Posts Tagged With: Challenge

Friday Fictioneers 100W – A Last Glance

copyright-erin-leary-2

He observed the frontier; his frontier, with scanning eyes, tired gloves holding the reins, but a heart still burning a fire of pride. With his back arched straight, muscles taut, he turned his horse gently. Just then he thought he heard a sound, and hand on saddle, twisted and glanced across into the mist. Not a troublesome sound. Not a clearly definable sound, more of a ‘twang!’ and a slight ‘woosh!’ And only once, no more. He relaxed. The arrow sped across the prairie, grass blades neatly carved in split seconds by glinting tip, before thudding, hard, into his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This story is 99W exactly.

Thanks to Rochelle! Picture this week by Erin Leary

Categories: Flash Fiction | Tags: , , | 50 Comments

Carpe Diem Haiku – Raven

let the ravens come
let them smile as they pick the flesh
from the battlefield

ravenwomanphotomystory

what does
the raven
whisper to you?

image courtesy of  Irina Serban 

Categories: Carpe Diem Haiku | Tags: , , , , | 17 Comments

Līgo Haībun Challenge – Polkadotted Memories

 
Belinda-Broughton2

Aye well, there I was, in Nagyatad, early 1990s, trying to do something for the Bosnian refugees. Nagytad, a town in southern Hungary, bordering Croatia and near Bosnia, and where busloads of Bosnian refugees were sent. Anti-tourists, staring from bus windows, not in shock, not in boredom, not in anything actually. War survivors are just like you and me, and are not a special breed of kittens needing petting, or incapables needing shouted at to stand in line. But one of the penchants of our western world is organisation and efficiency, so they do get shouted at, and organised. But what is almost worse is the sentimentality that afflicts many. And refugees make ideal people to coo at.

In Nagyatad new arrivals were locked in a cage for a week or two. The UN supplied finances to pay doctors to check for illnesses and disease, but the greedy Hungarians pocketed the cash and put new refugees in cages to see if any disease developed. If not they were chucked into the dorms or sent to the dark corridors of the psychiatric wing, in this ex-Soviet military camp with radioactive grounds and tiled paintings of tanks firing emblazoned on walls.

I befriended a young blond woman who lived in one of the cages, a few days before I left. It was a strange friendship, her, bubbly, glad to be alive, in fetching red polkadotted dress, about to suffer her breakdown, and me, absurdly and stoically upset, knowing more details about her family in Bosnia than her.

when I think of her
I hope she is free now
in all ways

Līgo Haībun Challenge here. Drawing by belindabroughton 

Categories: Haibun | Tags: , , , , | 2 Comments

Carpe Diem Haiku, Photographing

Ye gods, what a difficult prompt, that others will as usual take in their stride! I saw some beautiful haiku in yesterday’s prompt, here (Maniparna), here (Gillena) and here (Celestine). But also here (Ese) and many more…

‘Photographing’ seems tough. What clever imagery could we evoke? Striking the right balance in a haiku is difficult, and I think I’m going to find a vintage Japanese photograph to sprinkle with words.

geisha+hairstyle+portrait+2

photographing
a dream makes me
dream

Categories: Carpe Diem Haiku | Tags: , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Magpie Tales: Graduation Day

Finland, 1968, photo by George F. Mobley

Finland, 1968, photo by George F. Mobley

before
they let the balloons go
colourful stories
filled
to flow
float
fly
almost endlessly
rip
on jagged branches
lie defeated
in the tumbling snow
blown
torn
on the jagged edges
of jagged stone

before
the balloons
were let loose
from the palms of our hands
from the psalms
of our defunct books
so much was left unsaid
on lips
already poisoned
by too much innocence
too numbed by cold

and anyway
with nothing
nothing to say
before we passed
the real tests
and regressed
moved to our caves
let our balloons take our stories
far from us
in sunset skies
and jagged branches
where even the snow had dried
and we wonder
if we ever really tried?

Categories: Verse | Tags: , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Carpe Diem Haibun – Raindrop

Everyone remembers rain. I think rugby players have a special affinity for rain, when it is pouring down, and you are losing by 2, or 3 points, with as many minutes left to play. Chests are heaving after a break in play, trying, fighting to get oxygen and energy in, and vapour is rising in steam.

The rain pours, the drops skirting eyelids, sliding on the vaseline smeared there if you are a forward, part of the pack, but not noticed anyway. The captain making a secret signal, ball in hand, ready to take the free kick, the referee about to blow his whistle for the kick to be taken, but checking his watch anyway.

The ball about to be tapped, then thrown like a bullet into my chest, where I must grab it and hold, and be pushed over the line to get those 5 points. Must not fumble that slippery ball, or tumble when my team hit from behind to shove me over the line, as the other team line up, ready.

Then my team mate sees the butterfly in our path. Breaks away, scoops it up carefully, runs to a woman with an umbrella, watching, puts the butterfly on her arm. The referee looks on, bemused, then blows the whistle. The ball slaps into my sodden chest in the pouring rain. We charge, hit, hard.

But the butterfly is safe.

in the monsoon
one raindrop lands
on a butterfly

I learnt something that day. And life goes on.

Categories: Carpe Diem Haiku | Tags: , , | 5 Comments

Carpe Diem Special Haiku, The Way of St. James

seek not
in the thunderous solitude
the answer lies within

tumblr_n2lqurj7El1relrdqo1_500

carpediem

Categories: Carpe Diem Haiku | Tags: , , | 5 Comments

Friday Fictioneers: The Night Before The Morning That Will Not Be

image rochelle wisoff-fields

image rochelle wisoff-fields

In order to justify them killing you, you invent the crime. “I deserve to die,” you say to yourself. It doesn’t pay to get too religious on these occasions  —  the next thing you’ll be doing is repenting.

In our cells waiting to be shot we are a club with the same aim: to get out alive. Personally, I think of childhood. Maybe I should have played with dolls. Instead bullets will be my last medals.

If anyone finds this note; “I died a man.” That is, I fought till the end, and ran, blindfolded, hands tied behind my back, in my last faltering steps of freedom.

images

friday fictioneers 100 Word stories ¤ run so well by ms rochelle wisoff-fields

Categories: Flash Fiction | Tags: , , , , , | 18 Comments

If Jesus Was a Woman (For Magpie Tales)

el greco feast-in-the-house-of-simon 1610 (1)


Feast in the House of Simon, 1610, El Greco

If Jesus was a woman
and not a lesbian
Would there still be feminism?
Would religion start to make sense to me?
And would she have worn a bra?

Could she possibly have had
better hair?
Along with line in fine lingerie
for those seeking salvation
in the arms of a woman

Would her twelve disciples have been women too?
Would they have cross-dressed
or simply just had more style?
And would she have hung from the cross?

And would Peterina
Upon arrival in Rome
have been hung upside down?

If the Buddha had been all-woman
would she have sat under tree so long?

If Stalin had been a little girl
from somewhere deep in the Urals
would the gulags have functioned so well?

Its only Mick Jagger
that would remain the same
if history could be changed
To be herstory
And of course me
Though then
I would be une Lesbienne
-as I secretly am

magpie tales statue stamp 185

Categories: Verse | Tags: , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Friday Fictioneers – Teeth

Patterns.

“D-d-d don’t look like much to me,” had started ol’ Dawkins, but his job was to tether the mules.

“I’ll take a picture of the markings from above, and get a better idea,” said KZ, her white scarf fluttering across her face, disarming my thoughts.

“Tough flying through those mountains,” I replied.

“I do tough,” she said.

Her white scarf had flowed in the air stream as she flew over the high plateau in her prop plane.

She landed smoothly in the sand below us.

“So what are they?” I shouted down.

She motioned with her gloved hands.

“I think she’s sayin’ p-p-p-penis,” Dawkins stuttured.

“Probably ones that bite, knowing KZ!” I grinned aloud.

lengai_summit_from_crater-danny-bowman

Thanks very much to Rochelle! Pic this week by Danny Bowman. For Friday Fictioneers 100 word stories.

Categories: Flash Fiction | Tags: , | 42 Comments

The View – Friday Fictioneers

hay-bales-sandra-c

”That’s a nice view you’ve got over the village, Count.”

