Dogs and birds

“Mate you need to get a job soon.”

“I know and I’m on it. Just sent in my application to the neighbourhood dog walkers association.”

“The neighbourhood what?”

“Dog walkers association.”

“But you don’t even like dogs mates….”

“You don’t have to like them to walk them.”

“Hmmmm ….”

“Besides have you seen the park when people usually walk their dogs? It’s teeming with well fit ladies, the dogs give you a free pass to chat ’em up.”

“Sick mate, well sick.”

“Anything to be with the ladies mate, anything.”

“You’ve to get the job first though.”

“Doesn’t bother me much, if I don’t get it I will apply with the fire service …”

“The what? you joking mate. You’re more likely to start a fire then end one.”

“Doesn’t matter, as long as there’s a babe in the flames with me.”

Laughter filled the room. Eric played on his inotab


“Eric what would you like to be in the future?” asked Miss Green

“A dog walker.”

“Hmmmm do you like dogs?”

I like Sammy, thought Eric.


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Louise @ the storytellers abode (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

Look within

April four, 1954 marked the beginning of my journey on earth.

The second child from my father’s third wife, thus my birth wasn’t significant. Not being a son made it even worse, father took one look at me and stalked off into the bushes. Mother called me Nkejika, father called me Odiozo, I guess he was starting to accept the gods had caused his seed to never rise as planters only  incubators.

 Mother said he would learn to love us, my sister accepted it, but I couldn’t wait for the day when he gushed over me in love. I woke up every day hoping it would be that day.

I went hunting by myself, I laid the bounty at his feet. He mumbled his admiration.

I went to the maidens dance, the prince took an interest in me, not the heir to the throne, though. Father proclaimed his approval, I was indifferent.

I’ve spent every step of my life reaching for love, who’s to say this won’t be another level of deferred love?


Arrrrgghhh! I am so not feeling this story.

In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Joy Pixley (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

 

Golden rings and a rose

“When you cross the path strewn with roses, draw thy thoughts to the bushes which bore them for they have thorns. Be weary of scented words, sparkling eyes that cast shadows on the stars, do not …”

Taking in the silk curtains billowing slightly in rhythm to the midday wind, I frowned down at my dressing robe, it was soaked in perspiration as though I had been to the wash. Her voice was calming there was no threat or guile but her words, her words left my mind in frays. Why the same dream? Why was she always in the shadows? Why did she never finish the warning? And what on earth was she warning me about? 

Refusing to let my mind unravel from my head, i set about seeking for answers, there was only one person I could trust  absolutely. Performing a cleansing rinse using a wash cloth and the small earthen bath, I sat on my mat centered my mind on the crystal and sort for peace within the recess of my mind.

‘Scented words … bewitching words.’

Who would plant a knife but present a shield?


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Jade M. Wong (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

 

 

Full cycle

A season in my life has passed.

The leaves on the tree fall down to the earth, a rusty red, yellow and brown mulch carpet enriching the earth, keeping it safe. Just like Agnes, Edna and my George lying six feet beneath the earth, watching over me.

Memories of three little girls who won’t let a little boy into their secret lair within the wooden shed flood my mind. George never gave up, though, he pestered us day and night, interrupting every meeting. Soon he became our captain and we were his loyal musketeers. A friendship that blossomed well into our teenage years, until he went to college. And when He visited it was like he never left, slowly a special cord was strung between the two of us. The rest they say is history.

Agnes always teased that I was never the first to try out anything new, thus it wasn’t a surprise that they all went before me. Relaxing my back against the wooden shed, I close my eyes, I feel safer crossing over now.

Copyright Phylor

In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Phylor (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

Sketching the mind

“Tracey, would you like to tell me what you see?”

Tracey giggled, shifting on her sit .

“Tracey?”

“There’s a lady standing in the corner wearing red …”

Gently massaging her palms with her fingers “Tracey, I wasn’t referring to ..”

Tracey carried on “… perfect streamlined shape, long arms, and legs that reach up to her ears. A vision in red.”

Smiling patiently “We both know I wasn’t asking you about the mannequin, I want to know what you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I told you there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“And I agree Tracey, but I would still like to know what you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I see a massive lump of flesh, stumpy arms, legs that barely leave the ground and trust me I don’t look good in red, any shape or shade.”

Silence.

“What? Aren’t you going to tell me that I’m wrong? That I am beautiful and the world is a crazy place not me?.”

“No, I’m not. How about we paint some still life today? Your sketches are getting so much better each week. Gretchen says you have a creative mind.”


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Iain Kelly (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

Polishing

12 noon

August 14, 1996

Army foundation college

Harrogate, North Yorkshire.

