops! Nicely done and just the right amount of acid in the narrative – a cautionary tale indeed!
LikeLike
Foy
@db_foy
Word count: 204
ELEGY FOR THE EARTH
They’re coming.
My Luminous Lover, how steadfast you’ve been! I remember at eternity’s inception, marveling over your bloodless birth. A gift from the All-being–“it is not right for you to be alone”–you were my Adam.
We danced, making love on that inky void. And when they came, waking from a clay-slumber, we loved them, didn’t we?
They were our children, worshipping my womb and praising your light. From mute animality they grew smooth and tall. Their fingers, once for scavenging, curled around the pen and they wrote songs for us in every tongue. We loved them.
How imperceptibly it changed. The tickle of their presence transmuted into a pinch, to a penetration, to a pain. In latency they hid their harm, until, opportunistic, their illness took hold. Captivated by their infinitesimal wonders, we ignored the symptoms, the fever, the dehydration; and our children became my disease.
Now you mourn my fading. Locked in infinite orbit, you can no more tear your glowing eye away than you could sponge the light of the sun from your handsome face. Cursed Sentinel, you watch your Eve to the last.
Are you afraid, Love? They are strong and have packed their bags.
They’re coming for you.
LikeLike
This. Is. Gorgeous. So much here, such imagery, such wonderful language, mythology, Biblical references. Awesome!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Margaret! That means so much. 🙂
LikeLike
Nothing less than what I’ve come to expect from you, Deb! Gorgeous, the whole way through. “…and our children became my disease.” Wow, what a gut-punch. Great job!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Tamara! I think it errs on the side of poetry rather than prose which may not be a good thing. :p
LikeLike
IS there such a thing as too much poetry? 😉
LikeLike
Gorgeous!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Holly!
LikeLike
Amazing writing here. The sorrow of the mother for children gone awry and the warning to their father that he’s next. Great stuff.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank, Steph. 🙂
LikeLike
I love this so very much. Everything about it (and I’m not the biggest personification fan). I didn’t think I could love it any more than I already did–then I reached the last two lines.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, that is awesome! Thank you for sharing that. I was worried the personification might be too subtle. But I tend to worry a lot. :p
LikeLike
Woo hoo, killer last two lines. This was quite poetic and works well. Nicely done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks!
LikeLike
what an awesome piece of writing. The whole history of a planet in 200 words. Eat your heart out Stephen Hawking.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha! I hadn’t thought of it that way but that’s totally my tagline now 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, Deb, this is fabulous. I love the history and the imagery (“waking from a clay-slumber” — what a great way to describe it!). I am speechless with awe. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Awww, thanks, Annika! That means a great deal! Happy to leave you speechless. 😉
LikeLike
OH….my.
This is simply wonderful. You put so much personification into your celestial bodies – you can feel the timeless cry of a mother hurt by the choices of her children.
Beautiful writing!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for reading, Peg. I wanted to do it justice. 🙂
LikeLike
Your imagery is otherworldly. Gorgeous prose and a very layered story. So much said in so few words. Damn. “They were our children, worshipping my womb and praising your light.” “Captivated by their infinitesimal wonders, we ignored the symptoms, the fever, the dehydration; and our children became my disease.” Yummy
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha! Thanks, Chris. 🙂 That means a ton coming from a master poet!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Everything about this is quotable, but I particularly liked, “We danced, making love on that inky void.” Such beautiful, multi-faceted writing here. I read it a few times just to digest it properly. Beautiful title, too.Well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Brett, for taking the time to read it and for the feedback. I’m glad you enjoyed it. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Like everyone else had said the language is stunning.( I tried to condense a novel and you condensed an entire planet’s history with remarkable elegance). Amazing work!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Marie!
LikeLike
Fly Me to the Moon
My sister disappeared last Friday.
According to Calvin, our news anchor, people across the globe were leaving en masse off our disheveled, useless toxic planet to the Moon.
Violence soon broke out across the country and traveled through the airwaves to our front door.
Outside, small cities of suitcases appeared outside of entryways.
Loudspeakers rose above cacophonous voices: “Leave all of your suitcases. They will be transported in a separate vehicle.”
Anne sprung off the couch and raced out the door as if she were about to chase the ice cream truck.
“Wait a second. I’m still packing. Are you sure you want to go?”
But she had already melted into the mass of hope.
Orange mechanical animals kept swallowing people until there were no more. Nothing remained but the luggage packed with symbols and memories.
It’s been almost a week now and the luggage still sits outside of entryways and sidewalks, waiting for pick up.
A fine gray dusty rain started last night and the sun no longer shines during the day.
It is becoming more difficult to do more than sit in front of a silent TV. I’ll go when the luggage trucks come. I’ll find my sister waiting for me in the Moon.
@blurosemd
Word Count: 206
LikeLike
“Outside, small cities of suitcases appeared outside of entryways.” What a world you’ve described here. Wonderful writing!
LikeLiked by 1 person
The imagery matches the bleak tone, this is wonderful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I worry that she’ll be left behind. Grim, dark story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. When I saw the photo I almost immediately thought of the Jewish evacuations under Hitler for some reason. That drove my submission.
LikeLike
Melted into the mass of hope… we hold our breath that she will go and succeed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh WOW! This got me good, real good – I’d like to steal it. Brilliant job.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A Gesture of Compassion
208 words
@el_Stevie
The moon brought with it its own madness; an incessant dome-bound claustrophobia beneath which its inhabitants watched teasing stars pointing their sparkling faces towards Earth; a line of light they christened Hope Street.
Sometimes one of them would stand, bags packed, in the departure lounge, ready to take that road back home, and others would watch on enviously, wondering how long it would take for their own rehabilitation.
Captain Fairweather cast an eye over his list. It was still too long and supplies were getting short. He chose six names.
“Isn’t that too many?” asked his aide.
“Actually, it’s not enough,” said the Captain. “But I don’t want any awkward questions.”
He stamped ‘Pardoned’ against each one whilst his aide alerted the cook to some new deliveries.
The chosen few watched their luggage disappear towards the loading bay.
“Why all of us?” asked Mack.
“President’s birthday. A gesture of his compassion,” said Bill. “Obviously heard what we had to eat too, took pity.”
“Yeah, saw the menu for tonight, should be his birthday more often. Makes me almost want to stay,” said Mack.
But none of them looked back as they were led through the door marked ‘Departures’ to be processed. Meat was definitely back on the menu.
LikeLike
This is a different take–a trip from the moon back to Earth. I love that first line: “The moon brought with it its own madness…” Love the concept!
LikeLike
Thanks!
LikeLike
Eeek! Crazy twist, great story.
LikeLike
Thank you, had to try and do something a bit darker this week.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Meat back on the menu ! Great!
LikeLike
To be… PROCESSED?! Egad! Brilliant ending. Creepy for sure! Nice.
LikeLike
Thank you. Thought ‘processed’ was just the right word!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow! Ick. Well done, and the opening paragraph drew me in immediately.
LikeLike
Thank you. I thought a bit ‘Ick’ would go down nicely to balance my poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha, what a twist!
LikeLike
Thanks 🙂
LikeLike
The stalker
Let me watch over you.
I see you searching for my torch in the night, in wonder, in awe, perhaps even in fear.
Please don’t fear me. I’d never harm you.
You know I’ll always be there, faithful to you alone.
I can’t live with you, but neither can I live without you, so I have to stalk you.
You have understood and forgiven me.
I look forward to seeing your flashing eyes and hearing the murmur of your breathing.
Your beauty is stunning. I admire your patchwork dress and your flowing waves.
I love you.
I miss you.
I wish I were still with you, still part of you, as I used to be, as I was meant to be.
I cannot come to you yet, although you have visited me, on occasions.
You think little of me, because you consider me ugly and barren, and I am, compared to you.
But remember this; we were together once and you loved me, until we were torn apart.
I long for the day you will take up your suitcases, renew your hope in me, and bring life to my lonely planet.
You will come and I will be waiting, Earthlings.
@LucciaGray
200 words.
LikeLike
Wow, great ideas behind this–the concept of the stalker. A *teensy* bit chilling; I feel like someone’s watching me from behind now. 😉 Beautifully written. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you 🙂
LikeLike
Great concept and well-done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. It’s great to get feedback 🙂
LikeLike
The idea of the moon as stalker and waiting lover – unique.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. The moon is a fascinating, haunting, and inspiring planet.
LikeLike
Lovely
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for reading and commenting 🙂
LikeLike
so touching and compelling ‘your patchwork dress and flowing waves’ beautiful way to describe Earth.
LikeLike
Thank you 🙂 It was fun trying to describe the Earth as a woman.
LikeLiked by 1 person
word Count 210
@susanoreilly3
Blessed?
The family had been hit with the pretty stick but were twisted in personality or had weird tendencies. Sylvia, the prettiest one escaped all this, her affliction was innocence.
Mother was vain, a beauty, reveled in it. Her latest acquisition a fur coat and she’s auditioning local artists for the privilege of capturing her wondrous body enveloped in it. Father had no issues with his wife’s wiles as been a fabulous looking man had admirers of his own.
George, cherubic looking had the devil in him. He reveled in others misery, Sylvia was fairly safe right now as George and Alicia were conspiring to get rid of Nanny who Mother hired because she was ugly to show them that not everyone was as lucky looks-wise.
I’m the oldest cursed with a brain, can’t wait to pack my suitcase and escape. I watch as George and Alicia are busy overturning potted plants telling Sylvia there looking for worms but she must do it in the grass. Sylvia unaware of their bullying she’s a moon chaser, a star gazer, her address Hope St.
I’m unaware mother is watching me. She can’t understand my love of books and disinterest in my appearance. “Georgia” she mutters. “I’ll never get you married.” “Good” says Father.
LikeLike
“The family had been hit with the pretty stick…” Lol! Liked the different perspective of the narrator. 🙂
LikeLike
thanks Tamara x
LikeLike
“cursed with a brain,” love it.
LikeLike
thanks Holly cheers x
LikeLike
Love the ‘pretty-stick’ line.
LikeLike
thanks Steph x
LikeLike
I loved the ‘pretty stick’ line, too. Well done.
LikeLike
thanks Marie x
LikeLike
When We Go
@voimaoy
199 words
It was our last night on Earth. We watched the people passing, so fancy for the Symphony. I remember the sign read Hope Street and the lights were brighter than stars. You held my hand, and we flew down the street, thin jackets in the cold night air.
“Look, the Moon!” someone shouted, and we all looked up. It was a full moon that night, a round face wrapped in the clouds.
Now here we are. This is just the first step along the way. I can see Mars from here. I can see the oceans of Europa, the Oort cloud wrapped around us. We are going out there. We will nudge the frozen comets toward the distant cinder of the sun.
“Now boarding.” You take my hand, and I feel the warm tug of the earth, the smell of basil in the summer rain. The aromatics have been turned on, in case of nostalgia. Through the station windows, the faces of those left behind.
“Look at the Moon,” and we all looked up. You promised me the future, then, slipped a silver circle on my finger. A cloud like a dragon was holding the Moon, a pearl between its claws.
LikeLike
Beautiful!
LikeLike
Thanks, Holly!
LikeLike
gorge x
LikeLike
Gorgeous! “We will nudge the frozen comets toward the distant cinder of the sun.” This whole pieces flows so beautifully.
LikeLike
Thank you Tamara! So glad you like it. Your comments and encouragement are really appreciated, not just by me, but all the writers here.
LikeLike
‘We will nudge the frozen comets toward the distant cinder of the sun’ – beautiful line.
LikeLike
Thank you so much!
LikeLike
I love this, Voima! I was looking forward to your piece with the prompt. 🙂
“You promised me the future, then, slipped a silver circle on my finger. A cloud like a dragon was holding the Moon, a pearl between its claws.” Such beauty.