”Indeed, Inspector. So what was the visit about again?” The Count arched an eyebrow of inquisition as he loomed forward behind him to better hear.

”The missing young village women,” the Inspector said turning sharply at the window to the sudden shadow.

”Ah yes, rather unfortunate affair, has somewhat punctured the village’s image as a location of private repose,” the Count said humbly, as he proffered a plate of dark cakes; ”biscuit?” he added.

”Why thank you, Count,” the Inspector said, ”chocolate?”

”Dried blood, actually,” replied the Count, absentmindedly.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

99 words, pic this week by Sandra Cook  ¤ un grand merci pour Rochelle!

Categories: Flash Fiction | Tags: , , | 23 Comments

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai – Pilgrim

I wonder what the difference is between pilgrim and refugee. Both seek shelter from the world. It is true that they both might pass each other on the road, dressed in similar clothes, with the similar, hunted look in the eyes, or upon the face. Of course, the pilgrim wants to come back, and the refugee does not. And the pilgrim is rushing to his god, while the refugee is running away from someone else’s god. But aside from these differences, they are both somewhat similar in nature, more or less.

shooting star at night
or floating ember from fire
grasshopper guesses wrong

 

Categories: Carpe Diem Haiku | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai – Given First Line

The goal of this feature is to write an all new haiku which starts with the given first line.

.This week’s haiku has to start with the following first line:

a shooting star

 ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

a shooting star
-don’t go
gone

 ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

 

¤ ¤ ¤

Categories: Carpe Diem Haiku | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment

Ode to the Troll

This piece has been commissioned by myself for dverse science fiction poetry, hosted tonight by the unequalled Bjorn Rudberg.

fool was I
did I think the troll would just
fly by?

I was warned
don’t trust them – or anyone
who wears their heart on their sleeves

and there it is, it’s heart
glowing maliciously in the dark
pumping sparks that will not ignite

I wonder what the troll thinks it is
perhaps the Marine of the internet
invading free speech

you come from a dark planet
full of insidious plants
but your words – I fear – have little effect

feed yourself on another
you’re a victim of your own success
or lack of it

Categories: Verse | Tags: , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Visdare ~ The New Doctor of Blogotherapy at Bongor

3e3a9b351bdb4009645f0499714103b2“Ah yes, and there there is Jacques….”

My first posting, the Bongor Hospice for Bloggers Who Lost Contact With The Real World, or BHBWLCWTRW & Partners. I  strolled the gardens with Matron Bongor, daughter of the Earl of Bongor, famous for inventing the Blogging teacup, with ear straps.

I still carried my new doctorate of Blogotherapy in my briefcase, and still carried my briefcase, fresh to the field as I was.

“That is Jacques, over there I presume?” I asked: “Yes, I can see an issue with reality.”

“Well,” said Matron Bongor, ” he was a very famous and highly respected blogger in his time, it just got too much for him I think.”

“And he sits in the sea staring at the mirror like that all day?”

“Doctor?” She said, clearing her throat.

“Yes?” I answered.

“Could you please stop blogging our conversation?”

“Am I?” I said, “Oh…yes…”

V i s d a r e 149W

Categories: Flash Fiction | Tags: , , , | 12 Comments

Five Sentence Fiction – Edge

“Hola Christopher, where you been these days; it’s been a long, long time.”

“Ciao my friend, well, I been to the East Indies!”

“Oh don’ be crazy my friend, you know if you try to go there you’ll sail straight off the edge of the world!”

“Yeah, like you’d know; instead of sitting here in this taverno drinking vino, why don’t you try some tobacco!?”

“Tobacco, what’s that, some kind of new craze?”

f i v e s e n t e n c e f i c t i o n

Categories: Flash Fiction | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

Trifecta ~ The Ingredients

The min 33/max 333 word story must feature the following word in its 3rd definition:

“I shot the sheriff,” he hummed, walking up the stairs. Blood poured down the stairs and over the stairwell in a solid, sticky and quite sickly stream, if you were not a mosquito or homeless dog: “..but I did not shoot the deputy..uhhh!” he sang, earphones plugged in ears, until the fresh blood splattered onto the pizza box, shuddering it open.

“Oh maaan!” He moaned. Duty made him first give a cursory glance into the pizza box to check if the contents had been compromised, even as the blood streamed in a slowing waterfall next to him. “Oh dude!” he said aloud, to himself, checking his shirt, pulling it forward between thumb and forefinger; “oh dude, dude!”, his blood-splattered white shirt, the word “Pizza” at the top left breast pocket almost obliterated. He looked up the stairwell, completely and totally unsure what his next step should be; programmed to deliver pizza, nothing else. “You ok up there, man?” he tried. The silent reply echoed silently.

Seemed to be more tomato in the pizza than before. He’d never failed a delivery yet. Couldn’t tell you where pizzas come from, or how to make ‘em, but he’d never failed one delivery, and now was stuck. Just did not know what to do. The box dripped with blood, and his shoes gelled to the congealed blood on the stairs as he waited for his mind to come to a decision.

That darn box. That was blood on it. Couldn’t hide that. So he took the pizza out of the box, cupping it with his left hand, then dropping the box. “That was stupid, dude,” he said aloud, upon reflection. “You jis’ cannot deliver a pizza with no box.”

He ate the pizza, in one of those spur of the moment things; stress bringing upon hunger.

Later, in bright red lipstick, polka dotted dress, breasts held firmly in bra, he sat in the court room. “And the defense for the woman’s murder?” Roared the prosecutor; “alchemy, she says!!”

T r i f e c t a 333W exactly

Categories: Opinion | Tags: , , , , | 39 Comments

Friday Fiction ~ A Career Change

Ol’ Pops Dawson had been a cleaner at Brisbane Airport as long as he’d been cleaning, but had never been in a plane. So it seemed natural when he saw the pilot’s hat and jacket behind the desk at the gate that he would just try them on in the walkway.

When he boarded the plane he remembered not to look too joyful, and when he slipped into the pilot’s seat and put headphone on, he happily replied to the control tower:

“Uh…yeah, this is Tango Lima 332 ready for departure.”

He okayed the purser’s request to close all doors and let the copilot fire up engines.

Captain Olson, returning from the bathroom, was somewhat perturbed to see his jet pulling out of the stand.

  _ _ _   ___ ___ ___   _ _ _   ___ ___ ___

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS 100 WORD STORIES

Categories: Flash Fiction | Tags: , , , , , | 94 Comments

Friday Fictioneers ~ Igor’s Moment Of Gory Glory

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, my prize, something I designed, a likeness of one of my……previous…guests, here at my castle, by my own hands. Igor! The covering! Unveil it!”

“Uh, Count Dracula, sir, you’ll be wanting some rest, its getting early…”

“Igor! The cloth, pull! Oh I shall do it myself!”

A stunned silence from the Count meets the ripple of applause from selected guests.

“Igor! IGOR! Where is her flowing hair? How has your face been chiselled behind her like that?”

“I thought you might like it, Count, as a memento..me holding her head, ready for you to…”

“Igor! Shut-up, imbecile!”

””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

Click on the photo to go to Friday Fictioneers – 100 word stories

Thank you to Claire Fuller for the Sculpture and photo

Categories: Flash Fiction | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 53 Comments

Friday Fictioneers ~ The Code

copyright-renee-homan-heath

Step by step.

A grand last view, if not grand last words: “Keep movin’ ye rat!” A shove in the back.

As if I’d stumble so easily!

And even shady palm trees. .

Step by step. T’wards my necklace of rope, and my ocean, looking suspiciously calm today.

No more maraudin’ when swingin’ from the gallows. No more saucy wenches, teasin’ me of my gains as I hang…

Ah, but I imagine by now you’ll be thinkin'; “what’s a dead man doing writing?”

Did you forget the pirate’s code, and really think the bushes were free of my crew?

…Tut tut…

~~~~~~~~~~~~

100 Words

Friday Fictioneers – welcome aboard!

Picture Renee Homan Heath

Categories: Flash Fiction | Tags: , , , , , , | 64 Comments

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