Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The Sun’s Ascent


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW:


sunset-ff
Credit: Footy and Foodie

Words deserted her as fire shot across the sky. She welcomed sunrise casting brilliant light into the dawn, while purple-tinged clouds of white still held wisps of night’s inky black guise.

Beautiful sunrises were evocative for her and could easily bring forth a memory. They had the power to make her eyes hunger and delight, to forget her words. A sunrise’s influence kept her caught in a distinct moment of enjoyment, while at the same time, lost in thought.

The rising sun also inspired prayers of thankfulness. It was a raw moment in nature, primordial to her being. No matter what she was experiencing in life, the sunrise momentarily healed her. Sunlight glazing across the dawn sky mended her body, alleviated her suffering. 

Above all she thought, the hope a sunrise brought was vital. Each day it rose, she was graced with another day to do better and be better. To her, this sense of hope was most profound. It was why she cried, tasting the salt of her tears, as the sun finished it’s ascent.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Advertisements

Sunday Photo Fiction: Part 2 – Nineteen-Years-Later #amwriting #flashfiction


Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

——-

A Mixed Bag

———

“What are you writing Uncle?” Chad asked Sam.”And why’re you using a calligraphy pen? Carry that in your back pocket?”

“Chad, you shouldn’t be joking.You’re going to give this letter to a trusted bicycle courier. My friend I’m writing can help us; he knows my writing. Pretend the courier outside the hotel side entrance is a buddy.” Sam instructed.

Chad grabbed the letter. “I have a lot of questions Uncle Sam, about my Dad and about why we’re in trouble.” 

Sam nodded. “Go meet the courier, then we’ll talk. I’ll sweep the room for bugs while you’re gone again. I don’t think they’re any, otherwise . . .” 

Chad gulped, quickly leaving the hotel room. He walked to the side entrance of the hotel expecting a guy his age on a bike. 

Instead, he found a trashed bicycle. There was no courier, only drops of blood.

Chad ran as fast he could back to his hotel room terrified. He thought he had taken the right turn, but when he turned around he saw he was at room 395 and not 305. 

“Are you lost hon?” A smiling hotel maid asked him.

“I’m fine.” 

“No you’re not. You are definitely not fine Chad.” A deep voice said.

Chad peered behind him to see his Uncle Sam standing there. Sam shot the maid through the head and collected a gun the maid had hidden in her uniform.

“You can’t trust anyone.” Uncle Sam told Chad harshly.

Chad followed his Uncle out of the hotel, clutching the calligraphy written letter in his hand. 

——-

Please see Part 1 here.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Cleave – Revenge and Too Much Wine. 


A Cleave Poem is in two halves; “one should be able to read the left column (what’s in regular font), right column (in bold font), and each line across as a combined thought giving you three distinct poems.”

——

 

http://www.singlediary.com

—— 
She took the life out of my eyes when she shot me in the head; it never occurred to me that there was any other way to end our situation.

——-

I could feel myself slipping away after an intense moment of suffering; staring at a point in space, I barely realized what I’d done. 

——

I heard her come in the door, not making a sound; slipping in the house quietly, silently, a ghost of vengeance.

——

I knew she would come someday, her husband was my lover; chapped berry lips trembling I thought of all the things life might have been.

——-

I couldn’t blame her for coming here enraged and drunk on wine; Cabernet from the grocery store, liquid courage to even the score.

——-

She was his wife for twenty-years, I was Sam’s girlfriend for five-years and he was divorcing her; not going to let Sam win, to have his perfect life and woman.

——–

The moment the shot rang out I knew death had come calling: I’d never shot a gun more than twice. The kick-back hurt and the bullet struck home. 

—–

Sam heard the shot from the bedroom and arrived to face death and enraged screaming; seeing Sam there, I shuddered not even realizing it when he lay dead; dead as I felt. 

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

3Line Tales – The Luxury of Colour


Thanks to Sonya from Only 100 Words for hosting the 3LineTales Challenge.

——-

 

Liam Desic
 
—–

1.Flags fluttering multicolour and multicultural in the breeze; there is a feeling of hope in the air for refugees coming to this country to escape terrorism and a terrible life in their home countries; so many have come seeking a new life and to escape the horror that was life back where they were from; many people wonder at the luxuries afforded in the western world, even the multicoloured flags seem extravagent, yet strangely exciting.

2. Jas looks at all the colourful bright flags with ecstatic joy; wearing bright colours where he lives means you are more likely to get shot; Jas feels the warm fleece of his red sweatshirt and grins, he loves the colour red, the colour of hope, life, and love; Jas loves all the colours of the flags, he wants clothing in every colour because in this country he is free — no one will kill him for his love of freedom and vibrancy.

3. A woman with a hijab stares up at the flags, all in primary and secondary colours. Where she is from the women wear black, the coloured flags are bright for her eyes but she is quickly growing used to their beautiful rainbow look as they flap like clothing on a clothes line; the woman fingers her hijab wondering if Allah would be upset if she wore a hijab in a jewel blue, or lapis luzia blue; she doesn’t say her thought aloud but the amount  of colour in this new country is making her dream and hope, if only for the luxury to wear blue.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Tanka – “Sentiments for Sentimental”


Thanks to The Daily Post for the prompt word sentimental.