LikeLike
Thank you, Deb. So appreciate the feedback, it means a lot coming from you. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aww happy to hear it! 😀
LikeLike
Yay, you mentioned the Oort Cloud!! My husband says I am from there. Also, lovely descriptions. Lovely.
LikeLike
Thank you! I had to include the Oort Cloud! Glad you enjoyed.
LikeLike
Sharp and gorgeous as usual. The aromatics in case of nostalgia is just a slice of perfection.
LikeLike
Such high praise, Casey! Thank you.
LikeLike
Love your story, its pace and its building – I could be there looking at that dragon held moon, full of uncertainty.
LikeLike
Thank you, Clive. So glad you could see it, too…
LikeLike
Elegant as always, Voima. That last line is currently residing in my bones. Lovely work.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Chris. Love your comments!
LikeLike
Yummy image here, “A cloud like a dragon was holding the Moon, a pearl between its claws.” Great work as always.
LikeLike
Thank you, Brett! So kind of you to say. Much appreciated.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely. The last paragraph is simply beautifully written.
LikeLike
Thank you so much, Grace!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was waiting for your story. Fabulous.
LikeLike
That’s so kind of you to say. Thank you!
LikeLike
Just beautiful! Your descriptive language is outstanding. Stunning final image.
LikeLike
Thank you so much, Marie!
LikeLike
Mark Morris:
Restart – 201 words
Jessamyn followed his gaze, her eyes settling on the huge disk in the sky; a world filled with memories, some happy and some sad.
“It was for the best,” Darryl urged, his voice insistent and urgent. “We had to come here. There was nothing else we could do.”
She nodded, grim-faced. “I know, but…” Her face turned downward and she fell silent, the unspoken words ringing out loud in both their heads. It’d been a hard decision to make and eventually the choice had made itself, the Gene Police sweeping through the few remaining settlements, pushing survivors into shuttle-ships, the fertile and the viable being given no choice; the perpetuation of the species their uppermost priority. Nobody had been warned, they’d been ruthless like that. Everybody here had just been taken. No arguments. The taser-equipped defence forces shot first and left the chosen to ask their questions later.
The two of them stood together, shoulder-to-shoulder now, coupled by necessity. “I only wish…” Jess began again, haltingly, hugging the small leather-bound valise to her chest. “My daughter, Grace. She never got this. She never had a chance…”
The dying planet above them said nothing. The moon would have to be kinder.
LikeLike
The last line is amazing.
LikeLike
Thank you, Holly. Some lines just come to you. The rest of this has a lot to match up to, I reckon
LikeLike
Thank you, Holly. I kinda like the last line too. It just came to me just like that. Only, I wish the rest was as good! 😉
LikeLike
Rereading this line over and over. Chills: “The dying planet above them said nothing. The moon would have to be kinder.” Beautiful, Mark. Great job!
LikeLike
Thank you, Tamara. Any praise from you means a lot to me. I was worried I’d be getting rusty doing these…
LikeLike
Such a great last line.
LikeLike
I loved the worldbuilding in this story, and especially the last line.
LikeLike
I really enjoyed this (not sure enjoyed is exactly the right word, but you know what I mean). Last line’s fantastic – also loved the opening.
LikeLike
The world building is excellent. ‘Gene Police’ is a terrifying concept with terrifying connotations. And, like the others, I adore the conclusion.
LikeLike
*** SPAM *** Lunar Realty Inc – Special offer
@making_fiction
210 words (so my machine says)
—-
Subject: *** SPAM *** Lunar Realty Inc – Special Offer
To: FlashFridayWriterGroup@dragonylairofcadbuy.com
From: admin@lunalandgrab.com
Halt!
Do NOT delete or skim.
This is not spam. It is a story with a start, middle and end. It is the story of your future and what a future it is.
The beginning starts like every Friday, you sit down, look at the prompts. Cry. Eat chocolate. Drink. Write. Read. You get this mail. Somehow you don’t delete it. Somehow, you believe.
Then you take a chance. You ignore your pending dreams packed in locked bags marked for Hope Street. You take charge of your future. You click the link and invest in Moon Plots.
Then, for a couple of decades, you sit and look at the sneering silver face in the night-time sky.
Eventually, you forget about your purchase.
But then a test case in the High Court. You paid for your plot in good faith. Nobody else has made a claim and now private companies are mining it.
You make it rich. So rich, you can buy a ticket to visit you plot and laugh at the Earth in the night sky. Bwahahahahaha.
All yours for £100, $150 (or Bitcoin if you’re feelin’ frisky).
Click the link – you won’t regret it.
LikeLike
Bwahahahaha! I can see now why it hit the Dragoness’ spam folder. So hilarious! This may be my favorite line: “The beginning starts like every Friday, you sit down, look at the prompts. Cry. Eat chocolate. Drink. Write. Read.” How DO you know what I do every Friday when I look at the prompts? It’s stunningly accurate. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Now, I’m giving away my software breaking secrets.
Thanks for the comments. It was based on information supplied by members of your local writing group 🙂
LikeLike
My local writing group is watching me when I start writing at midnight every Friday? *runs to buy new blinds to replace defective old ones* 😉
LikeLike
lol brilliant x
LikeLike
There is something so deliriously joyful and absurd about this that I want to print it out and put it up on my wall.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Casey. Absurd is a great way to describe it. I was going with something else, something far more serious, but events meant it wasn’t to be. I had fun, so that’s got to count double hasn’t it?
LikeLike
Perfect, clever, and hilarious. I always enjoy when you go bold and brazen.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Emily – It feels good to do strange things once in a while 🙂
LikeLike
My favorite part might be the emails you’ve come up with. Or maybe my favorite part is all of it. Yeah, probably all of it. So cheeky. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Completely original – easy to relate to this. Wish the link worked!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bwahahahahaha, as you say! But why doesn’t the link work? Is it a firewall thing? (!)
I really enjoy your funny ones!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Title: Stuff
Words: 209
@Rtayaket
#flashdogs
“It’s just stuff, Carla. We can get more.”
“Just stuff? If you had stopped and asked for directions like I told you, then we wouldn’t have had to leave all our stuff on that abandoned road on Asteroid 5! We started with plenty of fuel to get to the moon! I could’ve at least kept one bag, Bill!”
“I’m not going to keep arguing with you. Everything had to go. We couldn’t keep the weight on the ship and make it to the moon.”
Carla crossed her arms and stared out the window. The moon was supposed to be a magical vacation and she had planned a magnificent surprise. Of course the surprise was now wrapped neatly in one of the bags on Hope Street on Asteroid 5.
Carla thought about the un-woken baby in the bag. She had special ordered it so it had Bill’s eyes and her teeth. It had come packaged complete with a ribbon and Carla dreamed of seeing Bill’s reaction when they activated it together on the moon. But there would be no surprise, no activation, and no baby to bring home. Just stuff, Bill had said. But to Carla, it was the hopes of a future with a family abandoned by the roadside.
LikeLike
Brilliant idea – would not have thought of a baby in a bag at all. Such a typical argument in a futuristic setting.
LikeLiked by 1 person
great write x
LikeLike
What an innovative idea! “But to Carla, it was the hopes of a future with a family abandoned by the roadside.” Lovely.
LikeLike
This makes me think about the staggering amount of “stuff” that accompanies tiny infants. Now that my kids are life-size, they need so much less. Great story!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, creative as hell. A bit creepy too. Loved it.
LikeLike
Aaargh, you got me! I was not expecting that…as Chris says, creepy…but sad too. I like it more each time I read it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Moonstruck
I was born on a Monday. People said my mother was moonstruck and had to go away after I was born. Father said mother was an elf and had to go back to the elf world.
Father showed me the giant mound where her world was hidden. He said when I turned sixteen I could go and see her. He said the roads there were secret. That there was a great palace of moonrocks where she lived, because elves love the moon. I collected all the moonrocks I could find. They looked like quartz filled with white moonlight.
The day after my twelfth birthday I heard the elves singing for the first time. The song came from inside the mound; melodies filled with strange words. I learnt them and sang to the elves even though I never saw them even when their voices followed me home.
People started calling me moonstruck because I sang to the elves.
People stopped talking to me.
Father gave me a suitcase for my sixteenth birthday. He cried when he said I was going to see the palace where the others like me lived. I went to the mound to tell them I’m coming. A few said they’ll go with me to keep me company.
Words: 210 http://www.hersenskim.blogspot.com @CarinMarais
LikeLike
Lovely story, beautiful fairy tale quality to it.
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
What a world you’ve woven here! I love this!
LikeLike
Thanks, Tamara!
LikeLike
Oh this feels so much like a quaint fairytale. Love it. 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks, Foy!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ohh, I found this a scary story – right on the edge… Well done.
LikeLike
Thanks, Liz! 🙂
I wasn’t sure if it came across that the character may have a mental illness… I think I could have made the moon – lunar – lunatic stand out a bit more.
LikeLike
Title: Nursery Rhymes
Words: 206
@Rtayaket
#flashdogs
“Dad, I don’t want to ever go back to school!” said Jake, throwing his Ninja Turtle backpack on the ground.
“Why not, butterbean?” I asked.
“Because Ms. Harper is a liar!” he said throwing his hands up in the air and waving them about. “She went on and on today about a cat and a fiddle and the cow jumping over the moon, and something about a dish running away with a spoon? It’s positively hippopotamus!”
“You mean preposterous?” I smiled.
“That’s what I said! Come here to the window,” he commanded , then quickly added, “please!”
I walked over to the window where Jake was pointing up at the moon. “How could a cow jump over the moon? But more portentially…”
“Importantly.”
“Yea…why would a cow want to go to the moon and leave his home? Ms. Harper is definitely a liar.” he said. But I wasn’t looking at the moon. I was looking at where Jake’s mom had stacked her bags on the sidewalk waiting for the cab on Hope Street. I didn’t know why cows would leave their pastures for the moon any more than I knew why Ana had left us for California.
“It’s just a nursery rhyme, butterbean. Let her go.”
LikeLike
Love the close relationship portrayed here between father and son against the backdrop of the rhyme and the comparison between trying to understand a nonsensical nursery rhyme and the decision of his wife.
LikeLike
Ouch! Hilarious dialogue! Heart-wrenching last line. The contrast of the two makes the story even more poignant.
LikeLike
Oooo, that last line! Goosebumps. I love the way you point one direction and lead us to another. Well done!
LikeLike
“Let her go.” Great last line. Poignant.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is great. The dialogue and word choices remind me of convos with my own son. You thread the humor with the weight of the real story nicely. Well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love the child’s voice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow. This starts of as a nice little story between father and son and I was okay with that. But then you turned it up with the divorce back story and . . . just wow. That last line too. This is some damn fine writing.
LikeLike
Wish You Were Here
198 words
@TinmanDoneBadly
Dear kids
Holiday of a lifetime my bum, excuse my Moonish.
To begin with, we shouldn’t have flown Ryanair.
Their so-called Moon flight actually lands on an asteroid two hundred miles away, and we had to space-walk the rest of the way. Your Dad was sick, which is no joke when you’re wearing a spacesuit.
On the bright side, it hasn’t rained once. In fact I’m not sure it ever does – the Sea of Tranquillity has no water in it, and apparently Moon River is just the name of a song.
But there is no atmosphere at all. We went to visit the moon landing site, and it’s dead dull. There’s just a flag hanging there, there’s no souvenir shop, and not even a guy offering to take photos of the tourists, which makes me wonder who took the pictures of Armstrong when he was coming down the ladder.
Your Dad plays golf all the time, because he can hit the ball miles, so I spend most of my time moon-walking, and not in a Michael Jackson type of way.
Next year we’re going back to Majorca. They can stick the Moon where the sun don’t shine.
Mum
LikeLike
Oh, hilarious, particularly that last line. 🙂
LikeLike
“They can stick the Moon where the sun don’t shine.” Lol! I’m sure Shakespeare would have loved the twist on his line… 😉 Brilliant and hilarious. Great job!
LikeLike
Brilliant as always, Tinman. Enjoy. 🙂
LikeLike
well I’m with everyone at the greatest last line. Excellent take.
LikeLike
Never thought I’d see Ryanair in a flash fiction!
LikeLike
So clever! The line “not in a Michael Jackson type of way” had me grinning! Great job!
LikeLike
This is the funniest piece i have EVER read. Every line brought more tears.
LikeLike
OXYGEN
Brian S Creek
210 words
@BrianSCreek
#FlashDog
OXYGEN REMAINING 4%
No way I’m gonna make it back to the ship on that, no way in hell. I start walking; maybe find somewhere comfortable to check out. Not much to see out here, just rocks and space and big old planet Earth. Not much to choose from until I see the street.
OXYGEN REMAINING 3%
I don’t need the street sign to know where I am; Hope Street, where I grew up. Looks just like it did the day I left, ‘cept it’s on the moon. Some of the houses still have bunting on from the last street party.
OXYGEN REMAINING 2%
Halfway down I stop. Number 23. Home. I check the pockets on my space suit but don’t seem to have the door key on me. I go to knock but the door slowly opens by itself. I can smell mums cooking calling me. I take a last look at planet Earth above and then head inside.
OXYGEN REMAINING 1%
My space suit is cumbersome but I manage to lie down on my old bed. I squeeze Mr Bear tight and stare up at the glowing stars stuck to my bedroom ceiling. Ever since I could remember, I always wanted to be an astronaut.
OXYGEN REMAINING 0%
LikeLike
Compelling read.
LikeLike
CAN’T BREATHE!!!! Seriously, I can’t read about space without extreme claustrophobia, or caves, or underwater adventures, or anything. Your count-down to 0 about did me in. 😉 On the other hand, I loved/cried over this line: “I squeeze Mr. Bear tight and stare up at the glowing stars stuck to my bedroom ceiling.” It’s the same picture that greets me every night when I go in to kiss my kids goodnight. Out of all the stories, because of that one line, I perhaps resonate with this story the most. 🙂
LikeLike
GAH! I also had a breathing problem, reading this! 🙂 I am oh so happy to not be on the moon right now. Very well done.
LikeLike
Oh, man. This is brilliant writing. Great stuff.
LikeLike
Snap! How powerfully you’ve structured this. I love this MC’s calmness in the face of death. He can die screaming or die at peace. Well, well done!
LikeLike
Like a TV trailer…loved it.
LikeLike
awesome! love the countdown
LikeLike
Amazing. Well done. Love this.
LikeLike
Fantastic structure and uncomfortable reading – great job!
LikeLike
@jujitsuelf
209 words
No Paradise
Moonlight splashed across scarred floorboards, grimy windows diluting the light. Teddy clutched tight to his chest, keeping him safe. Threadbare sheets rough against his elbows, faint hint of washing powder fading. Fading and then gone; gone like his mother.
The Bogeyman won’t come if Teddy’s there and the moon paints his room. Teddy and the moon, they look after Philip, keep the bad away.
A squeak from the door — Philip’s heart thuds, echoes in his ears. Is it the bad, come to get him? The moon’s shining, the bad can’t come if the moon’s there. So many times the badness has gone away when the moonlight hits the floor.
Car horns blare outside, girls laugh beneath Philip’s window. Hope Street’s the path to paradise for many, the fastest way into town on a Friday night.
Floorboards creak, the bed dips. Philip scrunches his eyes shut. No bad, not now, not with Teddy and the moon looking after him. Please.
“Hello, little ‘un.”
Heavy voice, heavy hands, scratchy and unwelcome beneath Philip’s sheets.
He opens his his eyes, doesn’t look away from the moonlight streaming through his window. Teddy’s ears tickle his chin. The heavy hands creep lower. Philip stares at the moon and waits for it to be over.
LikeLike
Oh, horrors. So perfectly written – the dread, knowing “the bad” is coming, wishing it wouldn’t. Phrases like these: “Moonlight splashed across scarred floorboards…” “Hope Street’s the path to paradise for many…” give me chills. Exquisite skill in this story.
LikeLike
Lump in throat at this one. Teddy and the moon, the child facing adult horrors. A difficult read but extremely powerful.
LikeLike
Uh, this is heavy. 😦
LikeLike
Wow. Powerful and horrifying. The dread, the imagery. Well done.
LikeLike
I hate that these horrors exist, and the fact that my stomach is churning tells me how well you’ve captured the emotion here. This is one I hate to love. Well written!
LikeLike
That was a hard read – I bet it was hard to write too. Well done.
LikeLike
So sad and powerful, how the kid puts all their hopes into Teddy and the Moon for protection. There is some fantastic writing here (the moon paints his room) and your descriptions, as always, make me jealous. 🙂
LikeLike
@betsystreeter
200 words w/o title
THE LINE
There was a line, fat and meandering, made with crayon and paint and nontoxic marker. It looped around and back on itself, soaking through the colored paper.
“Two years and three months ’til I get my driver’s permit.” Milk escapes my daughter’s cereal bowl and drips on the table.
The line took bent and broken paths in and out of spiral notebooks with puppies on the cover, paper punctured with eraser marks and angry, scribbled corrections.
“That can’t be right.”
“It is! I counted. Oh! And, four and a half more years of school, then college.” Her backpack slumps by the kitchen door.
The line became straighter, more sure of itself. It found shapes, and words, and movement. It filled spaces with ideas. It leapt onto the computer screen.
“Right. High school first, dear. You have to do these things in order. And don’t go to college on the moon or someplace. I’ll be sad enough when you go without you being so far away.”
“Okay, mom.” She smiles but makes no promises.
The line took off, transformed into quick jots flitting from here to there, pencil barely in contact with paper, thoughts in the air.
Connections visible only to her.
LikeLike
Love the layered meanings under the line. Such a simple scene with so much depth. Excellent. 🙂
LikeLike
Very interesting take on the prompt!
LikeLike
For once, it the first line that draws me in, “There was a line, fat and meandering, made with crayon and paint and nontoxic marker.” Something about that image is striking !
LikeLike
Love this take on the prompt! So simple, but with so much meaning. That first line is fantastic.
LikeLike
How could a line hold so much meaning? Love the idea of the ‘life line’.
LikeLike
I love the execution here. Such a brilliant idea to weave the story together. Fantastic!
LikeLike
So many parents worry about kids going to college in another County (State), but the moon? That would be tough.
LikeLike
Groupon
‘So, we make it to the moon, and they’re offering pay-as-you-go trips to Mars? Seriously?’
‘Yup.’
‘And a suite of luggage if you book before Thursday?’
‘Yup.’
‘Goddamn it, Blakey. We should’ve held on a few months.’
‘Yesterday’s news, Buddy. Yesterday’s news…’
‘Do you think we’re on Google Moon, yet? They said it was the BIG thing for 2015.’
‘Why don’t you google it and find out?’
‘Ha, freakin’, ha. Can we google from here?’
‘No.’
‘Do you think they even remember we’re up here?’
‘Who?’
‘The public. The fans. The geeks.’
‘No.’
‘No, they don’t remember?’
‘No. they don’t care. Yesterday’s news, Buddy. Yesterday’s news.’
‘Dammit, that luggage looks good. It’s a good deal. 1,309 already gone.’
‘Yup.’
‘Vanity case; Hope would love that. She has a LOT of make-up.’
‘Yup.’
‘I might click for that one. We could go to Mars, Buddy.’
‘I’m happy here.’
‘Really?’
‘Yup.’
‘Have they paid us yet?’
‘Doubt it.’
‘Dammit. I’ll miss out. On the deal. Are you sure they haven’t paid us?’
‘Sure as sure. Leave it. It’ll be back in a few weeks, you might even get a dinner voucher.’
‘Dinner on the moon…’
‘Way to go, Buddy. Way to go…’
200 words
@_sarahmiles_
LikeLike
Love the pure dialogue approach. The pacing is excellent. Great job!
LikeLike
Haha! Considering my recent exploration of Groupon this was even more intriguing. 🙂
LikeLike
Heh heh. Gotta love Groupon. (Do they have Groupon in America?)
LikeLiked by 1 person
We do but it’s not something I’ve used in the past, just heard about. 🙂
LikeLike
Always missing out on the better deals (story of my life). Funny take.
LikeLike
Brilliant. Had me laughing. You’ve done a great job of character with the dialogue.
And ‘Google Moon’; genius.
LikeLike
I love what you did with this. Even on the moon– there’s always a better deal… after the fact. Thank you for sharing!
LikeLike
Thanks, Tamara. One of those that just had its own mind…
LikeLike
Night’s Snake
@CliveNewnham – 209 words
The moon’s merciless fang hangs poised in ebon, neon tinged; drawing life from the warmth of blood, casting its net of hoary venom. From the Thames River slithers a fog that, snaking up her banks, sneaks through railings and the litter toward the huddled homeless, who cling to the boxes of their lives in sleep.
From full to nought and back again, only his eyes beheld the crescent with hope. The other sleepers didn’t. Their dreams were stolen. Not his.
Each night before hard sleep he’d pray for redemption, each night that the moon passed. And each night the stealer of dreams would wax or wane.
The hiss of frost reached with a sinuous slide around hope. Night’s snake coiled, constricted. A gift for stupor’s dream it seemed, an extra wrap or hug. Crushed! The last drop squeezed through frozen lips with no protesting sigh.
Beneath the cover of darkness morning crawls baring the ugliness of Charing Cross Bridge, the stark iron skeleton rattling with the early soulless trains. Those that slept without hope slept and arose. Embankment Place, now for a moment a silent emptiness, focused upon the one remaining cluster of boxes, the lonesome carcass waiting to be swept away.
On mass the starlings wheel the city.
LikeLike
Wow. Superb imagery throughout this entire piece. Loved especially: “…the lonesome carcass waiting to be swept away.” All so good. Beautiful.
LikeLike
Gorgeous imagery, and sad.
LikeLike
Extremely poetic. Wonderful imagery for such a sad topic.
LikeLike
Moonlight Reveals
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
I smile up at him. His face is bisected by the moonlight, half glowing and half hidden in the darkness of the thick stone walls.
“This is his truest self,” I think.
We meet in this dark corner of the world, a mausoleum at the corner of a cemetery, looking out onto the aptly named Hope Street.
I sometimes find myself snickering when I think of this marriage of hope and death and how our intentions have made this meeting place at best vaguely poetic, and at worst a macabre cliche.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this,” he asks, frowning slightly, the moonlight at work, making a half-rictus of false concern.
“Absolutely,” I say with genuine conviction.
He is asking about my intentions to murder his wife.
I am the one who suggested it one evening while laying in bed together. I needed some answers about what kind of man he really was.
At first he was surprised and then entirely amenable.
I was answering in the affirmative about my plan to kill him, however, not his wife.
She’s the one who hired me.
I wonder if he sees my duplicity now, illuminated as I am.
Or the glint of knife.
210 words
@CaseyCaseRose
LikeLike
Ooh, a double agent story! Love the lush phrases: “his face is bisected by the moonlight, half glowing and half hidden…” Also enjoyed the layered meaning of the intersection of Hope Street and a graveyard. 🙂 Nicely done!
LikeLike
Love the twist! Gorgeous imagery, too. “This is his truest self” is such a great line. Nicely done.
LikeLike
Thank you, I’m glad you liked the play on “hope” 😉
LikeLike
Wow, love the twist… Brilliant
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
Beautiful writing, and a brilliant twist. I love how you did this. Great story!
LikeLike
Thank you! It’s funny, I had a dream about a double coursing murderer Thursday night and then when I saw the prompt it felt like kismet.
LikeLike
Kept me hooked, love the twist.
LikeLike
Thank you, glad you enjoyed it 🙂
LikeLike
Damn, that was captivating. More please.
LikeLike
Thank you. More murder, coming right up 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, a very original take on the prompt and a great double-twist at the end!
LikeLike
Thank you, I’m pleased as punch that you enjoyed it 🙂
LikeLike
That was delightfully shivery. I always love it when someone is given a chance… it makes things… it makes me feel better about cheering for the ‘victim’ getting his comeuppance. Very well done.
LikeLike
Thank you very much. I feel the same way, I love when someone unknowingly eludes their chance to slip out of a noose that they likely made themselves.
LikeLike
We’re Going Where The Sun Shines Brightly
209 words
@TinmanDoneBadly
It’s not easy being married to someone who works nights.
Mrs Moon had known that, but had given up her life as a Siren to marry the Man in the Moon anyway. To her it was simple – she was in love. How could she not be – he was a wonderful soul devoted to making life more beautiful for the people below. She loved to watch as his artist’s hands skilfully moved the moon’s light along a range of shades, everything from scythe-narrow crescent to full, werewolf-waking brightness.
And she watched as he made the moon wax and wane, though she had no idea what either of those words meant.
And she watched him tire. She saw how Jupiter had twelve moons, with twelve Men to share the load, while he toiled alone, night after night after night.
So she came up with a plan. He argued against it, but she was a Siren, and could pretty well make men do what she wanted. Besides, he loved her, so would have ended up doing it anyway.
So tonight he used those brilliant hands to move, nudge, inch the moon sideways, forwards, until it was directly in eclipse behind the sun.
They’ve gone to Finland, with its six months of daylight.
LikeLike
Mr Moon…:-)
LikeLike
I love the fact that you came up with a Mrs. Moon. Brilliant. 😉
LikeLike
Mr & Mrs Moon – loved it. She made me feel sorry for Mr Moon – glad he’s got a break.
LikeLike
‘werewolf-waking brightness’…there must be another story in that! I’m glad Mrs Moon prevailed.
LikeLike
I don’t know why I really love the idea of the Man in the moon having his honeymoon in Finland. Delightful!
LikeLike
Great, epic love story and a great original take on the prompt.
LikeLike
The Dance
By Laura Carroll Butler
205 words
We danced under the light of the moon that first night, the music a background to our burgeoning love. It was just the two of us and our dreams. Our dance floor was the path we walked learning each other’s steps. He twirled and dipped me with the confidence of the young and hopeful.
Soon we were three. Our love changed, but still we danced. We held our son between us and rocked to Springsteen, laughing at our joy and silliness.
Then there were four. Our dances were less complicated and more open. When they were young, they danced with complete abandon. Then they matured. When it was just the four of us, we still danced holding hands, three of us taking turns to support the one who was most tired and carrying them until they regained their footing.
Four became three, then two so quick it took my breath away. They have their own dance partners. They will return and we will have our dances again, the circle bigger than we could have dreamed the night we first danced alone. For now, though, it is the two of us again, swaying a little slower under a bright moon, no less hopeful, no less dreamy.
LikeLike
Wow, I love the movement of numbers in this. Two, three, four, then three, then two again. Lovely phrasing and word pictures. 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you! Your praise means a lot to me!
LikeLike
So bittersweet! Beautiful imagery, love your use of numbers.
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
Circle of life. Lovely rhythm and flow to the story.
LikeLike
Thank you! This is a love song to my husband and sons.
LikeLike
Beautiful circle of life story. I always enjoy these tales. It’s truly passes in a blink of an eye.
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a lovely story. I feel a slight sniffle coming on…
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
I love the progression of time you manage to traverse effortlessly. I love the fact that life promises more then they could have dreamed at the beginning. Bravo!
LikeLike
Oh, thank you! That is a lovely comment.
LikeLike
Last Call
Sideways on a street fate forgot his mind tunneled into the past.
“One ticket to Nowhere.”
“You need a destination, Ms.”
“Really, because every time I have one I end up nowhere.”
“This is a train station. Destination?”
“Pick one for me.”
Charles nodded and stepped around the counter.
“You can call me Charles.”
“Why would we exchange names?”
He stepped closer. “So you’ll know what to whisper, as I make you forget your own.” She took the cigarette from his lips and stole a drag. Her fingers, parentheses giving her inhale more meaning.
He lit another.
Fiery hair with the disposition to match, she was combustible. A black sun clueless to those caught in her orbit.
“Lamppost love,” her smile was unexpected, “merely lasting the distance between streetlights.” Releasing the rhetorical smoke, she exhaled.
One streetlamp morphed into the next as weeks passed. Charles still hadn’t guessed her name and she hadn’t offered, but he knew every detail of her freckled flesh. He’d memorized the shape his hands would take as they traversed her curves. Crescent moons, navigating her night skies.
They’d talked travel, exploring everything, nothing, insides of cities, living out of suitcases. She’d promised to pack her passport.
Hope never showed that night.
“One ticket to Nowhere.”
210 words
@blackinkpinkdsk
LikeLike
This is gorgeous, Grace. I truly wish I could write dialog that clever but it wasn’t my gift to get. Thoroughly enjoyed watching this play out through your eyes. 🙂
LikeLike
Kind of you to say. Thanks, Foy!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, gorgeous. But then I knew it would be. “He’d memorized the shape his hands would take as they traversed her curves. Crescent moons, navigating her night skies.” So much, so much there. Beautiful.
LikeLike
As always, thank you, Tamara, your kind words of encouragement to all is most appreciated. Writers supporting other writers is so important, and we all have something to learn. I love the camaraderie of FF and the #flashdogs as we all contribute in our unique ways. Thanks again!
LikeLike
Fantastic dialogue, beautiful description—and a just plain great story.! Love it all.
LikeLike
Thanks a bunch, V!
LikeLike
Very dreamlike quality to this. Lovely writing.
LikeLike
Thank you kindly, Steph!
LikeLike
This was like a throwback to a different era. A slick and sultry vibe throught written in your typical sophisticated and complex prose. “She took the cigarette from his lips and stole a drag. Her fingers, parentheses giving her inhale more meaning.” “He’d memorized the shape his hands would take as they traversed her curves. Crescent moons, navigating her night skies.” Can you make that 2 tickets to nowhere? Thanks. Ha!
LikeLike
Haha! Thanks, Chris. Your comments and support of the flash community are so genuine and inspiring. I always enjoy your feedback!
LikeLike
Such beautiful writing. There’s really no words to give it justice. Quite liked this bit, “So you’ll know what to whisper, as I make you forget your own.” Well done, Grace!
LikeLike
Thanks, Brett! Very kind of you to say.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is gorgeous. Very well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Fantastic dialogue. I read this like it was an old black and white movie.
(“Fiery hair with the disposition to match, she was combustible.” I’ll add this to lines I’m jealous not to have come up with).
LikeLiked by 1 person
Whitney
@WHealyWrites
208 Words
Hope for Humanity
“Grab your stuff and move it, Bud,” a guard said to the man in the crowd.
“My names not Bud!” The man responded, heated, standing up to the guard.
Promptly, the guard overtook him. The man fell. The guard gave him a kick. The crowd winced.
“If anyone else wants to challenge orders, feel free,” the guard growled, “Now move it. Show’s over.”
The crowd stared in silence.
“The next ship leaves in fifteen. Group 79, that’s you.”
“Are you sure this is the only way?” a worried mother asked, clinging to her crying baby.
“Ma’am I don’t have time for stupid questions. This planet’s gone to shit and our only hope is the moon. You can either take the shuttle, or you can stay behind and die. And shut that child up.”
The mother’s lip quivered.
“But what about—“
“No more questions. Now get.”
The woman, her baby, and the rest of Group 79 boarded the shuttle, thinking of all they were leaving behind, wondering what if this isn’t the end, what if this isn’t the right decision, what if this doesn’t work, what if we all die anyway?
But deep down they knew guard was right: the Lunar Colony was the only shot at survival.
LikeLike
Can feel the tension, the dread in this one. Nicely done!
LikeLike
Thank you! It feels good to be back!
LikeLike
So much tension and fear. I’d be terrified during this kind of evacuation, too.
LikeLike
Thank you, Mimi!
LikeLike
Great tension-driven piece.
LikeLike
Tense, and you captured the human tendency to question, even when there is no choice, so well. Bravo!
LikeLike
Escape Velocity
210 words
@rowdy_phantom
Loss of gravity—that’s the hardest part. Bobbing about like a bloody jellyfish. Passive, clingy, probably fatal. The times I do touch down, my toes graze TV snow. Lift off, and I wonder if it’s autumn out there, where leaves crunch against yellow-chalk stars and green-chalk aliens. Then off I bob again. Wondering takes too much energy.
The lack of oxygen–that used to be hard too. But eventually the lungs whiffle around a new pinched normal.
You’d think the diminished gravity would make it easier to stow trunks and cases. I struggle to stack them eight-high. Within, construction-paper spaceships and dinosaur onesies collapse into the density of neutron star stuff.
My last solid earth memory is of sonic implosion, metal crumpling over metal crumpling over carseat. Then the jolt of release as my capsule thrust ahead with enough force to shear a family sedan in two.
That stage is behind me now, crashed back down into the sea (he’d just learned how to wriggle into a back float), shoving me loose to cross the weightless emptiness alone.
Tinfoil speakers crackle at me. It takes too much effort to parse static into sense. It hardly matters. There’s not enough fuel in the universe for a rescue ship to reach me.
LikeLike
Word dense–I love this skill you have to maximize every word. Active, startling verbs and unique word combinations.
LikeLike
Thank you! (I worry that it might get too dense)
LikeLike
Love this line: “But eventually the lungs whiffle around a new pinched normal.” Love ALL the lines, actually – so deep with layer after layer. Wow.
LikeLike
Thank you, Tamara. I’m glad you liked it.
LikeLike
Such vivid imagery! Beautifully written.
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
I think ‘whiffle’ is my new favourite word. Such a resigned acceptance of his situation – poor man.
LikeLike
Thank you for your comments. I’d written this from the POV of the mother, but I’m glad it can be read either way!
LikeLike
(And I was pretty pleased to find whiffle too–first draft “wheeze” wasn’t working for me)
LikeLike
Beautiful. You do a great job of giving the feeling of the events, and making me feel like I’m there. Very well done!
LikeLike
So sad, the surrender and realization in that last line.
LikeLike
…and the moon.
@CliveNewnham – 192 words
We are adrift in the dark. Yes it is night, yet light surrounds us. A track runs to the distant face that coldly returns our gaze. Bursts of light splash unpredictably all around, yet pricks constant above as if through a thread-bare blanket.
The ship is gone; the captain, the crew, and the people we met… It’s just you and me and the moon rising and falling through space, passing through liquid coal.
Like it’s always been. You for me, me for you; both carrying the torch.
Follow the track; follow the moon; it will take us home. Row, row, row your boat…
I’ll sing for you. I’ll sing about the moon. I’ll sing for the dolphins. Maybe they’ll come.
Maybe they won’t. But why should they? So many slaughtered in the bays.
But I’ll sing of love all the same, love of the moon, love of the dolphins, love of you.
I’ll lullaby you as easily as these waves. Sleep my darling. Dream of me and I’ll be there. There’s only enough water for one more day. But that’s all you’ll need. I’ll slip away now.
Just you and the moon.
LikeLike
Quite poetic – love the rhythm and flow of this. Beautiful imagery… 🙂
LikeLike
I love the rhythm and imagery of this story. Wonderful work!
LikeLike
Such a sad tale of love’s sacrifice. I particularly like the ‘sing-song’ tone which, for me, mirrors the lapping of the waves.
LikeLike
The voice in this is perfect. The struggle, the fixation on certain images, the sing-song incursion of delirium–all laid out so wonderfully to culminate in that soft but devastating action. Wow.
LikeLike
I love the feel and the rhythm to the story… and the heroic sacrifice… Hopefully they’ll take the gift that’s been given… That leaves me… shivering.
LikeLike
“The Professor”
by Michael Seese
209 words
Professor Huggins scrawled furiously. Chunks of chalk bounced off his oblivious nose and collected at his feet. The maid had long since given up sweeping away the white footprints – a sort of mental travelogue – throughout the house.
“You see, it is possible, if supported by a proper counter, you see.” Professor Huggins tended to end sentences the same way he began them, though he rarely completed them.
The slate which lined the walls of his study had lost their ability to contain any more of his equations. Luckily, he still had one-third of the floor. In his clouded yet clear mind, these numbers always took precedence over others. Like birthdays, and dosages.
“A far better solution. Rockets! Bah! An elevator! Far better!”
The knock on the door registered, but failed to motivate.
“One moment, carry the, one moment.”
“Let’s go, Professor,” said once of the white-jacketed technicians standing in the door. “Your… ” Madeline nodded. “Your launch vehicle is ready.”
“One small step, goodbye Maddy, back in a, giant leap,” he said, almost connecting a kiss with his wife’s cheek.
When he saw the sign on the van’s side he gasped with elation, failing to notice his things piled by the curb.
“Wild blue! Wild blue!”
Blue Moon Sanatorium.
LikeLike
Vivid and clever.
LikeLike
Ha! Brilliant. Love his speech idiosyncrasies. Nice last line. :).
LikeLike
Professor Huggins is a wonderful character! I love his quirky way of speaking. Nicely done.
LikeLike
Poor Professor Huggins. I hope he enjoys his new life. Great story.
LikeLike
Bravo! I was trying to do something with Lunatic asylum… but it just didn’t happen.I think my favorite line (oddly enough) was “One moment, carry the, one….” Very well done!
LikeLike
I absolutely fell in love with this guy’s dialogue. Oh, that fine line between insanity and genius. This one left me wondering if somewhere scrawled on the floor is the Answer.
LikeLike
Barren. Cold. Lifeless.
David cast a weary glance at the moon, and tried to remember when other adjectives – luminous, shining, full – described their marriage. But the moon’s face changes as she slips through her ordained phases. As did Deborah’s.
“So that’s it?”
Her non-answer said more than words could.
Even as Deborah spun on an out-of-control axis, David held onto a hopeful dream, one which saw them some day growing closer. But he knew that just like their celestial counterparts, once gravity took over, it would have to lead to an inexorable death spiral, culminating in a spectacularly fiery ending.
So they remained destined to never again touch.
The Swiss Psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross posited five phases of grief. David had managed to claw his way to the final: acceptance. But Deborah remained fixed in depression, unable to cast off the curse of grief that comes from losing a child.
As David waited for the movers to rescue the various sundries of his life – clothes, photographs, and dreams – stacked outside the home on Hope Street, he looked back one last time and waved. She stood frozen. Frozen in time, on that day. David knew he was saying goodbye to a ghost. He just wondered whether Deborah realized it.
LikeLike
*gutted* So, so sad. Beautifully written. That last line is so full of despair.
LikeLike
So tragic and deeply moving. Well done.
LikeLike
Argh, so heartbreaking! Your use of celestial imagery is so effective and beautiful. Wow. Great work.
LikeLike
How sad. A beautifully tragic story, though.
LikeLike
So sad. Clever use of the moon’s phases and planetary behaviour to mirror the breakdown of their relationship.
LikeLike
Woof! Beautiful but so… yeah… woof. Your story hit at just the right level. So sad, so… true. Sometimes when you’ve done all you can, all you can do is leave. Beautifully done!
LikeLike
Bring An Extra Suitcase
by Alicia VanNoy Call
@callthewriter
210 words
“Bring an extra suitcase,” they say.
You’ll want souvenirs. When it’s all over, you’ll want to hold it – rough and solid – in your hands. You’ll want to get it out and say, “See? I was there.”
You’ll prove that you’re real, if you bring an extra suitcase.
So you lug it around, rattling empty. Under one arm as you check in. Jammed between your knees on the rickety transport.
They didn’t tell you how crowded it is, how hot, how it’s all been annexed by Starbucks and Wal-Mart and Disney.
But when you’re finally standing there, in the Sea of Tranquility, unable to take a step without kicking a discarded Coke can, the Earth begins to rise.
It’s just this blue-green jewel. Alone in a night of distant stars. And it hits you. You are 238,900 miles away from, well, everything.
It still exists.
So do you.
For a moment, everything pulls taut with lines of infinite connection. You could reach out one hand across those lines, strum a chord, and the universe would sing.
All you can do is bend down and gather rocks. To prove it. You were here. You were real.
I can’t describe it. I really can’t.
Just. . . bring an extra suitcase.
LikeLike
This is gorgeous. I love this: “For a moment, everything pulls taut with lines of infinite connection. You could reach out one hand across those lines, strum a chord, and the universe would sing.” And “All you can do is bend down and gather rocks. To prove it. You were here. You were real” is just perfect. What else can you do in the face of something so awesome? Great work.
LikeLike
Well, thanks! 🙂
LikeLike
Poignant and well-crafted.
LikeLike
What a lovely compliment. Thank you.
LikeLike
Beautiful, Touching. “It still exists. So do you.” For some reason, this touched me deeply. Beautiful story.
LikeLike
I’m so glad you like it.
LikeLike
Great writing. I like the change from the description of the corporate image of the trip to something more poetical, more human as he looks at Earth.
LikeLike
Thanks 🙂
LikeLike
Love the idea of an Earth-rise. Fab idea and really well-executed.
LikeLike
Thank you very much. 🙂
LikeLike
This is beautiful, but it was this line: “..strum a chord, and the universe would sing…” that really just… well… struck a chord with me. Well done!
LikeLike
Thanks muchly!
LikeLike
I love the movement from regretting the suitcase advice through the commercialism to the inescapable awe despite it all. A full, wonderful story.
LikeLike
Thanks! It was fun to write.
LikeLike
Alone, Together
@twinkieconfit
210 words
I’m awake, my head resting on Stefan’s chest. He’s fallen asleep before me, leaving me alone in the quiet dark. I try not to listen to his heartbeat.
Stefan’s heart is a drumbeat of pain, speaking a litany of loss. Six months and three days since we lost contact with Earth. Eighty-four days since Hans succumbed to madness and took his own life. Sixty-two days since Lin. Forty days since Mika died, leaving only three of us. Twenty-three days since Elyse.
Unlike Stefan’s mouth, which offers loving reassurance, his heart taunts me with promises of grief yet to come. “I can stop at any moment,” it threatens, “and you’ll be alone on this dusty rock.”
My own heart screams.
I get up, taking care not to wake him, and walk to the airlock. As I do every night, I consider going out without a suit. I could end this now. I don’t have to wait for the madness, don’t have to watch Stefan die.
As I do every night, I put on the suit.
Earth hangs in the black sky, a silent blue and white marble. I reach out to her, thinking of my family and the old house on Hope Street, and imagine myself floating home.
LikeLike
I’m homesick, and I haven’t even left the comfort of earth! Wow, what a vivid story. You completely pulled me inside, wrapped me up in it. Great job!
LikeLike
Thanks, Tamara! 🙂
LikeLike
What a rich story, so full of emotion. Fabulous work. At least she can choose the no-suit option if he does die. For some reason that comforts me.
LikeLike
Thanks, Annika! The suitless option comforts me too.
LikeLike
So much loss in so few words, the countdown of days as the deaths mount up builds up the despair perfectly.
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
Another great story actually set on the moon. The madness to which the astronauts succumb evokes the etymology of “lunacy”.
I love ‘litany of loss’, and ‘this dusty rock’ – how *does* the moon manage to shine so brightly?
Great stuff, Mimi.
LikeLike
Thanks, Geoff!
LikeLike
I love how you managed to pack so much grief and loss without having to go into detail. Not an easy thing to do– and you did it very well. Bravo!
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
That second paragraph locked me in. It says so much about their situation, and not just about the deaths. That she knows exactly how many days between those deaths–that’s agony. And yet, she has the strength to put the suit on, to face the possibility of watching Stefan die (rather than subjecting him to her death).
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much!
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
Gripping. The ‘drumbeat’ punctuates the whole of the second paragraph highlighting the rate at which they have lost the others. A great story.
LikeLike
Thank you! 🙂
LikeLike
Runaways on Hope Street
(202 words, @pmcolt)
“Tell me it again, Rudder. About the Moon.”
Roderick embraced his kid sister, for warmth as much as affection. The wind ripped straight through his ratty coat. “They’s a huge castle up there on the Moon. Bigger even than this factory. But clean, ’cause the Man in the Moon has hundreds of servants to scrub away the grime.”
Blue eyes admired the bright orb. “It looks like ice. Is it cold?”
“No, Winnie. Up there, the sun’s so bright it makes everything glow like a gas lantern.” He leaned against the icy brick wall, gazing heavenward. Uncaring stars twinkled in the winter sky. “And they’s clear lakes, and open grassy fields for miles and miles and miles. Just like when we was young.”
“It must be real warm there, Rudder. I can feel it now.” Her shivering stopped. “And Daddy is up there?”
“Yes. Daddy went to be a servant to the King and Queen of the Moon. They pays him in diamonds, and dresses him in purple silk, and lets him stay in their castle.”
Sleepily, the girl closed her eyes. “When can we see him, Rudder?”
“Real soon, Winnie.” Roderick, too, closed his eyes. “We’ll be with ‘im real soon.”
LikeLike
What’s this? Pmcoltrane did not write a sci-fi story for a prompt that was just begging for it? 😉 Loved the story you DID write – beautiful and so full of emotion. Well done!
LikeLike
Is Tamara Couldn’t-Finish-Ender’s-Game Shoemaker complaining about me NOT writing sci-fi? 😉 Thanks!
LikeLike
No complaints. Just surprise. 😉 I’m quite satisfied with the story you did post… 😉
LikeLike
This is a poignant and beautiful story. Your imagery is wonderful and really brings the story to life. Great job!
LikeLike
Lovely story. Poignant last line, deeply moving.
LikeLike
Beautiful and heart-rending. I thank you for that.
LikeLike
Lovely and sad.. I actually feel the cold… oh, what that’s Pandora. Beautifully done (and sad). (and I think it could be science fiction)
LikeLike
Oh, the feels. You got me with this one. The intertwining of the fantasy dialogue with the brutal reality of the environment is just tragically beautiful.
LikeLike
Lunar Liverpool
@jamesatkinson81
http://haberdasheryofstories.blogspot.co.uk/
191 Words
After the surface of the moon had been terraformed and divided up among the nations, the British government began to think about what to do with their share.
When the back catalogue of The Beatles and other Merseybeat bands entered the public domain, they got their answer. It took decades but, as they went, more cash was made from the bands of Birmingham, Manchester and London, too, until a lunar copy of each was planned alongside that of Liverpool.
Hope Street, Lunar Liverpool, with its suitcase sculpture just like the original, became a focal point of the new city’s first generations- the boulevard along which people would meet and dream of a better future.
Ringo, named for one of the unwitting late benefactors, would meet there with others and look down upon the earth, the place of their ancestors, the place they were not welcome and dream of taking it back, to live in the real Liverpool, made of real materials, with an actual River Mersey- and liver birds, too.