Standing at attention, the young recruits listened with rapt attention to the training orders reeled out to them. His voice was loud, clear and his words precise, but they all knew i.e. both him and the recruits that many would fail at the task. The problem wasn’t so much in the difficulty of the task rather in their inability to retain every detail of the instruction under such intense conditions. 

He had no such issues, every instruction was filed away in a folder, sequentially saved and earmarked for execution at the given time. He wanted to impress his superiors, to inspire his colleagues perhaps cause some of them to envy him too. This was his time to lay an unshakable foundation.

As the training washed off the sandy layers of his colleagues purifying them for servitude to God and queen, it polished the brilliance of his revenge.

Not today, not tomorrow but soon in the distant future, he would turn their guns against them.

Copyright The storyteller’s abode

 


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Louise @ The storyteller’s abode (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

Open Friday night

Everyone, I mean everyone loves open night Fridays at Funky munky pub.

It’s something to look forward to, loud music, pure unadulterated ale, lovely ladies with no strings attached. Different shapes and sizes to please everyone’s appetite. 

There was no need for prolonged chats or engaging conversations to source out a prime partner, everything is said with a sly look here and a hand rub there. Effective communication and satisfaction guaranteed.

I asked for Nicola next Open Friday night, no one answered.

But I couldn’t shake Nicola’s sultry eyes, so I pressed further. Frankie said she was in the chimney. That wasn’t any better, so I asked about the other girls he said they were in the recycle, they hadn’t tried to make personal contact with the client. He said to relax the green blinds were up on the left window so we would get fresh stock tonight.

Open Friday nights were spectacular, the preserve of Funky munky  patrons. No one gets to know.


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely TJ Paris (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

Mathematical football.

They pass the balls in a triangular pattern, I am not sure they know this, nor do they do it consciously. Sometimes it’s an isosceles triangle, other times it’s an equilateral one. But they tend to succeed or score a goal as they call when they form a scalene triangle.

I have thought about why that is, I mean why the scalene triangle works better and I have decided it’s because no one really knows who will be part of the triangle until the last minute. Sometimes it does backfire, an opponent intersects the ball before it gets to the third angle. Just like intersecting lines in my textbook. I do enjoy watching them, and plotting triangles as they play, well they call it play, I call it unnecessary physical contact and misappropriation of mathematical skills.

Mum says I should join them.

But I can’t, their uniform is all wrong. White reflects all the colours like a rainbow, which is intolerable and blue has too short a wavelength. Perhaps if it was yellow or orange I might have tried, if only to wear my favourite colours while forming triangles.

 


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Yinglan (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

Rendezvous

‘We shall reconvene this meeting at our usual spot tomorrow at noon. As usual tell no one and leave no trails.’

‘What does he mean by ususal spot?’

‘By the celtic tree.’

‘Ohhh!….  What is the celtic tree?’

Exhaling loudly ‘It’s the tree with the giraffe by its side at Sefton park.’

‘We have a giraffe at Sefton park, why has no one told me about it before? Wait are we the only one’s that know? Is it like a private pet? Does it have a ….’

‘Ohh for pits sake, it’s not a real giraffe! The tree has a branch shaped like a giraffe.’ Walking off in anger.

ooOOoo

At noon

‘Why have you come with a horse rather than your car?’

‘It seemed more appropraite for the rendezvous, don’t you think?’

‘You loon! Everyone would know you took the horse if anyone asked around.’

‘What’s wrong with that? It’s not like we’re going to do anything wrong, are we? Ohh this is so cool the tree actually looks like a giraffe. Not the real deal but cool.’

Copyright Phylor

In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from Phylor (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories. 

Magic plants

‘Mama is this an eggplant or an ao-bar-genie.’

She giggled at his attempts to pronounce the word, ‘it’s an aubergine honey, but it’s also called an eggplant. Where did you get them from they look very tasty.’

‘From Mr. Johnson’s farm.’

The giggles disappeared, as she took the plants from him and threw them out of the window.

‘I told you to stop picking food from Mr. Johnson’s plot. Everything there is poisoned.’

‘That’s not what Canny said.’

‘And you believe Canny over your own mother? Have you noticed how big Canny is, it comes from eating those unhealthy vegetables.’

‘But you always tell me to eat my vegetables so I can grow big and healthy.’ he stammered conveying his confusion at his mothers’ behavior.

‘Big and healthy Lucas, not big and unable to outrun the cat or jump over a trap. Those plants have enough chemicals to grow a cow out of you.’

‘Am hungry mama.’

‘I know love, here have some fish, I’ll look for more food tonight.’


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from Louise @ the storytellers abode (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories.