short story – lifehomeandaway

Training in progress

Photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Feilds.

The voice bellowed through the hall ways, “Lights out! No more talking, smiling, giggly or even blinking.”

“Get into your beds. Lie down flat. Snore if you like or must. “

“BUT! No moving or singing. And if you must pray, don’t let God or me hear any sounds from your bed space.” The voice concluded.

She lay in the bed, quiet as a mouse.Her legs squeezed as tight as possible.

She needed to pee. You either peed before lights out or roughly 30 minutes after.

No one had mentioned bladder training on the school curriculum.

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Collision

Her anticipation grew.

First came the whistling, as similar to her as her own heartbeat.

Next came the tingling of the bells.

She watched for him.

Today was for shopping. There would be two boxes tied to the back seat of
his bicycle. Full of fresh products for his stall.

But unlike other days, today he killed someone.

The death was swift.

The victim was split, lower limbs from torso; his intestines trailing from
the spinning wheels.

Neither the victim, perpetrator or spectator expected it.

She had giggled, he had finally noticed her, but not Marvin the scarecrow.

He. Died.

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Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. To rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Sacrifices

Cain had promised not to bring any more trouble to his table again. Abel knew better than to trust those words, but surprisingly enough they had held through for the last nine months. Longer than they had ever held. Abel was starting to believe Cain had really turned a new corner. Until the note.

“God loves a cheerful giver, we love any kind of giver, including dead ones. Pay the debt or your brother becomes an unpleasant sacrifice.”

It was attached to the pulpit like a huge beacon.

This demand would ruin him. It would leave nothing unscorched.

Photo prompt by Lisa Fox.

I am literally almost a week late to the writing challenge. But i thought better late than never. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge friday fictiooners. Thank you for visiting my blog today.

Humble abode

“Adam, we cannot continue like this.”

He smiled.

“Do not give me that smile.”

It broadened even more, his eyes twinkling like light orbs against the dark skies.

Eve sighed, whilst rolling her eyes.

“One would think we built this shelter to preserve things that would be destroyed when left open to the elements,” She continued.

“Alas I forethought we built it shelter precious treasures. Like you, my darling Eve.” Adam replied.

“I do not know what to make of those words, dear husband, for it appears you deem a baby turtle as precious as I.”

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday Fictioneers. Please click the previous link to visit her blog. Take the time to learn about the challenge and click this link to share your story should you decide to join our band of merry writers.

Thanks you for visiting my blog, reading, liking and if possible commenting. Your time is precious so i am grtaeful you decided to share it with me.

Spiced up

A sprinkle of curls, not too tightly wound. A dash of red to spice the cheeks. Add some green drapes to finish it up.

Next, we have long straight strands, the colour of golden straw. Throw in radish pink, for sparkly lips. Then top it all up with some sheets the colour of purple cabbage.

Lobster red strings, this time tightly wound. Emboldened by sea weed green orbs. Layer it with golden sheets. Et voila perfection.

The buffet certainly dimmed in comparism to the beautiful women traipsing across the hall.

Variety was indeed the spice of life.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday fictioneers. Click the previous link to visit her blog. And click on this link to upload your story.

Healthy pirates; history preserved

Rum, rum,

Tis the chant of a rolling drum.

Run, run,

Beat the feet of a wandering drunk.

Clip-clop, clip -clop,

the thumbing of a pirate’s limp.

Clink, clink,

coins steadily rain into our coffers.

We sail our ship. Chests puffed up; heads held high. No brazen storms or monsters roar will turn our ships or heart ashore. Our anchor holds for golden woods.

Raise your tankards, peel ya oranges. We haven’t conquered demons to die at the feet of an unhealthy diet.

Drink one glass of Zit’s orange juice a day to keep your skin healthy.

Photo prompt courtsey of Rochelle Wisoff-fields

I had no clue where i was going with the story.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge friday fictioneers. Click the link to visit her site and join in. Click the link to read other stories and submit yours.

Words without voices

She giggled … “mommmm, you have to finish the story. What did great-grandpa sayyy….”

“Well, he said, you better leave this place you big for nothing oaf.” She laughed and tickled Sarah.

“That’s not what you said last time mummy,” Sarah replied trying so hard to be coherent.

“Ohhh? What did I say last time?””

“You said he told the man to leave his Island or he would send his soul to the devil.”

“I told you that?” Oh my God. Marlene thought.

“Yes, you did mum, you change it every time. I wish great-grandpa wrote his stories down.”

So this is a long short, but the graffiti inspired my story. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday Fictioneers. Click the link to visit her blog.

And click on the link to read other stories.

Fractured people

“Does this remind you of anything?”

“Does what ‘remind’ me of anything?”

“That,” pointing ahead, he continued “the castle there”.

“Ohh. Hmmm not really. What does it remind you of?”

“You know, the scripture, a city set on a hill cannot be hidden.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Unfortunately, this one is broken, and relatively disused.”

“Indeed, it is, a pile of rocks on top a hill”

“A pile that serves as a tourist attraction.”

“True, but, a broken city no matter it’s history or filter applied cannot hide its cracks.”

“Not every crack must be hidden or examined.” She concluded.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday fictiooners.

Click the link to read further stories.

In plain site

“Is this really the best shelter we can make.”

“Unfortunately, yes”

“It does not look strong enough”

“Tell me about it”

“With minimal effort anyone can destroy its’ structural defences. It’s
even more terrifying how easily one can access and restructure its’ internal
content.

“For once I agree with you, this is unwise”

“I understand your reasons for panicking. But you both must trust me.”

“Ahrggg…”

“If we hide the treasure in grandeur, it will incite even the most insipid mind.
This way it pulls from the giver what is within, for on its’ own it is an
innocent baby.”

Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday Fictioneers.

Please click the link to read other great stories.

The hill we die on

Uchendu parked the vehicle in the yard. Its light blue colour glistened in the sun, bright as the skies above. The children starred in wonder. His wife’s’ smile shone; she was the embodiment of a successful wife. The naysayers had been shamed. Uchendu’s growing success was evidence that her union to him had not been ill-fated. She wasn’t cursed. Uchendu embraced her, then walked through the house, straight to his mother’s room. He smiled at her; she starred at him. As your wealth increases so shall the silence of another on earth. They will know by who’s hand it was wrought. The dibia’s words echoed silently through the room.

Photo prompt copyright belongs to Fleur Lind.

Diabia: is a word from Igbo land in Nigeria. It refers to a sorceres . They often granted wealth to people a price. The image reminded me of sorcerers and the price people pay for a future they must have. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday Fictioneers. Please click the previous link to see how you can join in with the fun. And click on this other link to read everyones entry.

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Category: short story