—–

 

http://www.missylongsinger.blogspot.com
 

—–

Sentimental,

She cried as she remembered,

Her tears streaming down,

Past times whispering softly,

Memories laced with harsh pain.

——

Sentimental,

Whisps of happiness and cheer,

Wonderful times,

Forgotten now, trapped —

A mind that doesn’t know the day.

——

Sentimental,

Years spent, drinking them away.

Parties with girls, now old.

Loving, days spent shot after shot.

Fragile now, liver won’t last long.

——

Sentimental,

Eyes engaging his soul in dance.

First time he saw her,

He’ll never forget, breathless —

Kisses and skin revealed, now gone.

——

Sentimental,

Is that word meaningful for you?

Remembering,

Fondness, time, emotions, experiences–

Missing a person you can’t have back.

—–

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday Photo Fiction: Pirate Tales


“Sweet,”  eleven-year-old Edward exclaimed to his twin Ethan. “A ship from the eighteen-hundreds with canons. It’s like a ship from Pirates of the Carribean but it’s nicer.”

“Yeah,” Ethan added, “There are benches. Maybe, this pirate was rich?” Ethan was trying to gode his brother Edward and it worked.

Well, I think pirates were rich because they worked for the state as Privateers or Corsairs and raided ships full of cargo,” Edward gloated to Ethan.

“It’s called ‘commerce raiding’ idiot!” Ethan remarked.”Privateers had to have ‘a letter of marque’ from the government or King to raid the country’s enemy’s cargo ships. Often, they took cargo from ships their country was at peace with, they didn’t much care whose cargo it was because they would sell it on the black market either way.” Ethan said smartly.

Well, the Pirate Black Beard,” Edward said, trying to one-up his brother, “wrecked his own ship The Queen Ann’s Revenge. He ran it aground at the Beaufort inlet in North Carolina. When they found the shipwreck in 1996, it had twenty-six canons and and two-hundred-and-fifty – thousand artifacts.” 

Clearly, you don’t know much about Blackbeard whose real name was Edward Teach.” Ethan said.”He was a privateer who became a pirate in the carribean later on, but his home base was around North Carolina.”

“Blackbeard had a party for his pirate friends located on his favourite hiding place, Ocracoke island. The Governor of Virginia sent Lt. Robert Maynard and the Navy to finally capture Blackbeard in 1718. Maynard trapped Blackbeard and his pirate friends on Ocracoke island.” Ethan taunted, but Edward interrupted him with his own knowledge of Blackbeard.

Maynard eventually shot Blackbeard who was still fighting him until another guy came up behind Blackbeard and slit his throat.” Edward mimed slitting Ethan’s throat and pushing him. Ethan frowned, trying to finish his story.

“Black beards head was cut-off and hung from Maynard’s ship as a warning to other pirates. Blackbeard had hidden treasure, but no one has ever found it…beat that stupid!” Ethan growled ready to tackle Edward.

“Boys, stop it!” the twin’s Mother yelled,”clearly you both know too much about Pirates, no more Pirates of the Carribean for you two, no Google either…”

——- 

Alistair Forbes
 

——-

Sources: 

National Geographic

Wikipedia: Pirates
——

Thank you to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. Please join us if you wish! 

——

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Poem: Cinquin – “No Regrets.”


A Cinquin is an unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines. It was developed by the Imagist poet, Adelaide Crapsey.

For more information visit Shadow Poetry here.

 

http://www.superiorplatform.con
 
I thought,

Snow falling would,

Would cover the evidence.

But the cops are not stupid they–

Found him.

——

Gasping, 

I wonder when,

They will come to my door,

And take me away and finger print–

My hands.

—–

They’ll search,

In my dresser,

They’ll find something of his,

The gun he carried trying to–

Force me.

——

I fought

I wouldn’t let–

Him hurt me, not my body.

He injured me with his body first.

I cried.

—–

Lurking,

I saw him here,

He wanted me again, 

So, I picked up his gun and I,

Shot him.

——

They’ll lock,

Me away when, 

They identify him, 

No one knows how he hurt me first.

He’s dead.

——

I’ll go,

To prison because he,

Was a monster and I,

Killed him when he tried again, I’ve

No regrets. 

—— 

©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.

Malala: Shot For The Right Of Education, Apple Sauce Bran Muffins, and The Perfect Outfit for an Interior Designer.


Hi again everyone! Here again are my recently posted articles for FLURT online magazine. If you have any comments or opinions please share! Amanda

Malala: Shot for the Right of Education:

http://www.flurtsite.com/2012/12/malala-shot-for-the-right-of-education

Apple Sauce Bran Muffins

http://www.flurtsite.com/2012/12/apple-sauce-bran-muffins/

An Outfit for an Interior Designer

http://www.flurtsite.com/2012/12/the-perfect-outfit-for-an-interior-designer/