Tag Archives: Flash fiction

A Dog in the Desert #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 dog in the desert. Why is the dog there? Who else is involved? Is there a deeper metaphor you can make of the desert? Go where the prompt leads!

We are told to write what we know, and I am not a dog person. I’ve never owned a dog though both my children and their families now do. I’m currently trying to complete a story for this year’s Story Angels Anthology that has ‘Tales from the Bark Side’ as its theme. It took me ages to get a story started and I hope I can complete it to my own, and the judges’ satisfaction. Fingers crossed.

The last time Charli included a dog in the prompt, I didn’t submit. This time I’ve followed the prompt into the desert with Australia’s own native dog. I’ve gone for a type of information-packed free verse, not really a flash fiction, but there I went. I would’ve liked more time to work on it. Perhaps I still will. But this is it for now. I hope you enjoy it.

Desert Dog

Dingo

wild dog of this vast land

of forest, scrub and plain

no stranger to the desert

with golden fur and quiet white feet

a bushy tail and pointed ears

and long sharp teeth

Australia’s largest mammal carnivore

apex predator

been here 4,000 years or more

nocturnal hunter

with howls that rip the night asunder

call the pack in

or warn intruders away

marking territories with body scents

curious but shy

beautiful but dangerous 

lean and mean

unpredictable

opportunistic hunter

hungry scavenger

do not coax it in

be ever wary

treat with caution

lest you become the dingo treat.

I think the Azaria Chamberlain story in 1980 made the world aware of the Australian dingo. It was a story that rocked the nation, not to mention its effect on the family. Although dingo attacks on humans are rare, they do occur, particularly if campers welcome them to their campsites and feed them, particularly if they are hungry and particularly if campers do not treat them with sufficient caution and respect. They may look like domestic dogs, but they are not domestic. They are wild. As recently as a week ago, a young girl was attacked by a dingo on K’gari (Fraser Island). However, many more people die by drowning and car accidents than by sharks, and even fewer by dingoes. Be cautious but not afraid.

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

Shots Fired #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 shots fired. Where is this story taking place? Is there urgency or surprise? Who is there? What happens next? Go where the prompt leads!

My story is a BOTS (based on a true story). My cousin, who was about my age, was the commanding officer in the passing out parade, and my four-year-old brother was the curious child. My cousin went on to train as an army officer and achieved quite a high rank. I wish I could remember more about that. Sadly, he passed away a few years ago. I’m grateful to Charli for this prompt and an opportunity to honour him. He was a very special person and I adored him as a cousin and a friend.

Who Shot Him?

The cadets were in formation as they marched around the oval, looking every bit the soldier with guns and uniforms, and not the pimply partly-whiskered teenage boys they’d return to after graduation. Proud relatives had travelled far to view this passing out parade. Spectators and graduates sweltered under the unforgiving summer sun. Some women armed with fans and umbrellas were the envy of those less prepared. One small cousin pushed through the crowd for a better view. At that instant, a front row cadet fainted. The distressed spectator scampered back to safety. “Who shot him, Mum? Who shot him?”

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

Literary Artist #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 what it means to be a literary artist. You can pull from your own experience, re-imagine the idea, or embody something else in a character. Be playful, go deep, and let your story flow. Go where the prompt leads!

This is my response. I hope you enjoy it.

If only …

In her mind she was a literary artist, painting exquisite word pictures and enthralling plots, her titles on everyone’s lips. When it didn’t eventuate, she blamed busyness and writer’s block. She could have, if only.

He dreamed of being a musical artist, composing melodies to make hearts sing, first choice of orchestras everywhere. When it didn’t emerge, he cited family responsibilities. He could have, if only.

They pictured themself as a visual artist, creating magnificent sculptures commissioned by international celebrities. When it didn’t evolve, they howled discrimination and poor upbringing. They could have, if only.

Might have, if only.

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

Letter to Nature #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 as a love letter to nature. You could reach back to more pastoral times of writing or enter into the future. Who is writing the letter — an ant or an aunt? Is it a lifetime of love or eons? Go where the prompt leads!

It’s a nice thought – a love letter to nature for Valentine’s Day.

Generally, when we think of nature, we think of its beauty and its generosity with wonder and gratitude. That’s a good thing. There is much to hold in awe and much for which we should give thanks.

However, nature isn’t always beautiful and generous. It can be destructive too, as we’ve seen this week with the devastating earthquake in Türkiye and Syria. So much heartbreak. And there are countless other places around the world where nature is not being so kind. If it’s not happening near you, it’s happening near someone else.

Why, when nature itself can be so destructive, are so many people hell-bent on finding other ways of harming each other, including creating weapons of mass destruction? It is something I’ll never understand. Why can’t we all just live in peace, accepting and appreciating each other and what we have in this wonderful world.

As a teacher and a parent, I always encourage children to be curious and creative. To seek answers to things they wonder about and solutions to problems. I believe it’s in our nature to ask questions.

I’ve combined our nature with Nature in my response to Charli’s prompt, inspired by a child’s point of view. I hope you like it.

A Letter to Nature

Why is the sky blue and the grass green?

Why do bees buzz and dogs bark?

How do birds fly and fish swim?

How does an apple grow?

Where do butterflies sleep?

Why does the earth quake and volcanos spew?

Why do storms rage and rivers flood?

Dad says I ask too many questions. Mum says it’s our nature to explore, discover and create, to solve problems, find new ways of doing things, and heal hurts.

But people also use their imaginations to create even more destructive ways to harm each other. Why? Is your nature our nature too?

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

Dishes #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 dishes. It can be the every-single-day activity, a precious collection, or any other interpretation of dishes as objects or activities. Who is stuck with the dishes and why? Go where the prompt leads!

I had a few ideas for this one but couldn’t seem to make any work until I went back to my two young girls Amy and Lucy and their favourite toys. I hope this one works. Enjoy!

The Garden Party

Ellie observed that the table looked delightful. Ollie said he’d never used such fine chinaware before. Teddy commented that the fairy cakes were scrumptious and iced tea was perfect for a warm day. Everyone agreed. Amy and Lucy beamed.

Afterwards, the guests offered to help with the dishes.

“No way,” said Amy. “You’re our guests.”

“We insist,” said Ellie. Swiping swiftly with her trunk, she launched the plates likes frisbees. Ollie deftly caught them and stacked them by the sink. Teddy frothed the soap suds and washed while Lucy dried.

“Many hands,” said Amy, putting cups and plates away.

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

A Story with a Lie #99WordStories

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This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills was talking about family histories not always telling the truth. There are parts of my family’s history that may not be totally accurate too. There are different versions of some tales, and not just of events from different perspectives.

Last year when I wrote a brief book about her female ancestors for my granddaughter on her tenth birthday, I included a version of a story that my father related. When his only remaining sister read the account, she informed me that it was wrong. Somehow, she said, all the males of the family told my father’s version, but my aunt was sure she had the correct version.

My father said that my great grandmother Hannah was born in England and met her future husband George in England before emigrating to Australia. He said that George came to Australia as a paying passenger and that Hannah masqueraded as a cabin boy and worked her passage out. He said that George called her Jim so as to not give her secret away. They arrived in Brisbane in1891 and married on 11th June that year. Hannah gave birth to six children, two of whom died in infancy. Fortunately for me, one of the survivors was my grandmother.

According to my aunt, it was Hannah who paid her way out and George who worked as a cabin boy. I think. Perhaps I’d better check while I can and before I spread too many other lies.

As well as untruths, many families have skeletons that they like to keep locked in the cupboard. My family has a few of those too. When my mother’s brother was researching the family history, he discovered that one of our ancestors had been transported to Australia for a minor misdemeanour, as many were, such as stealing a loaf of bread. I can’t be sure. Both my mother and uncle were horrified and didn’t want to tell anyone, but somehow the word got out. It’s not so bad really. We found out that there’s a similar ancestor on my father’s side. Nowadays, it’s more acceptable to have a convict way back in the family tree than it was for previous generations. Most are no longer fazed by it.

When Charli challenged writer to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes a lie. What is the lie? It can be subtle or blatant. Who tells the lie and why? Is it an unreliable narrator? Go where the prompt leads! how could I go past family lies and skeletons? I’m sticking with my two little girls again, sans their red car this time. I hope you enjoy it.

A Skeleton in the Cupboard

Lucy was opening and closing every cupboard in the house.

“What’re you doing?” Amy asked.

“Mum lied,” said Lucy.

“About what?”

“The skeleton.”

“What skeleton?”

“The skeleton. Mum said Dad has a skeleton in the cupboard. I can’t find it.”

“You won’t find it.”

“Why not?”

“Cause it’s not a real skeleton.”

“Skeletons are so real. I’ve got one and you’ve got one. Everybody’s got one.”

“Not those sorts of skeletons.”

“Then what?”

“Secrets.”

“Secrets?”

“Things they don’t want nobody else to know.”

“So, Mum did lie.”

Amy sighed. “Mum didn’t lie, but there’s no skeleton in the cupboard.”

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Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Something Squeaky, excluding mine because I didn’t get it done in time, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.

Wheels Keep Turning #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 how the wheels keep turning. Are the wheels tangible or metaphorical? Go where the prompt leads!

My first thoughts went to the Rawhide theme song with its ‘Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’’ refrain.

Of course, they’re not wheels that are rollin’, so that song wouldn’t do. But how wonderful to see these actors, who looked so old when I was a child, look not much more than children to me now.

My next thought was of Proud Mary and her big wheel that kept turning.

But that wouldn’t do either.

I wanted to return to my girls Amy and Lucy and their little red convertible from previous stories but couldn’t decide how. You could say the wheels were turning but I wasn’t getting anywhere. Fortunately, I thought of a third song about wheels.

That was more my style and this is my story. I hope you enjoy it.

The Wheels of the Limo

“The wheels of the bus go —. No, wait. The wheels of the limo go round and round, round and round —”

“Why’d ya stop?”

“I didn’t stop. We’re stuck.”

“But the wheels are turning.”

“Must be something underneath. Okay. Everybody out.”

Teddy, Ollie, Ellie, Monkey and Bunny piled out. They watched as Amy hoisted the little red convertible for Lucy to check underneath.

“There’s a rock,” said Lucy. She reached under, withdrew the culprit, and hurled it into the shrubs.

“All aboard!” she called.

The passengers settled back in, and everyone sang, “The wheels of the limo …”

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

A Ritual Involving Tea #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 any ritual involving tea. It can be a daily afternoon tea prepared specifically or the reading of tea leaves in a cup. What do you know? What do you imagine? Is your story deep and ponderous or bright and flash? Go where the prompt leads!

As a child, I enjoyed playing with my tea sets. It was fun lining up my toys and having tea parties. I remember two tea sets from my childhood. One was a pretty little floral set made of china. The other was red and white plastic.

I remember sitting on the back steps one day when I was about three, washing my china cups and saucers. Perhaps I was getting ready for a tea party or cleaning up after one. I’m not sure. But while I was sitting there, busily at my work, Dad came out and didn’t see my pretty little cups and stood right on them, smashing them into little pieces. He was very apologetic and, surprisingly, I was very forgiving. He would tell the story many times later about how I’d looked up at him and said, “It’s okay, Dad. You didn’t mean to.” I think the adult me could learn a lot about forgiveness from the little me.

As an adult, I consider a very special treat to be a high tea with its cucumber and smoked salmon finger sandwiches, fresh baked scones with jam and cream, and a selection of petit fours. I have enjoyed a number of these over the years, usually in very special locations for very special occasions.

I remember having one with my mum and other family members to celebrate her 90th birthday at a restaurant she had enjoyed going to with her mother when she was growing up. It was definitely a special treat and an occasion to remember.

I’ve allowed some of these ‘special’ thoughts to influence my response to Charli’s prompt as I add another event to Amy and Lucy’s imaginative play. I hope you enjoy it.

