Fiction, Flash Fiction, Music and Performers, My Thoughts, Writing, Writing Challenges

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Stuck In A Moment


Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.


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Credit: Roger Shipp

Diana was listening to U2 when she spotted the statue. He was carved out of black marble,  his athletic form highly emphasized.

“Stuck In a Moment” played on her phone and she chuckled to herself thinking this statue was indeed “stuck in a moment” and he would never be able to “get out of it.”

Circling him, Diana examined the statues form from all angles. She touched him, loving how smooth his marble skin felt. She was surprised when her touch sparked a light.

The light traveled through the veins and muscles of the statue from his feet up to his neck, flickering into the features of his face. Suddenly, what stood before Diana was an attractive man.

He grinned at Diana, unaware of his own nakedness. Smiling he clasped Diana’s hand before kissing her soundly. Then, he walked off into the crowded street, drawing unheard of female attention.

Diana continued her own way back to work unsure if what she experienced was real. She couldn’t help but think, the man who had been a statue, gave her the best kiss she’d had in forever.


“Stuck In A Moment” – U2


©Mandibelle16. (20170 All Rights Reserved.

Couplets - rhyme and have same meter, Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Poetry, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: Disarmed 


Thank you to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

——–

Phylor

———

Who do you think you are, disarming my arms? 

I’m a memory; tween girl wronged, such harm.

Life wasn’t kind to a child, such as I, 

“Girl be quiet;” he hit me, my soul flies.

Woman, my mother, your fault it is not, 

You didn’t know his secrets; but I fought.

My own fault lay, his anger inciting, 

Daddies drunken rage; I went out with spite.

Ironically, you see; I shoved hard with both–

My arms, strong enough to make him me loath.

Hands claw at his throat; blind him in one eye, 

He’s in prison; and I with angels sigh.

Each day I see you cry with regret Mama, 

Your every breathe, sobbing from what you saw.

Words apologizing for not being there, 

How could you know? Woven in your despair.

Carved statue; youthful glow, eternal girl child, 

My soul hovering; watch statue defiled.

Did the marble break? No quality of stone?

Smooth form, my likeness made; please understand —

My soul’s not here kept; I’m where clouds form rain,

My life’s c’est fini; God will heal your pain.

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Literary Lion: Snow Queen


A marble carving, white, and cold, her skin is soft like falling snow. Yet a strength lives beneath the softness, that ice-cold heart, formed below her skin. Her face is glass, obsidian stone. Perfection in her features frozen in time, her mouth in awe; that anyone could freeze the heat out of her bones. She sits a statue, staring in a mirror, and her lips are blue from being frozen. A tear of salt slides down her stone cheek, she has no flush; she is white as snow. Her hand is permenantly posed at her neck as if she is nervous from sins supposed. The Queen of niege, she has an old name, none that we can pronounce, it existed before language. 

Her eyes a cold dark ice blue and they always reflect her form in the mirror. She’s tired quickly of looking at herself, but she cannot move any part of her body. It’s been that way for millennias. The ice queen posed upon her throne of icicles and hard packed snow. She is regal, magestic, but she has no heart it is frozen solid and that’s what evil does. It twists what is right and turns it ice cold. So now she is stiff as a carved statue. A marblesque figure that cannot lift a finger;she stares out at worlds, at her picture mirror. 

She sees all the love people experience and everything wonderful, fantastic, marvellous, and full of feeling. But she cannot understand what she hates. If it was up to her, humanity would have been what she was; a marble statue. But she is stuck in her crystal palace, locked beneath ice, guarded by a mountain that locks her palace in place. No one will find her, she’s had her time. The Snow Queen has been defeated and is solid ice forever. She sits and hates and cares for nothing, reaching for a freedom that will never be. Ice burdened upon her, a beautiful, unloveable figure who once held Narnia. 

Thanks to  I Smith Words for the prompt ice.

Flash Fiction, Music and Performers, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: Winged Nike


In the silence of the graveyard where Nadia stood, most people would see a statue of an angel, chaste, with arms crossed. But remembering the Art History of sculpture, Nadia could see a goddess. She could picture the statue she was thinking about now. She saw one of the greatest Hellenistic statues carved by the ancient Greeks: The Winged Nike of Somothrace.

Nadia had seen the Nike at the Louvre in Paris. She could imagine the arms (no longer existing) one flung out, the other at the Nike’s mouth, shouting for victory. The Nike had been a part of the Somothrace Temple and had stood on a pedastal, the prow of a ship. She commemerated a great navel battle. The Nike captured both wild momentum and absolute stillness.

Nadia looked with pity on the angel presently. It had no movement or flare. She caused Nadia to feel only heavy misery. Perhaps, the difference was that beneath the angel lay no victory, only a small grave. But if Nadia pictured her daughter, she would rather see the winged goddess Nike and her victory song, then the angel who showed chasteness, covering the grave of a baby who never even cried. 

Word Count: 205 words (sorry!)

 

  

“Winged Nike of Somothrace,” http://www.en.m.wikipedia.org

Thanks to Priceless Joy who is our host for FFfAW.