Tale Weavers: Fiction – The Eyes of What Now? #taleweavers #amwriting #fiction #IdesofMarch 


Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last week’s Tale Weavers. The theme is the a tale on the lighter side of things.

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Credit: Gary Larson

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Steve walked into English 311 wearing a toga and a gold spray-painted crown of leaves.

Dr. Lawerence, their English Professor, laughed at the front of the room along with some of the other students.

“Why is what Steve wearing funny?” Ambrose asked Jen, “Its not like this is some party.”

“I think it might have something to do with Julius Caesar. What about you?” Jen said dryly.

“The play we’re studying?” Ambrose’s asked. His friend, sitting behind him tittered. “Shut up, Dan,” he said.

Dan kept laughing, “How can you be reading Julius Caesar in English 311 and not understand why Steve is wearing that getup?”

Dr. Lawerence overheard his student’s conversation. He chuckled, ” ‘Beware the Ides of March,’ Ambrose. Remember what I said in Monday’s class?”

Ambrose shook his head, “Eyes of what now?”

The student’s around Ambrose and their professor laughed. Jen sighed. ” Caesar was assassinated on the ‘Ides of March.’ The seer in the play told him to ‘beware’ of it, but he was still stabbed and killed.”

“I thought Brutus murdered Caesar? Now you’re saying a seer did?”

Dr. Lawerence peered at Ambrose concerned, “Are you sure you want to major in English Literature, Ambrose?”

He looked up and shrugged. The professor sighed and returned to the front of the room. There was always one in every class.

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©Mandibelle16.(2017) All Rights Reserved.

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Saturday Mix Flash Fiction: A Discount #amwriting #flashfiction #Saturdaymix 


Thanks to Bastet from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix. Today’s prompt is a story of the mystery genre using A BROKEN VASE, THREE DAISIES, A KNIFE, A MUSSED UP RUG, and A SHOPPING BAG. Sorry, couldn’t quite get this down to 150 words today. 

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Credit: GSK ’17

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A woman lay on the floor holding a shopping bag from Lululemon. Nearby her was what the detective assumed was the murder weapon, a broken vase which had held three Gerber daisies. 

The detective was confused inspecting the victim. It appeared the vase had finally killed her, but he discovered, she also had two stab wounds —older wounds. Beneath the woman was a mussed up rug and her head still bled. The two stab wounds, however, never bled enough to stain the rug. 

The detective discovered the woman’s husband in the den, his hands covered in blood. He didn’t even try to deny killing his wife saying he attempted three times to kill her; a knife stained in blood was found in the den. 

The husband explained, his wife had been sleeping with the neighbours son who attended university. Parker was a manager at a Lululemon store and sleeping with him, the bored housewife ensured herself a fifty-percent discount. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Killing A Snake #amwriting #flashfiction #fiction


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Credit: Grant Sud

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Leonard was absorbed by the red hues of the wide Arizona desert. It was hot outside in the late spring, the cascading layers of rock enthralling and the green shrubs and cacti complementing the red cliffs. Here Leonard could be alone with his thoughts, far from the problems of his life. 

No one was chasing him in the desert. No one was telling him he wasn’t allowed to set fire to buildings. No one was insisting Leonard couldn’t punch a guy in the face and start fighting because Leonard didn’t like how the guy was looking at him, or that the guy had a hot girlfriend which Leonard did not. In the desert, no one knew how much money he’d stashed away in offshore accounts from the company where he’d been an accountant with a falsified identity, these past two-years.

Out here in the desert, there was serenity and quiet. Leonard would in an hour, catch a private plane and reclaim his offshore funds. But he wasn’t counting on the rattle snake who bit his leg when he stood up and stepped on the snake accidentally.

The snake’s poisonus venom made Leonard numb in minutes. Quickly he was fading into obscurity and death; the bright red Arizona desert claiming him for all his wrongs. How curious a snake would kill a snake

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Photo Prompt: Poem – Couplets – “Grandma’s Terrible Secret” #amwriting #poetry #writing 


Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photo prompt. 

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Credit: Andre Gova

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Grandma passed away this year; she, 

Left me to go through her house see —

Everything her life gathered ’round. 

Those last few years, she wasn’t sound. 

She gathered things seemingly odd, 

A variety of objects broad. 

The thing she loved the most was dolls, 

Every room was full of them, dolls —

With their bodies thrown haplessly, 

Heads cut clean, hair removed aptly. 

Such nightmares I’ve had since seeing, 

Dolls heads around her house pleading, 

Wanting to have their bodies back. 

Eyes blinking scarily, sacked —

No found dignity, bald heads gleam. 

In the darkened living room see —

Every eye staring at me, creeps —

Sound of scratching at night, weeping, 

I know not what do with their bodies,

Or heads displayed as trophies sought. 

I hear the sounds they make, they beg, 

Their souls they say away were led. 

Grandma wasn’t merely collecting —

Dolls heads to display and to set, 

Upon her wood mantle to admire. 

Many girls made dolls so expired. 

Collecting young girls made them all —

Dolls she tore apart I’m appalled.

This horrid woman who read me books, 

Where witches were evil, looked —

As hags, disfigured, monsters known, 

I didn’t see how such wholesome —

Looks could hide a beast, a creature —

So evil, I’ve nightmares featuring, 

My lovely Gran, demon concealed. 

I burned her house down so to seal, 

Her evil magic never to —

Live again as long as through —

My own light magic prevent, such —

Wickedness; that which is unjust. 

Will never live again to kill, 

Is dead and gone, and will not kill. 

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Part Nine – Nineteen- Years Later #amwriting #flashfiction #thriller


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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A Mixed Bag

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Chad awoke finding himself in an indistinguishable bedroom, lying in bed. He knew he’d recently had surgery for his gun shot wound.

He gazed out the window at miserable surroundings. A muddy canal separated this gated house from apartments under construction. 

Chad rubbed his heavy eyes, shocked to see Garig standing infront of his bed. “What do you want?” Chad squeeked.

Garig shrugged, sitting on the bed close to Chad. He smacked Chad on his side, jarring his wound.

 “I’ve been in the dark for many years.” Garig said, his nearly, albino complexion frightening with a gritty voice.

“The dark?” 

” I thought Tom and I were both siding with the Russians Chad. Tom played a double agent well. He acted like my best friend for decades. I believed, like you, you were Tom’s son.” 

Chad tried to speak but Garig shushed him. 

“I rescued Tom from near death in military prison in the US and nursed him back to life in Russia. But I had never trusted Tom after he stole Mona, your Mom from me. The nuclear bomb hidden in your tattoo was my fail safe –Tom wouldn’t betray me again.”

“I didn’t know Tom was deep undercover all this time and I was his commander. But our Russian higher-ups, they liked Tom, he always got the job done. It wasn’t until I found out he’d been siphoning secrets to the US — for nineteen-years, that I caught on. Mona told me you were actually Sam’s son Chad.” Garig said, then smiled disturbingly.

“You wouldn’t know this, but your mother and I have kept in touch for years. How do you think I found Sam and you with Bastion?” 

Chad angerily shoved at Garig, but Garig smacked Chad’s side again. 

“At the museum where Bastion died, Tom was there –but not with me. I knew he was probably trying to save you, that he found out about the special code I put in your tattoo. Then, some idiot marine wounded you and deactivated the bomb.”Garig said disgusted. 

“But Garig, I  . . .” Chad started mumbling before Garig cut him off.

Garig’s smile was malevolent: “Chad, I can’t let you live. Sam has been chasing me since you were born and I owe him; not to mention, Sam slept with Mona. Add to that Tom’s betrayel of almost twenty-years, and I have a deserved reason to kill you.”  

“How can you kill me since you obviously, love my Mom?”  Chad asked trembling.

“Your Mom is dead Chad. She would have prevented me from killing you. Mona was the only person who knew Tom was alive all this time. She needed to pay for betraying my trust and being such a slut and having you in the first place.” 

Garig took out a large hunting knife from his leather jacket, grazing it’s sharp edge against  Chad’s throat. 

“I think we should give Sam and Tom some lasting memories of you Chad. Don’t you?” 

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Sorry, part nine is so long. Wrapping things up is hard!  

Read Part Eight here. 
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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: Through a Skeleton’s Eyes. 


Surprise! I’m the skeleton in the classroom where you have Anatomy. An interesting aspect: the top half of my skull isn’t mine, it’s fake. 

Once I was a pretty girl of nineteen named Iris. I ran up to the dorm to watch movies with a bunch of the guys from the hockey team. My guy was the goalie. Travis made everyone laugh. But I stopped laughing when I went to see him in his dorm room when he was sick.

I opened his door and there was this fake and bake cheerleader on top of Travis moaning. I shrieked and I dragged the naked cheerleader by her hair to the door.

Suddenly, the cheerleader became free and hit me hard on my head with Travis’ favourite hockey stick. I could hear my head crack, distantly. The cheerleader hit me again viciously. I remember Travis crying but doing nothing to stop her.

So, Yes. This was my skeleton, but I’m not tied to it. Only, my spirit  hangs about here. I’m stuck on campus where they covered up my murder. The cheerleader slut and Travis went free. They didn’t live long. 

 

http://www.pixebay.com
 
Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting. Feel free to participate by checking out the above link.

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: A Nosy Neighbour


Gia sat in her fourth floor apartment on the balcony. She looked regretfully at her swollen ankle, then down at the street below.The inhabitants of Dawson Street were a collectively an interesting bunch. Like the apartments which were ramshackle and colourful, so the inhabitants were artsy, brilliant, but a bit odd.

Gia wasn’t even surprised when she saw a mini hippy vehicle painted in multicolored flowers pull up across the street. She watched a grey-haired man get out of the car. Later, she saw him across the street at the balcony across from hers, talking to a man she knew named Ralph. The grey-haired man and Ralph tussled.  Suddenly, Ralph was pushed off his balcony and landed on the street on his head.

Gia covered her mouth in horror as she saw what took place. Then she realized the guy with the grey-hair was staring at her. Gia raced to lock her door and to call the police. But the man who killed Ralph arrived first.

Word Count: 172 Words

hippy car

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting!