Sunday Photo Fiction: Not Just Allergies #amwriting #flashfiction #writing 


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

—–

A Mixed Bag

——-

Ginnie and Keegan gazed out across the city far away from the mountainous hill they had climbed. 

“I’m exhausted. I don’t know how I’ll ever get down from here,” Ginnie mumbled, trying to catch her breath. 

Keegan smiled. “This was only a two-day hike? How are you ever going to do the West Coast Trail? There’s so much climbing involved in that one. We’ve got to train more.” 

“Seriously Keegan, I told you I’m not into hiking that much. I can barely breathe as it is. It’s not only that I’m out of shape; it’s difficult with allergies, inhaling grass, pollen, and fungi.” 

Keegan laughed, “What about your inhaler? Did you take your allergy medication?” 

“Yeah, I’ve used them both. I know you don’t get it but often my throats feels constricted.”

“Are you having troubles breathing?” Keegan asked worriedly. 

“I’m fine. It’ll be okay if we have lunch and rest. Hey what’s that?” 

Behind them a great cloud had mushroomed up in the sky from the city miles away. A great whooshing sound could be heard echoing from down in the valley. Even far away, sirens could be heard.

Ginnie started to cough and wheeze and Keegan patted her back, “Breathe babe, breathe.” 

But then Keegan himself was having trouble breathing. A putrid smell was in the air. He peered at Ginnie almost unconscious beside him as they both fell to the ground. 

Keegan reached for Ginnie’s hand and then he began to cough. Before he collapsed he muttered, “I think this is chemical warfare, or worse.” 

Both Keegan and Ginnie lay still. 

——

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Advertisements

You Don’t Need One So Big!


Prompt: Tell us about a time when you had to choose between two options, and you picked the unpopular choice.

——-

 

http://www.overstock.com
 
 I can think of a time I made the wrong choice, and it wasn’t so popular a choice with my brother. Nath, and I were going on a spring trip to Montreal. I was excited because Montreal is one of my favourite cities I have been to and it had been about seven or eight years since I had visited. 

We booked our flights through Airmiles on Westjet and booked an apartment through AirBnB right downtown so we would be close to the metro which travels all around Montreal.

The week before I was staring at the suitcases down in the pantry. The large black ones were way oversized but my little blue one seemed too small. I decided to go downtown to shop for a good sized piece of luggage. I found a purple suitcase at Winners. I thought it would be big enough but not too big for Montreal and the color ensured I’d be able to claim it easily when the baggage came out at the airport.

I packed all my stuff. Too much for a six day trip. I was happy because I would still have enough room for shopping items. Unfortunately, I forgot Montreal is located on a hill and also I forgot we were taking the bus from our airport to a few blocks away from the apartment. Climbing those six blocks to the apartment building was hell as I dragged my heavy suit case up the hill. Finally, my brother Nath took pity on me and traded me with his little suitcase. 

I didn’t need that big of suitcase in Montreal even when I shopped. My blue one would have been fine. Hulling the large purple suitcase to and from the airport on a hill was excruciating. And there was no way I needed to pack that much. All of this was much to the amusement of my brother who told me I wouldn’t need such a big suitcase, to begin with.

Now, unless I’m going somewhere ten days or two weeks,  I bring my little blue suitcase and store a duffle bag for anything extra I might buy on the way home. You never know how long or where, you might have to hull your large suitcase. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Inside the Hill


There is this ugly hill that I peer out at whenever I look out my bedroom window. What tectonic activity put it there a millennia ago accidentally made this hill ghastly and abhorrent to my senses. 

The mountains and hills that are farther away, now they are something to look at. Gigantic rocks jutting out of the earth, elephant grey, white drifts of snow, pine trees, and treacherous cliffs where mountain goats cling to. There, I am free. 

I really don’t mind the hill itself.  I don’t hate it because it’s located where it is or because it’s boring to look at. I hate it for what’s buried in the hill – –  my husbands, numbers one, two, and three. Number four has it coming it’s only a matter of time. I look over at Charlie softly snoring away beside me on the bed. He’ll never see it before it’s too late. 

That loathsome hill, I can’t face what’s buried there. Their voices rise up to me when I sleep, condemning me, a black widow. But how can I disagree with the truth, I can only hate the hill. 

  
Thanks to  Alistair Forbes for hosting! 

Poem: Hiking the Hill


I wish you were here at the top of the hill, where the sunset gleams on boulders and rocks.

This place that we hiked to is far out of the way, there’s not a soul for miles either way.

So, we sweated and breathed in the humid air, yet we kept on walking through heat and sunshine shower.

You fell once as we stepped over circles or rocks and forest debris, you may have twisted your ankle,

But you continued just the same, and we both kept on going though you limped as we strode.

The wood was alive with the smell of pine, and a rabbit just stopped to stare at us hiking.

We were panting and dirty and there was a moment or two, I thought we’d have trouble with a little brown bear.

When we reached the hills summit, we looked down below, the great hill (a mountain) was glowing in sunset.

We camped for a day or two, you hated that the most, rocky hills are not places for sleeping your best.

And stiff and stumbling we came back down the hill, many hundred pictures, and aches and pains later.

The hill is a memory, that I fondly look upon, the time that I spent with you, now that your gone.

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers – The Bottom of the Hill


I tumbled down the hill at the side of the bridge and fell at the bottom on a walking trail. I was sore all over. I slowly arose my body aching. I couldn’t walk on my ankle and I felt so dizzy I was sick to my stomach.

That’s when I saw her leaning against one of the bridge pylons. Her clothes were ripped and dirty and her deep brown eyes had a vacant look. She approached me with caution and bared her teeth. Long strips of dirty oily hair fell in her face as she slowly moved towards me, a knife gripped in her dirty hand.

 Suddenly, the knife was buried agonizingly in my side and the girl was reaching in my pockets to steal my wallet and phone. She concluded, by taking my boots and casting them into the pathway. I called out uselessly for someone to help me. But darkness fell and I lay there under the bridge, a victim of my own stupidity. My feet were freezing. 

Word Count: 175 words

Bridge Photo

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting!