Sarah Ann Hall

Reporting on writing in progress or, more probably, not.

Posts Tagged ‘flash fiction

#FridayFictioneers – 16/6/17 – Holiday Romance

with 37 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Dale for the photo. The below isn’t as polished as I’d like, but editing has not come easily.

 

© Dale Rogerson

Holiday Romance

(Genre: speculative fiction; 100-words)

She came from the ocean, slipped through the shadows. In breath-stealing humidity, flesh clammy, she tasted of salt. Lips full, muscles strong, limbs sinewy, we twisted in beach and surf. She was the best night of my life. We will never repeat, I can never forget.

I travel every coastline, drink Peroni, eat calamari, stare at the moon, just as I did that night. I imagine I catch the scent of her sea-filled hair, feel the air shift around her curvaceous form. I search, am disappointed, search again. The memory is not enough. Desire, and surely madness, drives me on.

 

Written by Sarah Ann

June 16, 2017 at 10:05 pm

#FridayFictioneers – 2/6/17 – Retrospective

with 24 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

On seeing this week’s photo I knew immediately what I was going to write about, as the below stems from something that happened to a close friend. Unfortunately, work and travel have meant it’s taken me a while to get it down.

With thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Karuna for the photo.

 

© Karuna

Retrospective

(Genre: general fiction; 100-words)

I thought I’d outsmarted him.

Forty years on, I can’t remember why he did it.

I can feel my impotence, anger, sadness at watching my young life’s possessions go up in smoke. I stood rooted, fists clenched, chest tight, tears falling. In my head I asked why over and over, but said nothing. Father had explained the misdemeanour that caused my toys’ destruction. My psyche forgets.

Digging the foundations for a new extension, we unearthed the precious things I’d buried to keep from him. The past flooded back to taint the future.

But I will not let him win again.

 

 

Written by Sarah Ann

June 2, 2017 at 7:10 pm

#FridayFictioneers – 26/5/17 – Regret

with 36 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

This story wrote itself, I was not in control once nature’s tendrils started wandering, and I have found it difficult to edit so I know there has to be something wrong with it – let me know what it is!

Thank you to Rochelle as ever, and to J Hardy Carroll for the prompt.

© J Hardy Carroll

Regret

(Genre: humour; 100-words)

Nature has started to re-assert herself. Green shoots twist and ease their way into gaps in the brickwork. In time, she will devour the eyesore and passersby will see only a mound of vegetation. Few will remember the mighty folly that once stood here; none will be able to imagine its grandeur from its remains.

I will visit on every anniversary of the conflagration until I can no longer walk the hills.

To lose such a monument under my custodianship is shaming.

And if ever the grandchildren come to stay again, I will be searching their knicker elastic for matches.

 

Written by Sarah Ann

May 26, 2017 at 2:32 pm

#FridayFictioneers – 12/5/17 – A Moment in Time

with 13 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

I really struggled coming up with something that wasn’t obvious/ boring this week, which is why I’m posting so late. I’m not sure this works. I tried to go funny using characters from a previous post, but misery took over my muse.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting and the prompt this week.

 

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

A Moment in Time

(Genre: general fiction; 100-words)

‘How is it my fault?’ I say looking at the hanging wing mirror.

‘If I hadn’t been picking you up, it wouldn’t have happened,’ Colin screams.

‘You won’t let me drive myself.’

‘I worry,’ he whines, ‘about you being out alone.’

Since turning seventy-five, Colin had become safety obsessed.

‘I’m hardly likely to be kidnapped by slavers.’

‘I want to do it,’ he says. ‘It gets me out the house.’

Colin’s becoming more reclusive, relying on my friends for company.

He won’t explain how the lamppost jumped across the pavement.

I think of his mother and fear for our future.

 

Written by Sarah Ann

May 14, 2017 at 7:24 pm

#FridayFictioneers – 5/5/17 – Dwell Not

with 20 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

I stared and stared at this week’s prompt and couldn’t muster anything. Then I began to think about decay, and this strong female character turned up.

Thank you, as ever, to Rochelle for hosting and Sandra for the photo.

Copyright Sandra Crook

 

Dwell Not

(Genre: historical fiction; 100-words)

The hall’s fading splendour cuts Elsa deep. She once thought to reign here. Old Edward had favoured his cousin umpteenth times removed. Until the housemaid begot his brat. None fully believed; Edward was too proud to deny.

Elsa married a different cousin, strengthening the line with six healthy children.

The housemaid died of pox. Her brat is barren, however frequently and forcibly he humps; he ages speedily. None wish to bear his scion, or bind themselves to a house that rots while he gambles.

Soon Elsa will return as widow, residing while her sons restore grandeur to house and name.

 

 

Written by Sarah Ann

May 5, 2017 at 5:40 pm

#FridayFictioneers – 21/4/17 – Septuagenarian Adventure

with 24 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

With thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Magaly Guerrero for this week’s prompt.

I can’t quite believe I’ve managed to post this on a Thursday, but life gave me an in this week – I will be following my protagonist’s example next Wednesday.

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Magaly Guerrero

© Magaly Guerrero

 

Septuagenarian Adventure

(Genre: humour; 100-words)

‘Frances, you’re 75.’

My husband is a master of truth.

‘And?’

‘It’s undignified.’

‘The woman who runs the sessions said there are lots of beginners like me.’

‘You’re not as fit as you were.’

‘That’s why I signed up.’

‘What about equipment?’

‘I only need shoes.’

‘You’re….’ he paused.

There are occasions when Colin trips over the truth.

‘There’s more of you than there was,’ he attempted diplomatically.

‘You mean is the floor reinforced?’

‘I didn’t say…’

‘I’m fat, Colin. I need to lose weight and enjoy it. That’s why I joined The Marvellous Tapping Heffalumps. Come jiggle with me?’

 

Written by Sarah Ann

April 20, 2017 at 3:23 pm

#FridayFictioneers -14/4/17 – Gone Astray

with 30 comments

Every Wednesday Rochelle Wisoff-Fields publishes a photo prompt to inspire writers to write 100-words of flash fiction or poetry.

At any point during the following week, the Friday Fictioneers post their 100-word tales. Read the other stories by clicking below.

 

© Dale Rogerson

Gone Astray

(Genre: general fiction; 100-words)

I’ve been to the police station five times. The desk jockeys think I’m hysterical. They don’t believe my mother is missing.

‘She hasn’t been gone 24-hours,’ they say. ‘She’s an adult.’

I insist it’s out of character.

She only ever eats pizza on the anniversary of dad’s disappearance, with fingers from the box, ready to run. However long it takes to consume, she doesn’t move until it’s done, in case he comes back to finish the one he left. She’s been fulfilling this ritual for 15-years. She couldn’t not complete it.

Unless something happened.

Unless she went to join him.

 

Written by Sarah Ann

April 14, 2017 at 5:34 pm

%d bloggers like this: