Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The White Prince #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW,

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Credit: © 2013 Ioniangraphics

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He walked through the frozen world elated. The trees were silent and still as ice coated their needles. He was satisfied with what he saw, with winter’s permanent hold on this world. He preferred the isolation and tranquility he found in blizzards that howled and the quietness of a world blanked in thickness of snow afterwards. 

Every day he walked through his Winter Wonderland satisfied that it’s inhabitants remained mostly indoors, only venturing outside when they had to. Life was a vicious battle for survival here and he was proud to have been the one who initiated this struggle. 

Then one morning he walked outside and heard the triumphant roar of a lion; he shivered in fear. He had not heard that roar for milannias. It was the roar that had silenced his mother, that belonged to the beast who ripped out her throat. He felt overly warm, used to frigid cold, feeling furious when he saw that overnight the pine needles of the trees had been freed from their ice cage. The lion roared again and the white prince ran. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Maydays: Book Spines Poem – Free Verse – “A Prince and A Cook” 



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Thanks to K.L. Caley from new2writing for hosting #MayDay prompts. Today’s prompt is about books.

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A Passion for Narrative, to tell a tale, 

One taking place during Ragtime, to no avail —

A Tale of Two Cities, who didn’t get a long well, 

The Prince ruled both with Machiavellin swell, 

He didn’t see how easily Things Fall Apart, 

Neither was he there in the America When the Eagle Screamed depart,

He thought of Sons and Lovers, a life snuffed out,

Measure for Measure time left in the dust despite his shouts,

He’d never been a good man, taking care of Midnight’s Children,

He believed all people were Dog Soldiers, cannon fodder broken, 

He didn’t know the baggage, The Things They [people] Carried,

The Prince cared only for war and power, sometimes Faking It, days varied.

Difficulties being commander when you’re too fat to be master, 

Bought his cook a book Cook Yourself Thin Faster.

She had A Scarlet Letter and was surprised by the book, to have the dictator eat better.

The cook dreamt of tales told, of The Aeneid, Virgil’s words enticed her,

She swore this would be The Last Summer, she cooked The Prince his meals,

Inside her a voice screamed, Have A Little Faith; she believed that voice real, 

Reading in her spare time a biography of Steve Jobs, unsure if he was a modern prince or a genius, or both.

The cook hadn’t decided yet, but she didn’t like Job’s attitude, it made her him loath, 

She preferred stories about wonderful creatures imagined such as The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe,

Where good conquered all with a Lion’s roar, and reading away she silently strode.

Can You Keep A Secret? She’s leaving tonight, leaving The Prince to fend,

In this modern world, searching for a place where her broken heart stitched with a letter ‘A’ mends.

The Prince sits alone in his castle, soldiers having deserted the pen, 

In the modern age, a war fought with words, reminds him of his life’s Renaissance,

So he penned The Thirteenth Tale, the papacy rejected,

The number thirteen being evil, and so The Prince remained lost and dejected.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.