Tag Archives: Flash fiction

Flakes #99Wordstories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using the word or idea, flakes. What or who is a flake? Is there tension or phenomenon that is creating flakes? Can flakes be massive or minute? Go to your flakiest memories for living images to play with. Go where the prompt leads!

This is where I went. I hope you enjoy it.

Retro Black Light Disco

On their first date, Paul took Josie to the Retro Black Light Disco. She’d heard about it but never been, so was curious. “Wear something white. You’ll really stand out,” her older friends advised. Josie was amused that Paul dressed all in black, as usual, but guessed some habits were hard to break. Josie absolutely glowed under the lights, but Paul virtually disappeared. Until he turned around, looking like he’d brought a glowworm army on his back. Josie started to say, “How beautiful!” when she realised they were flakes of dandruff. “Gross,” she thought. “I’ve seen enough,” she said.

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Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Cryptozoology, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.

A Cryptozoologist #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about a cryptozoologist. Who is this character? What cryptids do they research and why? Are they serious about their work, skeptical, or scheming to fool others? Go where the prompt leads!

For my story, I’ve gone back to the family reunion for another take with Jodie and the dark stranger. Like Josie, I’d never heard of a cryptozoologist before. Do they really exist?

The Cryptozoologist

Josie and her cousins stood around the punch bowl, quenching their thirst after a rowdy line dance (family tradition). Josie was catching up on all the goss she’d missed out while away: who was with whom, who’d broken up, etcetera.

“What about him? Who’s he with?” she nodded towards the lone one in the shadows.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s just with himself.”

“What do you mean?”

Susie laughed. “He’s a cryptozoologist.”

“A crypto-what? Does he mine cryptocurrency?”

“Not that interesting. He studies cryptids.”

“What are cryptids?”

“Imaginary monsters. They’re all in his mind.”

“Oh?” said Josie.

Everyone laughed.

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Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Confidence, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.

Blanket #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes a blanket. Any interpretation works! What happens to a story when you give a character the prop of a blanket? Is the blanket the story? Is it a memory container, a source of comfort, or smothering? Go where the prompt leads!

For my story, I used the word blanket to mean cover, obscure or block, in particular, like a cloud blocking the sun. The inspiration came from a recent post called Enveloping Tranquility by blogger friend Annika Perry, in which she mentioned ‘a cloud of butterflies’. If you haven’t done so already, please pop over to Annika’s blog and read her delightful post.

I loved the idea and wondered at the thought of a cloud of butterflies obscuring, or blanketing, the sun. That’s where my imagination took me, perhaps not as far as the imaginations of the children in my story though. I hope you enjoy it.

A Cloud of Butterflies

“I’m gunna dig all the way through the world and come out in China,” said Nathan.

“I’m going to the moon,” said Mandy.

“You can’t get to the moon this way.”

“Can too!”

“The moon’s in space, silly.”

“So?”

Nathan sighed. “Let’s just dig.”

“It’s really deep,” said Mandy in a little while. “We can stand in it now.”

“Yeah!” said Nathan. He continued digging. “I hope it doesn’t rain. Tell that cloud to go away.”

Mandy shook her fist. “Go away cloud!” Then she said, “It’s not a cloud. It’s butterflies!”

“Wow!” said Nathan. “A cloud of butterflies!”

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A few years ago, 2015 to be exact, I was fascinated by a huge kaleidoscope (swarm) of blue tiger butterflies as they migrated northwards in autumn. I’ve always loved the word kaleidoscope as the collective noun for butterflies, but how appropriate cloud is too. The migrating butterflies may not have blocked the sun like a blanket, but they cast shadows on the sand as they flew over the beach. Magnificent!

If you’d like to read more about the blue tiger butterflies, follow this link and scroll down a couple of paragraphs, or follow this link. In this second article, the migrating butterflies are referred to as a cloud. So, there it was all along.

Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Insect Nation, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.

Insect Nation #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about the insect nation. You can focus on a particular insect or all insects. Is your story one of acceptance and understanding? Scientific knowledge? Or apocalyptic horror? Get bugged and go where the prompt leads!

I’ve stayed at the family party with Josie, the aunts and the stranger from previous stories for a bit more fun. I hope you enjoy it.

Mealtime chit-chat

“What have we got?” Finally, the stranger, now identified as Paul, asked a question.

“The usual for one of these shindigs,” said Josie. “Aunt Agnes’s lasagne, Clara’s meatballs, Priscilla’s chicken fricassee and Joe’s sliced meats.”

“And for dessert, there’s Marie’s apple pie and Josh’s lumpy custard. Looks like Great-Aunt Rose has added berries to her strawberry jelly,” said Josie, taking a scoop.

“Blaaah!” Josie spat the jelly. “That’s not a berry!”

“It’s just a fly.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Flies don’t hurt. Extra protein.”

“Then you have it,” said Josie, shoving the plate into him and storming off.

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I used two real events for inspiration.

The first occurred at a family party when one of the dishes served up was a lasagne, which I’m sure would have been delicious if I could have ignored the flies (just one or two) baked into the top layer of béchamel sauce.

The second was a crunchy cappuccino I had once, that forever ended my love affair with cappuccino. When I removed the crunchy bit from my mouth to investigate what it was, I discovered it was a fly. The establishment was very good. They apologised and offered to make me another one. I’m not sure if I accepted their offer, but I’ve never ordered another cappuccino.

Flies and the Australian summer go hand in hand. I’m never keen on their company, and abhor them as a food source.

Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Southwest Pumpkins, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.

Southwest Pumpkins #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that depicts the painting, “Southwest Pumpkins” by TOJ. Feel free to explore the nuances — do you focus on the art or seek a story? What vibes do you get? Who shows up to enter the image? What happens? Go where the prompt leads!

I thought of the painting as a scene from a doorway. I wondered what the doorway led to or from, and who was standing in it and why. My story relates to those ponderings. I hope you enjoy it.

The Next Leg

The distant mountains did a thumbs up as if measuring how far the moon had still to travel before they’d reach their destination. While this taverna was welcoming, not all were so obliging, and the desert could never be thought of as a friend. They thanked their host and gathered their belongings, including replenished canteens and knapsacks. Grasping their hands firmly, the host wished them a safe journey. He advised on signs to seek and others to avoid. They bade farewell, but then, before they left, they finger framed the scene, a memory to guide them on their way.

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Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt It’s Festa Time, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.

Festa #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about a festa. It can be any festival, celebration, or use of the word. Is it food-related or an event? Is it an object or a shout-out? Who is involved and why? What happens? Go where the prompt leads!

For my response, I’ve stayed with Josie and the aunts I introduced in two previous stories, A Dark Horse and Whether the Weather. I’m not sure where these characters have come from, but I’m having fun getting to know them. Be assured that they are not based on anyone, currently or previously living, I know.

Family Fun

The celebration was progressing in the usual Festa fashion. The aunts huddled down one end, criticising and badmouthing anyone out of earshot, and even some who weren’t. The men propped up the bar ensuring they didn’t miss their fair share of the free-flowing beer. The children played spotlight outside, relishing the lack of supervision. Any young people whose protests had failed wished they were somewhere, anywhere, else. Including Josie. The stranger, who’d become more intriguing with the aunts’ warnings, was totally self-absorbed. Seems the cool exterior was just that. Nothing of substance below.  Now what was Josie to do?

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Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt The Weather Arrives, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.

The Arrival of the Weather #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about the arrival of the weather. It can mean any kind of weather event meteorological or mythological. Is the weather personified, random, or calculating? Where does it arrive? Is it typical or epoch-changing? Who is involved? And if the Womam Who Doesn’t Want Red Hair shows up, well, ask her what’s happening. Go where the prompt leads!

This is my response. I hope you enjoy it. I’ve drawn on the same group of characters as appeared in a previous story.

Whether the Weather

Thunderous footsteps echoed down the hall, announcing her arrival.

“Look what the storm blew in.” One aunt grimaced, nodding towards the figure in the doorway.

“I’d say she brought the storm with her. As usual,” said another, noticing the flashing eyes and dark clouds encircling her wild red hair.

“Don’t worry,” said a third. “It’ll just be a storm in her E-cup.”

“Don’t you mean teacup?” asked Josie.

“No,” said the third, patting her chest. “Elsie’s always too big for her E-cup.”

The aunts laughed, but as Elsie stormed towards them, their laughter evaporated as quickly as a sunshower.

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Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Journey to Home can be read at the Carrot Ranch. Sadly, I missed that one. Perhaps I could have written about Josie’s journey home, if I’d thought of it.

Roots Like a Mountain #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about roots like a mountain. Feel free to play with both concepts of roots and mountains. How can you create a story from the combination? What character (or traits) come to mind? Where and when does the story take place? Go where the prompt leads!

This is where the prompt led me. I hope you enjoy it.

A Dark Horse

The conversation between aunts and cousins stopped abruptly when an aunt exclaimed, “So, the prodigal son returns.”

Everyone eyed the stranger.

“Who is he?” Josie asked. “He’s hot.”

“The family’s black sheep,” whispered a cousin.

“Stay away from him,” said her aunt. “He has roots like a mountain.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Josie.

 “Don’t let that cool exterior fool you,” said another. “It’s just the tip of the iceberg,”

“A dark horse then,” thought Josie, her interest rising.

“Still waters run deep – and dangerous,” cautioned her aunt, but Josie didn’t hear.

“Hi, I’m Josie,” she said, extending her hand.

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Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Immature, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.

Immature #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about something or someone immature. Is it a wine not yet ready to uncork or an adult not ready to adult? You can follow the flight of immature fledglings or come up with something unexpected. Go where the prompt leads!

My story involves two fictional characters discussing a fictional male. I hope you enjoy it.

He’s So Immature

How immature is he?

He’s so immature he wears a superman cape whenever we leave the house.

He plays hopscotch on the paving stones and zig-zags between the lunchtime crowd.

He declines the lift then immediately pushes the button and thinks it’s hilarious when the door opens again. No one else is amused.

He rolls lollipops down the aisle and interrupts everyone, saying, ‘Scuse me. Scuse me.’

He explodes packets of crisps during quiet times in the movies.

He farts loudly in public and laughs even louder, uncontrollably. He’s so immature.

That’s for sure. How old is he?

Four.

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Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Commitment in a Can, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.

Rubber Duck #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about a rubber duck. Where is this duck — somewhere typical like a tub or somewhere surprising like a roller derby. Who is with the duck? What is happening? Go where the prompt leads!

Ever since I read the prompt, I’ve had Ernie from Sesame Street singing Rubber Ducky on endless repeat in my head. I’m so sorry, but sharing is something I do, so I just have to share it with you too.

I’ve continued the nonsense with a nonsense story, so that probably requires two apologies in this post. Oh well. Enjoy anyway!

Muddy Footprints

“Aargh! Who just walked all those muddy footprints through the house?” said Farmer Jo.

“Not me!” said the animals in unison, displaying their best innocent faces. “There’s no mud on my feet.” They lifted their feet to show.

“It definitely wasn’t me,” said Rubber Ducky, “for I have no feet. See.”

“Then I suppose it was Mr Invisible. Again,” sighed Farmer Jo.

“It was,” chimed the animals.

Farmer Jo scoffed.

“It was me,” said Mr. Invisible, gradually materialising before their eyes. “Sorry.”

“What?” said Farmer Jo. “So, you do exist. You’re not just in my imagination. That’s a relief.”

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Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Parents of Adult Children, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.