The Tea Party

Ollie said the table looked divine. Teddy agreed, adding the fairy cakes were the prettiest and sweetest he’d ever tasted, and the tea was the perfect temperature. Amy and Lucy beamed. The tea party to welcome the happy couple home from their honeymoon was a success. Everyone was there. It was all going swimmingly, until a balloon popped. Ellie started, upsetting the teapot with her flailing trunk and whipping the cakes from their stand. Monkey screeched. Bunny watched tea puddle under the table.

“I’ve ruined the party,” wailed Ellie.

“It’s okay, Ellie,” said Lucy. “No one’s hurt. Nothing’s broken.”

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

The Red Convetible #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 features a red convertible. Who is driving or riding? Where is the car going? Maybe it isn’t even a car. Have fun and go where the prompt leads!

Royal’s Red Convertible

When I was a child, my uncle, who was probably in his early thirties and single at the time, had a red convertible. His name was Royal (Royal Albert, no less) and I thought he looked like Elvis Presley. He had a great sense of humour, and when he laughed, he did so with his whole body. Whenever he came to visit, we kids would beg him for a ride. He always complied. We felt like royalty as he whizzed us around the block, the wind in our hair, smiling as wide as the Pacific. It was Royal fun!

Charli did say to go where the prompt leads, and how could I write a post about a red convertible without paying respects to my uncle and the only times I got to ride in a red convertible, or any convertible for that matter. Sadly, we lost Royal twenty years ago to melanoma, a terrible disease that takes too many lives here in Queensland.

From memoir to fiction.

The Little Red Convertible V1

Teddy plumped into the driver’s seat. Ollie squished beside.

“Where’re we going, Teddy?”

“Somewhere far away, where the flowers bloom and the birds sing and the sky’s the prettiest blue.”

“How long will it take to get there?”

“Close your eyes and we’ll be there before you know it,” said Teddy.

The little red convertible zoomed past dancing horses and gilded carriages.

“Do you see it?” asked Teddy.

“It’s beautiful!” whispered Ollie, not wanting to break the magic.

When the little red convertible stopped, Ollie asked, “Can we go again?”

“Anytime,” said Teddy. “Just close your eyes and imagine.”

When I was writing that one, I was thinking of a little red car on a carousel. However, I couldn’t find an image to match. I quite liked the image of the two children and the pedal car, so I thought I’d have another go. For this one, I was thinking of playing imaginatively in the backyard or playground. I don’t think either are really what I could call finished, though each is 99 words, as is Royal’s Red Convertible, but I’ve run out of time. Let me know which you prefer.

The Little Red Convertible V2

“Where to today?” asked Amy.

“Over the mountains, across the river, and through the far-away forest,” said Lucy.

“Be home in time for dinner,” said Mother.

“We will!”

The little red convertible chugged to the peak of the highest mountain where the children danced in clouds. It rolled through misty valleys and onto the plain where the children played hide-and-seek in patchwork fields. It trundled across the wooden bridge over the river that led to the forest where they fluttered with fairies and pranced with unicorns.

Rumbling bellies told them to head for home.

“Just in time,” said Mother.

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As floppy as puppy ears

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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 uses the idea or phrase, “floppy as puppy ears.” You can be explicit or implicit with your response. What is floppy and why? It doesn’t have to be about dogs at all. Go where the prompt leads!

I’m always pleased that Charli says to ‘Go where the prompt leads!’ because that’s just where I go. It’s especially important to me this week as I have a few other distractions and thought I wouldn’t have time to respond, especially when I don’t know anything about puppy’s ears, let alone floppy ones. Anyway, it made me think of other comparisons, and that’s where I went — some familiar, some silly, some fun, and some special. I hope.

My other distractions will be keeping me away from your blogs for a while, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. See you then!

As floppy as puppy ears

As floppy as puppy ears

As cute as a button

As happy as Larry

As cranky as a hippopotamus

As ripe as a banana

As silly as a sausage on a stick

As weird as a walrus (but don’t tell it I said so)

As tall as a giraffe

As small as a flea

As funny as a giggle

As rude as a fart

As crazy as a top hat on a donkey

As scary as the dark unknown

As awesome as a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis

As amazing as children’s imaginations

And, as wonderful …

As you!

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Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.

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