CRYONICS

The Director of the Institute walked Peter along an endless sterile corridor.

‘So, Mr. Franks, when you choose your time to arrive here, you’ll get a secure shuttered unit assigned to you.’ The Director informed him.

‘So behind each of these shutters…?’ Peter tailed off.

The Director smiled. ‘Yes, behind each of these doors there is a person hung in suspension until their specified re-animation date.’

‘Do they feel anything?’

‘Not a thing. It’s a very deep sleep, that’s all.’

‘And when they are re-animated to continue their life?’

The Director paused. ‘Well, that’s a bit of an unknown at the moment,’ he mumbled. ‘Moving on.’ He smiled and strode away.

Peter stood staring after him.


from-amy-reese
© Amy Reese

Written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above, thanks to Sandra for the photo this week).

For more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

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DAFFODILS IN AUTUMN

Detective Anders Strand stood on the edge of the lake in Frogner Park. There was a chill in the air, but for a November morning it was mild weather for Oslo. He remembered the old days when this time of year saw the start of winter and below freezing temperatures. Now he looked at the daffodils blooming and the leaves still green on the trees.

The extinction of the Polar bears, no ice at the North Pole, the year-long spring temperatures and the disappearance of hundreds of small islands round the world due to rising sea levels were some of the effects of the warming global climate. The thinner ice on the lakes in Oslo in autumn was another.

He looked at his watch as the sun began to weakly peak over the horizon. 8.30am. The city may be warmer now, but the sun still only shone for a few hours each day. The city was stirring around him, but the cordoned off area of the park remained still.

He took a final gulp from his lukewarm coffee and tossed the unfinished cup into a bin. The frogman dived off the boat again to start his next search. The mother waited anxiously sobbing on the bench, waiting to reclaim her child’s body from the murky water.


174-09-september-25th-2016
© A Mixed Bag

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). For more details visit HERE.

For more stories based on this prompt, have a look HERE.

CHANDELIER

‘Ta-da!’ announced Agnes, throwing her arms open wide, ‘what do you think?’

Archie stared at the array of lights hanging vertically from the ceiling, above the grand staircase.

‘What the…?’ he stared open-mouthed.

‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ gushed Agnes, oblivious to Archie’s response.

‘It’s…it’s…very big.’

‘Over a thousand individual lights.’

‘Well, if it’s what you want.’ Archie shuffled off into the living room.

Agnes looked at his back as he left. She shook her head and gazed up at her new decoration. The smile returned to her face.

‘Beautiful.’

In the centre of the huge vertical chandelier one tiny bulb flickered on and off. Then another. Then every bulb flickered and went out.

Agnes stood in the darkness.

‘Sonovabitch’, she muttered.


from-roger
© Roger Bultot

Written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE).  The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above, thanks to Sandra for the photo this week).

For more stories based on this prompt, visit HERE.

THE WRITER’S SPIRAL

Mark met Bob from Accounting at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Another Monday morning,’ said Bob, as they began the trudge up to the office. Mark grunted in reply. Bob began every Monday with the same conversation.

‘Don’t you ever feel like we’re hamsters in a wheel, going round and round and getting nowhere?’ Bob continued. ‘There must be something more exciting in life than this.’

As Mark prepared to answer, the lights went out. Out of the window they saw bright orange beams cut through the air. Aircraft buzzed around them, firing at one another. Buildings exploded as aircraft and missiles crashed into them. The sky darkened as a large spaceship loomed over the city. Mark ducked as a piece of debris crashed through the glass next to them. It caught Bob and sent him plummeting to the ground below.

**

The writer paused and read back what he had just typed. It all spiralled out of control too quickly. He sighed and pressed Ctrl+A and Delete. The cursor on the blank screen blinked at him. He started again.

**

Mark arrived at work at the same time as Bob from Accounting…


photo-20160918072949267
© Joy Pixley. Thanks Joy, great photo.

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story, in around 150 words (I’m pushing the word limit a bit this week, apologies to all) based on the weekly photo prompt. For more information visit HERE.

For more stories based on this week’s photo prompt, visit HERE.

DURING THE WAR

George found Nick next to the old fountain in the garden after everyone from the wake had drifted away.

‘Remember when we used to splash in the water round this,’ George said. ‘It belongs to you now, along with all this,’ George gestured to the large gardens and the manor house behind them.

Nick patted the odd, square shaped fountain. George leaned on the other side of it. One of the squares he rested on depressed into the side of the concrete. There was a click. The entire fountain and the base they stood on started moving to the side, with a slow grinding noise. A brick stairway leading into the ground was revealed.

George looked at Nick. ‘After you big brother.’

They edged down the uneven stairs. They reached the bottom. A solitary light bulb hung from the ceiling in a small dark room. George found a switch in the wall next to him. The light bulb flickered on.

In the centre of the room was a metal chair, with restraints for wrists, ankles and a head brace. Thick electrical cables led from the chair to a lever on the wall. On a table there was a row of metal instruments – scalpels, pliers, secateurs, and discarded syringes. Everything was covered in a layer of thick dust.

Nick looked at George. ‘Remember Dad said Aunt Phylidia did something important for the government during the war.’

George nodded.


173-09-september-18th-2016
© A Mixed Bag

Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). For more details visit HERE.

For more stories based on this prompt, have a look HERE.