Sunday Photo Fiction: Awakening the Dragon #flashfiction #amwriting #dragon


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF. 

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Credit: A Mixed Bag

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Sophia hid in her closet, it was her only safe place. Hanging on a ceiling was a mobile with a handcrafted dragon. She remembered thinking the dragon was frightening, but whenever the darkness in her room swallowed her, the dragon’s eyes flashed; the shadows were obliterated. 

She also remembered when her mom first hit her. She scrubbed Sophia’s cut and it was excruciating as was the burning stringent liquid her mom poured on it.

 Suddenly, Sophia heard yelling and stomping. The closest door flew open — her mother was drunk again. 
Instantly, the dragon’s eyes above her caught fire. He grew into a monster with golden scales and the scent of fire and ash, spreading and filling Sophia’s entire bedroom. He blew a blaze of fire at her mom but only the bottle of Kirkland Tequila (1.75 Litres/$20.00) in her mom’s hand disintegrated. 

In words veiled in smoke the dragon hissed at Sophia’s mom who nodded; she understood the dragon’s warning. He breathed out his last plume of smoke and except for the acrid smell, it was if Sophie’s dragon had never awoken. 

She crawled out of her hiding place and petted the handcrafted dragon hearing him purr.

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The Great Dachshund Escape #amwriting #flashfiction #pets #fiction


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW.

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Credit: Louise – The Storyteller’s Abode

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I was sitting on a ferry boat, on my way to a speciality grocery store, when I heard yelling and screaming from behind where I sat. A fifty-some couple were engaged in a physical and verbal sparring match with Peppy the dachshund literally in the middle. 

Margo, refused to give Peppy up to her ex-boyfriend, Simon.”He was my dog before we started going out, and he’s my dog now that we’re breaking up.” 

“That’s not fair, he’s part of my family now. Peppy sits by me most of the day because I work from home. He should be with me in the week. You can have Peppy on weekends,” Simon countered.

Margo scoffed and was about to jab Simon in the chest when Peppy managed to squeeze his way out from between both owners. 

They chased him down the steps and down to the plank where people walked onto the ferry. Peppy jumped in the water, the plank in the process of being removed, and swam to shore before running away. 

I wonder if Margo or Simon ever saw him again? 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Moral Monday’s Flash Fiction: Team Trust #flashfiction #amwriting


Thanks to Nortina S for hosting Moral Monday’s. This week’s moral prompt is: “There’s no ‘I’ in Team.”

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http://www.reference.com

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The Panther’s high school volleyball team were playing a vital game. If they won the match, they would make it into provincials.

“Come on Jackie,” her teammate Aimee cried, “Serve the ball right into that Amazon’s face.”

Jackie set-up her serve and slammed the ball to a player named Stacey on the opposing team. Stacey missed bumping the ball and her Amazon teammates criticized her meanly. 

Jackie’s next serves against the Amazons were down the left line. An Amazon player named Lauren, began pushing her teammates out of the way to ensure she got the pass-up. Her teammates were angry she was in their space and began squabbling. 

Jackie and Aimee from the Panthers smirked. The Amazons were deconstructing from the inside. Their bickering and distrust of each other ensured they would lose the game. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Part Seven – Nineteen-Years Later


Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.


Lamp Post SPF
A Mixed Bag

“Ah, my back. A bullet hit me,” Chad was almost crying. He was half-awake and half in another wold.

He was dreaming of a lamp post glowing in the night beside a park bench. Soothing Russian words came from a man in front of him. The man was a man he had thought was his dead father, Tom.

Then, Sam shook Chad awake,”I know you’re not trained for this Chad. I’m so proud of you, but you have to stay awake.”

Chad groaned, turned on his stomach. He was shocked to see he had been shot right through his cartoon seal tattoo.

“Marrion, look at my tattoo.” Chad rasped.

Marrion was hiding on the floor beside Chad and Sam. They were behind the science lab counters in the back of the lab.