All was but a dream for now. The forgotten lunar residents were stuck until they themselves raised the capital for rebellion
LikeLike
What a story that hints at a much larger story! Nicely done.
LikeLike
This is a very clever take on the prompt. I love the name “Lunar Liverpool!” Great job!
LikeLike
Lunar boulevard of dreams – nice take.
LikeLike
It almost sounds like they were building a musical theme park… but of course they aren’t going to stay contained for long. Love the image and the imagination!
LikeLike
Ask for the Moon
(200 words)
“Stop mooning over that…that…man, for want of a better word.” Mama frowns and brushes the hair from my tear-soaked eyes.
“He’ll be back.” I grab his photo and trace his smiling face with my fingertips.
“You act like he hung the moon and stars.” Mama pulls the picture from my grasp and drops it facedown on the table. “He’s trouble.”
“He makes life exciting. He’s seen so much.” I reach for the picture again. She swats my hand away.
“He only visits once in a blue moon.” Mama’s voice is tinged with bitterness as she gets up to pace the room. “Stop wasting your life on false hope.”
“Any time with him is worth the wait. He promised to return as soon as he’s resolved some issues back home.” I watch Mama pause by the stack of suitcases perched expectantly by my bedroom door. Her fingers dance across the surface, leaving tracks in the thick dust.
“He promised you the moon. He didn’t deliver.”
“Not yet. Soon.” I sigh and turn my gaze to the window, straining to see the star system he calls home. Tonight it’s out of sight, hidden behind the Earth’s never-failing dance partner in the sky.
LikeLike
Five uses of the moon, Annika, nicely done! Stop mooning, hung the moon, blue moon (one of my favorite songs, btw), promised the moon. And then the ACTUAL moon (without calling it that) at the end. So clever! Love it.
LikeLike
Thanks, Tamara! 🙂 I chose to NOT have her moon someone, although I was tempted. I just couldn’t fit it in.
LikeLike
Josh Bertetta already included that particular element. 😉 I thought about it, but lost the courage. lol!
LikeLike
Oh good, I’m glad someone covered that particular base. 🙂
LikeLike
Me, too. Saves the rest of us all the embarrassment. 😉
LikeLike
This is clever, Annika. Vivid picture of a lovesick protagonist with an endless supply of hope.
LikeLike
Thanks, Mimi! I tried to incorporate the “hope” theme. Thanks for noticing!
LikeLike
I like this! 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you, Sydney!
LikeLike
Agree with Tamara! I like that you laced it with our sayings and left the real thing unspoken. Also “for want of a better word” tells so, so much about what Mama thinks. Love this, Annika! 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks, Deb. Besides, calling him an alien would have given up the surprise! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Perfect!
LikeLike
This one made me grin all the way through–and then burst out laughing at “dance partner in the sky”. Even through the cheeky lunar placements, you make the characters live. I feel for both of them.
LikeLike
🙂 Thanks! I had “fun with idioms.”
LikeLike
Such a telling line with the suitcases ‘Her fingers dance across the surface, leaving tracks in the thick dust’. Perfect image for the hopelessness of her situation, even though she denies it to herself.
LikeLike
Thanks! I considered trying to make a reference to the footprints on the dust of the moon, as well as her long wait for the man beyond the moon, but I ran out of words. Alas….
LikeLike
Wonderful story, Annika. You’ve packed so much emotion and detail into 200 words; I didn’t see the sci-fi element coming!
(And “like he hung the moon and the stars” is a new phrase to me, so thank you for that! Where I come from “like the sun shines out of his arse” is another celestial simile with a similar meaning, though not quite so lyrical!)
LikeLike
Thanks, Geoff! It’s a fairly new phrase for me as well–I think I first read it a few months back in someone else’s flash story. I had to look it up at that time. I was tickled when I was able to use it this go-round. And yes, I’m glad the scene wasn’t “the sun,” because using your similar phrase just wouldn’t have had the same romantic quality. 😉
LikeLike
I see what you meant in your comment later on. I love the imagery and the voice of Mama being the voice of reason, while the narrator is the voice of hope. Well done.
LikeLike
Thanks! 🙂 I appreciate the kind words.
LikeLike
Love! Love the incorporation of the “moon” expressions, and the twist at the end, which I wasn’t expecting. Love the phrase, “Never-failing dance partner in the sky.”
LikeLike
Thanks for the kinds words and support Margaret! I had fun with “phrases of the moon.” *snort* *chuckle*
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bwah ha ha!
LikeLike
“Phrases of the Moon” should have been my story’s title. Totally.
LikeLike
Hope Springs Eternal
1948: an advert in a Jamaican newspaper offered cheap transport to anyone wishing to come and work in England. Winston Hyatt from Hope Bay (married, two children, on the breadline) jumped at the chance. He meant to stay a few years, work hard and make enough to return home and set up a business.
On arrival, Winston and the other hopefuls had nowhere to live. They were granted short-term accommodation in a deep-level World War II air-raid shelter in south London. The nearby labour exchange offered Winston a job at Clapham Junction station but he needed a permanent address.
Someone suggested Hope Street
The first guest-house had a sign: ‘VACANCIES‘. His smile evaporated; underneath he saw ‘NO IRISH, NO BLACKS, NO DOGS‘. “Could be worse,” he thought. “I could be an Irish wolfhound…” But even this grim humour left him; every B&B had the same restrictions. Sometimes Blacks had top billing but always dogs raised the least objection. Hopeless Street would have been a better name.
Winston had travelled with high hopes just over 4600 miles from Kingston to London. But, for all the welcome, charity and human kindness he had received here, he felt he would have been better off travelling to the far side of the moon.
@GeoffHolme
Word Count: 210
LikeLike
Love this, Geoff. Powerfully written; could be the other side of the story I wrote. I wish I could offer him shelter. 🙂
LikeLike
Thanks a lot, Tamara. That means so much, coming from you.
Yes, it seems alien to this generation to have such extreme xenophobia yet so many from the Caribbean – still British citizens back then – were brave enough to come over here and build lives just from what they had in a suitcase. Hats off to them!
(I think I must have subconsciously reprised you’re closing words – it wasn’t done deliberately!)
LikeLike
I love the reprise, like two halves to a whole. 🙂 Yes indeed, hats off to them. I don’t know if I would have ever had the courage or the fortitude in the same situation.
LikeLike
Thank goodness times have changed. Great last line.
LikeLike
I’m so impressed by all of the photo prompt layers you were able to incorporate into this story, Geoff. Your repeat of the word “hope,” which then finally transformed into “hopeless;” your use of the travel theme; and your unspoken and spoken reference to the desolation of the moon. This is a very deep and moving tale that has rung true for so many people through our history. Wow. I love this! Fabulous work.
LikeLike
This is truly touching and beautiful in a sad, not giving into despair kind of way.
LikeLike
A home from home
@lizhedgecock
206 words
We knew Lennie as the chirpy Scouse landlord of the Mersey Ferry pub, west end of Mall of the Moon, as far from the Mancunian Way Inn as it could possibly be. Lennie’s bar was full of Beatles memorabilia, the Liver Building and Paddy’s Wigwam, with Cains on draught. The jukebox vibrated with Mersey beats: Fab Four, Cilla, Gerry and the Pacemakers, with an occasional Echo or Frankie track to stir things up. Lennie knew what the crowd wanted; something which felt like memories of the home we’d never seen.
Lennie could bring any drunk down to earth faster than the Mall’s gravity field, and his floor show packed the bar every night. So when it flashed on every channel that Lennie was gone, we couldn’t take it in.
Some cop had pegged Lennie as a long-term stowaway with an illegal memory chip. He wasn’t a Scouser. He wasn’t even human; although he was fairly close. They got him, after closing, with a laser in the back.
The screens said Lennie had a record for everything from petty larceny to first degree, last updated fifteen years ago. The pub, and the chip, kept him straight, although his roots were in a galaxy far, far away.
LikeLike
Ha! Nice last line. Loved this. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Tamara – a real last-gasp effort this week from me, although a galaxy far, far away had to get in there somewhere!
LikeLike
You can’t NOT have that line in somewhere on this board for this prompt. Kudos on being the first. 🙂
LikeLike
‘Lennie could bring any drunk down to earth faster than the Mall’s gravity field’ – great line.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
This is a fun story. I loved the way you wove Beatles elements into a sci-fi tale. The last line is great!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Glad you enjoyed it! I lived in Liverpool for ten years so it was fun to get some local landmarks in 😉
LikeLike
I like the imagery and the idea of a themed pub where no one there was alive to remember the theme. You wove it all into a very touching story. Well done.
LikeLike
Thanks – it was fun to write – really wanted to write to this prompt but half-term got me, so this was a whack-it-in.
LikeLike
I love this kind of ‘dirty sci-fi’. As we expand away from Earth it doesn’t necessarily have to be all clean and new. And, sure, our history would come with us. This story does a great job of painting a world (moon) where we’ve taken over but not changed as people. If we lived on the moon then the Beatles would still be something people talked about.
I’m rambling. To summarise; I liked.
LikeLike
Thanks Brian, glad you enjoyed it!
LikeLike
The Manuscript Society
They were burned on Hope Street on a school day. Academics rioted, howling across the view, exampling their dedication and love through own blood spilled abundantly on the pavement. Others failed trunks full of heirloom classics, begging to be shot then, and not see them dumped and
stamped on.
Brilliance was never understood. It was mourned only, private or in death.
John Kronin’s army deployed like vultures before the masses, their faces nebulous, averted from the tied exemplary victims and their works of art, smoldering together in a fiery pit in the middle of Hope. The New 1st Parliament members watched wordlessly from behind a wall of the militzia’s forces.
It took less than twenty minutes for flesh and paper to fuse. A posthumous monument of man and art; Opposing heroes immortalized in their charcoal expressions of terror, their forever lost words ash at their feet – that’s how they’ve labeled it, nearly five hundred years later.
There are many visitors to the Moonseum of Human History. Augmented and voiced-over, this visualization means little to the people around me. It’s salvaged data from pictures and memoirs. We left so long ago.
But it is genuine. I was there yesterday. I will go on Hope Street again tomorrow. Maybe this time…
@Raptamei
Word count: 210
LikeLike
So much here, so many nuggets to unwrap. Beautiful skill. I love: “Brilliance was never understood. It was mourned only, private or in death.” Gorgeous.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Tamara!
LikeLike
Love the idea of a ‘Moonseum of Human History’. Hope we humans don’t follow the path in your story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hear, hear! Though we might end up on Mars. Who knows?
LikeLike
Wow, you have some wonderful imagery here. I especially like “Opposing heroes immortalized in their charcoal expressions of terror, their forever lost words ash at their feet.” So good!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Annika!
LikeLike
Wonderful flash writing here. I agree with everything that’s already been said above. But this is worth mentioning again, “Brilliance was never understood. It was mourned only, private or in death.” Great line!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Grace, I’m glad you liked!
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s a sad world where intellect and art are ignored, and this is a beautiful reminder. Have you hugged an artist today?
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have! That would be a kind gesture for anyone. Thank you for saying that!
LikeLike
The Temptation of Silver
The silver coin spun in the moonlight, lions and nobility blurring into a mythical beast. Tabitha snatched it from the air, her patron disappearing into the East End’s gloomy labyrinth. The coin magicked into the folds of her emerald satin dress, joining the eight other crowns already earned tonight. One more and Tabitha could retreat to Old Sally’s, a glass of port for her soul and balm for her sores.
“Evening young lady.”
Moonlight traced over an immaculately tailored suit, top hat and gloves. The face was old but handsome, fine lines echoed by a fine moustache. In one hand the gent held a suitcase.
“Somethin take yer fancy?”
“Indeed, though not your undoubtedly welcoming embrace, I’m a collector by trade.”
“Collector?”
“Broken things, discarded things. Would you care to see?”
Tabitha nodded, the gent keeling, locks clicking. As he prised the lid open silver light spilled out, filling the alleyway. Tabitha moved closer, inside, lying on a blanket of darkness was the moon.
“Is it?”
He nodded encouraging her closer, Tabitha leaning in, hand reaching out, wanting only to caress this pearl of lustrous silver.
A push in the small of her back, suddenly Tabitha was falling, spiraling into endless darkness.
As locks snapped back into place.
@imageronin
#flashdog
209 words
LikeLike
Ack! Poor Tabitha! Has a bit of a cross between a genii of the lamp and Professor Moody and his imprisonment in the trunk (my Harry Potter obsession had to creep in somewhere–here it is). 😉 Love the magical feel of this!
LikeLiked by 1 person
thanks T, really appreciated …
LikeLike
Nice fantasy. Very gothic feel to this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Steph, trying a point/style well outside of my comfort zone – so pleased it came across for you.
LikeLike
Oooh, I really like this! You created intriguing characters and pulled me in as you built the suspense. Then, she “reached for the moon,” with disastrous results. Great job.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks A, really pleased with your feedback, greatly appreciated.
LikeLike
Oh, this! Beautiful imagery and a peek inside of fantasy. Fantastic.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh you! … thanks G, was stuck with what to do to the prompts but thankfully Tabitha came to the rescue …
LikeLiked by 1 person
I had my suspicions as soon as he said he collected broken things. You did not disappoint. Well done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ah thank you so much …
LikeLike
What a great story! I hope Tabitha’s gone to a better place, though I suspect she hasn’t…Pitch perfect.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Liz, who knows maybe one day I’ll go and find out what happened to Tabitha! Thank for the comment really appreciated
LikeLiked by 1 person
So dark and twisted, beautifully done. Great story!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You had me at the first line and never let go. This needs to continue. Great description and brilliant dialogue.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The Moon Landing
@ceckybonway
210 Words
Two Caterbees (think flying caterpillars) embarked on a journey across a vast peach-colored wasteland. They held hands while Bert, the male, whispered sweet nothings into Penelope’s ear. This was their first, official date. They’d been friends for years, but it wasn’t until earlier this week that Bert finally asked to take their relationship to the next level.
“I can’t believe you were able to find out when the next moon would be!,” beamed Penelope, as she fidgeted with her short, course, blue hair.
“I had to bribe Vinnie to get it. He got a hot tip from his friend that frequents the human detention facility. This one should last a good 30 seconds. We’ll know it’s almost over when we see blue denim coming over that hill,” Bert explained with obvious pride.
“BUT,” he continued, “we have to make sure we avoid the crevice in the middle. Apparently there’s a hole in the center that can kill you by either sucking you in, or covering you in a moist, brown, smelly material that can squash you to the ground.”
“Hold me tighter, Bert! Don’t let me fall!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Bert as he grabbed two more of Penelope’s hands and they continued across their first moon landing.”
LikeLike
Ewwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😉 And LOL!!!!!! Brilliant! *rolling on the floor*
LikeLike
‘Moist, brown, smelly material’ yuck – fun story though.
LikeLike
LOL! 🙂
LikeLike
Lol! Clever, funny, and gross. 🙂
LikeLike
I’m going to blame being tired for not getting it at first. Well played! and ..yeah… ewwww!
LikeLike
Equal parts of euuwwww and haha! ‘Blue denim coming over the hill’ will stay with me!
LikeLike
I was half way through when it clicked and I nearly spat out my drink. There can’t me many more original takes on the prompt than this. Nicely done. 🙂
LikeLike
“Hope In Front Of Me”
by Sydney Scrogham
197 words
@sydney_writer
Cutting scratching slip blip ah—
One lonely puff from my lips curls to meet the full moon.
I shouldn’t’ve—
Too late now. Metal clinks on asphalt at my feet. Tension bound in my skin whooshes out of the breach on my ankle like hot air rushes from a balloon.
I just want to escape myself.
“People will accept you,” my mom used to say, “if you’ll show them what’s inside of you.”
I hate what’s inside of me. Coiling, waiting, glaring behind my eyes’ reflection in the street shop windows.
“Are you lost?”
I pause when my feet come together. A boy standing no higher than my waist stares at me from beside the green dumpsters. His pasty fingertips stick out of cut-off edges from grey gloves. Street rats don’t intimidate me, not even ones with giant piles of luggage next to them. It’s the name of the street, Hope Street, that has me frozen to the concrete.
I halfway mutter, “What do you want?”
“Nothin’. Just waitin’.”
“By a dump?”
“This is my stuff. You don’t throw a life away just because it’s banged up a little bit.”
I take a step closer to Hope Street.
LikeLike
Something about the narrator grabs you. So good. Loads of intense detail. “One lonely puff from my lips curls to meet the full moon.” Lovely.
LikeLike
Awww poor little guy, “His pasty fingertips”. Tugs at the feelz! 🙂
LikeLike
Like the double meaning in the boy’s reference to his stuff ‘You don’t throw a life away just because it’s banged up a little bit.’
LikeLike
There’s so much emotion captured here as your MC moves from self-loathing towards hope and connection. Wonderful job!
LikeLike
I love the message. Very well done and the path the narrator took to get there, made it that much better. Bravo.
LikeLike
Love the pacing in this piece it feels like the rise and fall of a heartbeat to read. Well done!
LikeLike
Moving. I love “I just want to escape myself.”
LikeLike
Just for Fun (Song Lyric/Title Mash Up)
By Charity Paschall
Where you from?
Well, Sister Christian, it’s a long story. I was born a Coal Miner’s Daughter. Daddy left home when I was three, but he told me All You Need is Love, Eight Days a Week. He and Mama got a D-I-V-O-R-C-E and he and His Cheatin’ Heart left in his Little Red Rodeo with Bobbie McGee. Mama said “You Can’t Hurry Love girl.”
I met a man, Bojangles, while Walking after Midnight. He told me I was “Hotter than a $2 pistol” and he’d make me the Queen of his Double Wide trailer. We got married in a fever, and I was the Happiest Girl in the Whole USA.
He went to visit Auntie Grizelda, but I caught him at Hotel California drinking Strawberry Wine with Eleanor Rigby. I talked to Big Bad John about some Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap—Next thing I know, my husband was Shot Through the Heart.
That Night the Lights went out in Georgia, and the next day I left Tulsa in a Chevy in a Hurry in the Pouring Down Rain. I was in Amarillo by Morning, and paid the Witchita Lineman for a Ride on the Jamestown Ferry….and I got off on the Dark Side of the Moon.
@CharityPaschal2
LikeLike
Stuff that didn’t make the cut (just for fun again).
That man wasn’t Nothing but a Houndog, but he told me his Love was Deeper than the Holler and we’d be together Forever and Ever Amen. He couldn’t hide his Lyin’ Eyes, and he got on the Fightin’ Side of me more than once.
When I booked my flight they asked me “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” I told them how much “I Love a Rainy Night,” but they said I’d be wondering “Who’ll Stop the Rain,” before too long. Well, atleast I won’t be “Driving My Life Away” “Working Nine to Five.”
(I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.)
LikeLike
Just realized I forgot to add my word count: 208 words. Thank you all for the kind comments. This was so much fun to write I am considering an extended version …it may show up on my blog in the next few weeks.
LikeLike
Brilliant. Incredibly creative! 🙂
LikeLike
Love it! Laughed all the way through it, still laughing. I was beginning to think you would make it to the moon. Good job.
LikeLike
Oops, this should have been on the previous one.
LikeLike
OK. I give up. For some reason I can’t comment on the one I want to. 😦
LikeLike
Good job! My comment for this one ended up on the next one. Love this!
LikeLike
Clever, fun story.
LikeLike
This was so much fun to read! Thank you!
LikeLike
I love it. So clever and fun to read!
LikeLike
Bwah ha ha, this is so much fun!
LikeLike
Silver Dust
197 Words
@mishmhem
We thrive in starlight, shifting from one shadow to the next, always standing on the edge, yet drawn to the bright places. In shadow, we are safe, but safe does not fill our spirits. Safe does not lure us from the world we know; it is the crystal blue light that fills our nights and bathes our pools with ice-fire that warms us with its chill.
In daylight we falter fading into nothingness as we streak across the sky. The winds may stir us but nothing moves us like shades of sapphire blue strewn out across the velvet night.
In shadow we gather until our numbers swell and a passing breeze scatters us like the stars, but we are earthbound memories nothing-more. We skitter away from mortal thought, but cover everything that is.
They build monuments to their dreams, cases for their memories and hopes, and yet they chase us, the true monument to hopes and dreams, and whisk us away.
We fill their world and they will never know who we are, until they too join our number in the shadowed world of memory.
For everything, is made of dust, and dust is all we are.
LikeLike
This line: “…and bathes our pools with ice-fire that warms us with its chill.” Stunning. Beautiful lyricism in this one.
LikeLike
‘Dust is all we are’ – powerful last line.
LikeLike
Wow, I love the lyrical quality of this story. You used so much fabulous imagery, while also stating very profound truths such as, “In shadow, we are safe, but safe does not fill our spirits.” I love this. Fabulous work.
LikeLike
Beautiful entry. Such lovely lines and the last one brings it all home.
LikeLike
Gorgeous, lyrical imagery.
LikeLike
“Dear George”
Jessica Franken
@jes3ica
201 words
Dear George –
I’ve been dreaming about baobab trees. My sister and I used to play below them, wrapping shawls around their trunks and calling them “grandmother.”
I’m sorry to get sentimental. You call me a “stupid Earthite” when I do it, and nothing is a worse insult in your mind. But your ancestors came from Earth. You are not so pure.
You call it a “dead rock,” but you know as well as I do what life it breeds. You, who saw me on your screen, had me shipped here for you alongside oil barrels and salt.
Dar says he’ll help me hide in one of the garbage ships going back to Earth, in case you’re wondering how I did it. You can joke to your other wives, “She’ll smell like everyone else there.” Or maybe you won’t tell them. Some of them are from Earth, too; some of them might miss it, too.
My first night here you brought me outside and guided my hand deep into the moon dust, proud of its gray beauty. You asked me why I was crying, and I never told you: I thought the whole world was covered in the ashes of the dead.
LikeLike
What a beautiful, heart-wrenching last paragraph. Mesmerizing.
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
Moving last paragraph.
LikeLike
Thanks so much!
LikeLike
What a unique take on the prompt. You wove a very dense and moving story in just 200 words. Impressive! Great work!
LikeLike
Thank you, Annika!
LikeLike
It’s interesting what a few generations can do to a person’s point of view. I thought about the dust as well, and came to the same conclusion as your heroine. Beautiful!
LikeLike
Thank you – your story is *gorgeous*!
LikeLike
A very poignant look at the future, and you did it with sensitivity. Well done.
LikeLike
Oh, that last paragraph is a killer! Hope she gets away.
LikeLike
That last line…wow.
LikeLike
Loved the confidence of the character when she reveals her escape plan “in case you’re wondering how I did it”.
LikeLike
Falling Apart
203 words
Lata Sunil
@lsunil
Funnily, we lived on a street called ‘Hope Street.’ A bleak, cold place with not much sunlight. Everything about it was hopeless.
‘Are you ready?’ Dad asked.
‘Yes.’ I had packed my suitcases, lettered all my clothes with ‘Sk’. The suitcases were outside the house ready to be put into the car trunk.
Mom was getting ready. Checking her hair, her skirt, her face and wiping a tear in between.
After today, there will be no one in the family staying at Hope Street.
As soon as I leave, Dad was going to live in a new house. But Mom was not going with him.
Mom was going to stay at Grandma’s home for few months and start on a job.
She looked scared, worried, nervous. She was probably worrying about me.
Mom came out of the bedroom and hugged me and between sobs was saying lot of things. ‘Don’t worry’, ‘we love you’, ‘you be strong’, ‘we’ll come to meet you.’
Dad also came over and said, ‘Don’t worry Steve. I’ll get the moon for you to see a smile on your face. ’
‘Why do we have to stay apart? Can’t we live together?’ I asked.
Both of them looked grim.
LikeLike
Quite an emotive piece. The last line really punches in the sadness, and the dread of parting. Lovely contrast between that feeling and the irony of the first line. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Tamara.
LikeLike
Sigh, so heart-wrenching. Great work!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks a lot Annika
LikeLike
Very touching and there are so many layers to this. I like the contrast of leaving hope street, which is bleak and how that should be a happy thing, but parting never is. Well done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you so much.. It made my day.
LikeLike
Leaving Hope Street is always so difficult. Nice job telling story from the chlld’s POV.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you so much Pratibha
LikeLike
Such a sad breaking up of a family.
LikeLike
Next Phase
208 words
@rowdy_phantom
#flashdogs
Meridot perches atop the steamer trunks, heels bouncing off the buckles. “Where will we hunt meedy-tears?” she asks in a tiny voice.
“Meteorites,” I correct her. It keeps me from having to answer.
She clutches her blue bunny in the crook of her elbow. As if she fears someone will snatch it away before the evacuation—the way the Earthlings are snatching away our home.
They have come in swarms, warting the surface with their habitats. It’s only a matter of time before they chew their way through the crust and discover the truth.
I scan the fractaled roof of our home within Luna’s mantle, a mantle that must go back to being solid. We have a place to go, but it won’t be the same. Childhood swaddled in dove-gray regolith, adolescence flitting through corridors webbed with pewter circuitry, adulthood learning the silver intricacy of the gears powering our secret world—we’re trading the subtle chiaroscuro for lurid oranges and pitch.
“We’ll start a new collection,” I hear myself say.
The grip on Wellsy relaxes a fraction. “Something shiny?”
“Some are purple on the inside.”
“Purple meteorites.” She savors the syllables. Born here, Meridot doesn’t know true purple.
“Geodes,” I correct her. My smile almost reaches my eyes.
LikeLike
Absolutely love the innocent, scared trust of the child in this. This line blew my mind: “Childhood swaddled in dove-gray regolith, adolescence flitting through corridors webbed with pewter circuitry, adulthood learning the silver intricacy of the gears powering our secret world…” All the stages wrapped up in on gorgeous sentence… so good.
LikeLike
Thank you so much. I didn’t think I’d be getting a second one done, but I couldn’t let prompts that lend themselves to SF go without actually writing some SF.
LikeLike
You had me at “Meridot perches atop the steamer trunks, heels bouncing off the buckles.” Great imagery and imagination throughout the entire piece. Fabulous job!
LikeLike
Thank you!
LikeLike
I love the way the narrator does their best to keep Meridot cheerful, all the while musing over what she’s losing, and the way she’s happy and adaptable… as children are. Beautiful and sad, and even in the bleakness there is cheer, in the form of the young. Well done.
LikeLike
Beautiful and sad story. Loved the description of the earthlings settlements as ‘warting the surface’ and how the Earthlings themselves are painted as locusts with words like swarm and chew, making them sound the more alien.
LikeLike
Typical humans, taking over without thought. Love the innocence of the child alien, makes our acquisitive behaviour seem even worse.
LikeLike
The Immigrants (209 words)
@howdylauren
“You still haven’t unpacked?” Mario eyed the worn suitcases at Lucia’s feet.
“Not yet. Kinda hard to unpack when you don’t have anything to put your clothes in.”
“Oh, sweetie, don’t be like that. I’ll get you all that you need soon enough.”
“Really? With what job? Has anyone even bothered to call you back? You were a dentist back home, here you’re lucky if someone will hire you to bag their groceries.” Her words stung, but Mario was used to it–she had become increasingly stressed over the months of their journey. Morning sickness didn’t help.
“Baby, don’t worry, I’ll find a job. I’ll dig ditches if I have to. What I could do back there doesn’t matter, what matters is that we have a hope here that we never had there. A future, for our children.”
Lucia gently rubbed her protruding belly. “You’re right. We made the right decision.” She glanced up at him, her eyes shining. “You’ll make a good father.”
Mario smiled and wrapped his arm around Lucia’s aching shoulders. Stars had begun to speckle the night sky–their first night at their new home.
“You look so beautiful in the moonlight.”
“Don’t you mean…earthlight?”
Mario chuckled. “I guess that will take some getting used to.”
LikeLike
I wondered if theirs wasn’t a completely different type of immigrant… I was looking forward to reading yours, Lauren! 🙂
LikeLike
Love the real world feel to a reversed situation. Nice snap-shot of this couple. 🙂
LikeLike
Beautifully done! I love the hope and truth behind the experience you’ve put in there.
LikeLike
I love the unique way you incorporated the photo prompt & setting–a hopeful trip to the moon! I enjoyed reading this couple’s tale and I’m feeling hopeful about their future. 🙂
LikeLike
Oh, love the twist at the end!
LikeLike
Beautiful story, real world with that sci-fi twist. Feels like a bigger story wants telling.
LikeLike
A situation faced by so many but certainly not in that setting. Nice twist.
LikeLike
The Landing
“We’ve gone once around. Now they’ll release the balloon and we float to the ground.” Mitchell squeezed Rachel’s hand reassuringly. She squirmed in her seat. The chair absorbed her motion as easily as it had the force of the launch they had undergone three days earlier. Rachel had been entirely unable to keep down the meals they had been offered. Projectile travel simply did not agree with his wife. Mitchell, on the other hand, was used to the rocking of his Father’s yacht.
The stewardess did a pass through the cabin to collect their loose items. The projectile began to vibrate as its trajectory was adjusted. They had been losing speed for hours and would now begin falling towards the surface. Rachel focused on rubbing the contours of Mitchell’s hand while he listened to the mechanisms in the compartment above their cabin come to life. A large canvass balloon was being inflated and bringing their projectile to a slow drift as they approached the landing point.
After an hour, they were resting safely on the ground. Rachel released her hold on Mitchell so he could collect their belongings. Luggage in hand, and with shaky legs, they stepped out of the projectile and breathed in the chilly Lunar air.
208 words
@acmarkz
LikeLike
So detailed; loads of imagination in this one. Nicely done!
LikeLike
Thank you, it was a fun one!
LikeLike
You never cease to amaze me with how much you can pack into 200 words and leave me wanting so much morel. Well done!
LikeLike
Thank you, Mary! That’s a great compliment!
LikeLike
This is a very rich and immersive story loaded with details. I felt like I was taking the journey with them. 🙂 Great job!
LikeLike
Glad you liked it! Thank you!
LikeLike
Strong sense of being there as I read this; you made a moon landing seem perfectly normal.
LikeLike
Thank you so much!
LikeLike
Moonlight and Hope
208 words
@mishmhem
“Luna, my dear– I’m afraid you must stay here when I leave.”
She stared at him. Her entire existence had been for him alone and now he was simply planning on walking away.
“Please, don’t look at me that way. You knew this was coming… you knew I never planned on staying. I never kept that from you.”
It was true. He’d never proclaimed his undying love– never even brought her as much as a forget-me-not. If the truth be told, she only really existed in his world when she was needed and now, she was no longer needed.
“I’ll never forget our time together– but I don’t need you anymore. I am ready to face this on my own.”
He stood and watched as the porters carried his bags outside.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone else,” he said softly before following them to his waiting carriage.
The Doctors watched as the ambulance drove away, taking Francis with it.
“He’ll be better off in a long term care facility,” one of them said.
“We’ve done all we can for him,” the other agreed as the nurses removed the last of his things and made the bed.
“And the night light?”
“The moon? Leave it for the next patient.”
LikeLike
LOL! I was getting all irritated with the guy, ’cause he was being such an unfeeling jerk to this poor love-lorn being, and then I realized that I was empathizing with a night light. You got me. 😉 Excellent. 🙂
LikeLike
My work here is done. Seriously… I was trying to rewrite a story I wrote this morning when this one took over. It just really, really wanted to be written. Glad you enjoyed it.
LikeLike
Ha Ha! I was still in the mindset of my own story and assumed he was an alien, preparing to take off for the universe and leave this poor Earth women behind. I was irritated with him…until I realized what “she” was. So much fun and so well done! Great!
LikeLike
Oooh nice twist! Bravo.
LikeLike
This is sweet and sad at the same time.
LikeLike
Gotcha! How sad…great twist though, really well done. Love it when a story takes hold.
LikeLike
The first read through had me confused. But, after that last line I went back and, well, I couldn’t stop laughing the second time through. Just brilliant.
LikeLike
Well-done, I was imagining a drippy woman and was mentally telling her to get a grip, and then found he was addressing a night-light; loved it.
LikeLike
Loved the twist, and the emotion you made us feel on behalf of the night light.
LikeLike
Haha Nice twist.
LikeLike
Technically this is late, but since I wrote it, thought I’d share 🙂
To the Moon and Back
My bags are packed. Frayed at the edges, the suitcases stacked easily on the porch we’ll soon leave behind. Our home on Hope Street, or so you named it. Five years we lived here together, if the machines can be believed, but I never counted the days, swept away in the novelty, the adventure. In our love.
The promises you whispered became the cobblestones beneath my feet as I walk the craggy surface of the moon. Stars and satellites shine in the endless sky. I search it every night, though night and day have meaning only in my mind, defined by the relentless ticking of the clock beside our stove.
Three hundred and eighty days I’ve marked off on a makeshift calendar. Three hundred and eighty nights, that I’ve spent staring, praying, hating you, and hoping.
You told me twenty-four. Thirty at the most. Less than a month. You’ll hardly miss me! You laughed as I hugged you close.
Three hundred and fifty days you owe me, as I wait for the ship you set off to find — our next adventure in the next corner of the universe.
My bags are packed.
(192 words; @AriaGlazki)
LikeLike
Oh oops! “Less than a month. You’ll hardly miss me!” is supposed to be italicized 😦
LikeLike
Love the sense of intense waiting in this, sort of a lunar Waiting for Godot… 😉 Nicely done. 🙂
LikeLike
Oh wow, what a comparison! Thanks, Tamara 🙂
LikeLike
I love the sense of waiting you bring into this– not so much bitter as… longing. Well done!
LikeLike
Thanks! Exactly the tone I was aiming for.
LikeLike
This is a wonderful story–packed chock-full of details and imagination. Your imagery is wonderful: “The promises you whispered became the cobblestones beneath my feet as I walk the craggy surface of the moon.” Fabulous work.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Annika 🙂 Glad you enjoyed it!
LikeLike
It’s a shame this missed the deadline; really liked the story and it contains some great lines (“350 days you owe me” and “the cobblestones beneath my feet”).
LikeLike
Yes, I’m a bit bummed about the timing, but then again, we don’t write for the accolades 🙂 Glad you enjoyed the story!
LikeLike
Left behind and still waiting – so sad. I like the idea of whispers becoming stone.
LikeLike
Thanks, Steph 🙂
LikeLike
A haiku:
A million stories,
Comments below every one…
Flash! Friday explodes.
LikeLike
In the dim morning,
The muse flees far, far away,
So why not haiku?
😉
LikeLike
Haiku, yes, haiku
Haiku, haiku, haiku, yep,
Refrigerator.
LikeLike
So embarrassing,
Showing you all my haiku,
The talent’s right here.
😉
LikeLike