Sunday Photo Fiction: “Moonshine and YouTube” #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thank you to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF August 13, 2017.

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Credit: A Mixed Bag – Alastair Forbes

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“Should we tell the police?”

“Tell them what?”

“About the zombie. What was he?”

Hank covered his face with his hands.”Not a zombie, Ted. Just a homeless guy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, zombies aren’t real. Only on The Walking Dead.” 

“How do you know? Ever seen one? I did.”

“Trust me. You didn’t. This guy was scary but he was human. Angry too, when you ran at him screaming.”

“I would remember doing that.” Ted narrowed his eyes at his friend. 

“Listen, I told you not to drink your Grandpa’s moonshine. One of these days he’s going to notice you’ve been stealing gulps.”

“That’s besides the point. The homeless guy is an actual zombie. The police will believe me, Hank.”

“No, Ted, they won’t. Your ten, they’ll think you’re telling tales.”

“There’s the homeless guy stomping out of the police phone booth, now,” Hank muttered. 

“Let’s get him!”

“I think he called the police. You were badgering him too much.”

“Was I?” 

“Yep, I doubt he was impressed with a drunk kid punching him as he was trying to sleep.”

“Where were you when I was fighting this zombie?”

Hank laughed,”I was filming a video of you for YouTube. You’ve got thousands of views.” 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

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Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: No Good Witch #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Yinglan Z

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Belinda was a nasty middle-aged woman, but her behaviours were characteristic of someone older. 

She was mentally and physically sound; however, the pucker of her frown never left her face. Wrinkles indented themselves deeply into her forehead, around her eyes, and around her mouth; her skin was pasty white. 

She pretended to walk feebly; but when a neighbourhood child or dog was near her property she ran out screaming, wearing stodgy Victorian gowns, no skin showing but her face and hands. Her hair was always severely pulled back in a tight bun. 

Besides a cat or four, she disliked everyone. She made known she had cut her family out of her will. All her money would go to a stern Catholic congeragation she had terrorized since she was four. 

 An old trailer and burned-out truck from a cousin who had lived with her, remained on her lawn, even after the cousin disappeared. No one who entered Belinda’s house came back out, only her cats. 

 The neighbours thought this had been occurring for some three-hundred years, having heard the same stories from their great-grandparents and before. 

Was Belinda a ghost? A banchee? A witch? No one knew. But every now and then someone disappeared inside her doorway and everyone knew that person wouldn’t be returning. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers – Standing Alone


There it stands on a tiny island surrounded by rocks — this lonely Norman castle where people use to live, work, and play. And they lived, worked and played for the Lord of the manor Eric and his Lady Isabel.

Eric and Isabel were so in love and Isabel prayed daily that no one would break their stronghold or challenge Eric and his loyal soldiers to battle. 

Eric was a good Lord. He cared for his people and loved Isabel with his whole heart. It is said that Eric’s ghost haunts the castle still looking for his Lady who waited and waited for him to come home to their castle from war.

But Eric never came home and Isabel lost hope. You can hear her wail of disappear in the ocean. Eric’s ghost never finds Isabel’s wail and Isabel’s wail never reaches Eric’s ears. Theirs is not a happy tale, but it was once. 

  
Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting. Please feel free to join us at her site for Flash Fiction.

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers – A Whisp in the Wind


Can you see her? Gesturing to me and wringing her hands desperately trying to make me understand something. “Well spit it out Bernice,” we always use to tell her and she’d laugh, shrug, and with a giggly sunshiney but quiet voice explain a funny story.

Bernice and I always use to go to the gazebo in our favorite park and talk the situation out when she or I had a problem. The last time she spoke to me she was concerned about my new husband Davey. ” Jackie” she sighed, ” he’s just not right for you. There’s something about him I can’t put my finger on . . . and he hates me, seems threatened by me as your sister.” I shrugged off Bernice’s accusations, although, she had been right that Davey wasn’t for me. 

Bernice doesn’t talk to me anymore or meet me anywhere but at the gazebo. She gestures and flails her hands and I beg her to talk. My sister is a pale ethereal figure who tries to make me understand something. What? I don’t know. Plus, there’s this funny dark bruising around her neck. She won’t explain. It’s as if she’s a ghost. . .

Word Count: 193

  
Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting! If you want to participate go to:

https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/author/pricelessjoy/