She gasped, grabbing the device she had used to scan Chad’s tattoo before and scanning his tattoo again. She hurriedly, grabbed gauze from a cupboard under a counter.

“Thank God,” she said. “Chad hold the gauze against your tattoo or you’re going to die.”

She smiled at both Sam and Chad: “The bullet deactivated Chad’s tattoo. For all of the technology put into the tattoo, none of it works now.”

The gunshots came closer and the glass from the front door of the lab shattered. Then there were voices.” I remember that voice speaking Russian,” Chad murmured.

“Tom speaks Russian.”  Sam said, then was shocked to hear the distinct tone of his brother’s voice.

“Tom’s here,” Marrion said shaking, pressing her hand against the gauze on Chad’s wound.

“It will be okay honey, I’ve got Tom.” Sam said soothingly. He got up, holding a large gun ready to fire. He slowly, walked towards the sound of Tom’s voice.

“Well, well,” a voice said in English.”My brother Sam. Here to kill me again? You need to give me Chad now.”

“Get ready to run Chad. It’s going to hurt you,” Marrion whispered.

They both escaped out an emergency door to the lab. The fire alarms went off covering Chad’s screams of pain.

He heard yelling and footsteps behind him, before he again, passed-out.


Read part 6 here.


©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

3Line Tales: Quiet, Imagination, and the Spaces Inbetween Silence.


  Thanks to Sonya from 100 Words or Less for hosting Three Line Tales.

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Moritz Schmidt
 

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 1. Some people abhor quiet and others they adore it, I would say I’m often in the latter group but not all the time; we all have this need to be sociable creatures to some extent, whether it’s to meet new clients and network; gab with our girlfriends or see the boys for a game; or simply sit in a coffee shop and absorb the hum of conversation occurring around us.

2. I have this love for quiet (or silence you might call it) because they’re special ideas and transfigurations of your imagination hiding within it; some people can feed their creativity in the loud and garish noises of a crowd of people yelling and hollering to a person near to them; but the best place for some of us to elaborate on ideas and call fourth the muses of our imagination is in the silence where we write brilliant stories, paint paintings, and daydream of our future creations.

3. Sometimes it’s not the quiet or silence which is meaningful, but the spaces inbetween the quiet, because in those hidden molecules lives a powerful and significant understanding between two people; it is love in it’s magnificence which exists within the silences of husbands and wives, partners, girlfriends and boyfriends, children and their parents, grandparents and grandchildren, friends, and people and their pets; this space within silence is a secret place two people who love each other exceptionally, coexist together without uttering a single word, while both comprehending each other deeply even within each other’s souls.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Why Don’t You Love Me?


Dear Dad,

 “I know it’s only been three weeks” but Mom says she doesn’t know when you’re coming back. She tries not to cry in front of me but I know when she is crying because her mascara runs and her face turns red. Mom lays in bed and I don’t know what to do.

I tried laying beside her and rubbing her back. I tried making her soup (from the can) but I can’t make her eat. She doesn’t get up to make supper much or clean. I’m trying to help out but it’s hard, I have homework too and I’m only nine-years-old. I don’t get to play with my friends anymore, there is too much to do.

I had to ask Oma Jane and Opa Paul for your email. I phoned them and told them what happened. On the weekend I go to their house. Oma sends me home with food for the week that I can microwave. She yelled at Mom to ‘get up,’ but I got mad at Oma and I hit her. I told Oma Google said Mom is depressed. 

Before you left, I heard you fighting with Mom. You got mad at her and then she cried and you shouted at her loudly. Mom is trying her best like me. Oma isn’t sure if you’re ever coming back. Where are you Dad, how come you never answer my emails? You used to call me everyday from work. Don’t you love us? What did I do? Why don’t you love me?

Jessica 

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Thanks to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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http://www.publicdomainarchive.com
 
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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.