They sat by the sea watching children play on the beach.

‘Alright?’ he put his arm around her shoulder.

The tears slowly running down her face gave him his answer.

It had taken her twenty years to return. Years of pain and guilt. She had been their teacher. They had trusted in her. She was supposed to protect them.

A school outing before the summer holiday began. A visit to the local museum for a bit of history and then a trip to the beach. It wasn’t her fault the terrorists had come that day.

The images still haunted her. They would never leave her. The panic, the terror, the fear in those young faces. The blood. The dead.

Governments fought aimless wars and encouraged segregation and hate. Religions tried to absolve themselves of blame. Terrorists continued to kill with no purpose, never furthering their cause.

She was beyond all this. She had only her memories and sorrow. She wouldn’t let them count her as their victim. She was here. She had not let them win.

This was her defiance.

Copyright The Storyteller’s Abode

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story in around 150 words, based on the weekly photo prompt. Thanks as always to the challenge host Priceless Joy. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

Influenced by events in Manchester this week, my thoughts are with all involved, especially those children and parents affected by this devastating and abhorrent act.


Winston waved off the liner as the huge ship was towed away from the harbour.

He saw the Havillands and the Haliburtons waving back as he pocketed their money in his shirt pocket.

Didn’t he feel like a slave ferrying the rich tourists round the island in his car, taking them out fishing in his motor boat, showing them the sights of the island? At their call twenty-four seven, bowing and scraping. Yes, Boss. Sorry, Boss. Is the lady feeling the heat too much today, Boss?

Soon they would be back in their stuffy, cold houses, slaving away in their offices, stuck in their traffic jams.

Their stay in paradise was temporary, a fleeting glimpse. Winston had spent his whole life in paradise. He was perfectly happy to take their money when he needed to.

Thanks to the Havillands and the Haliburtons he had a couple of months relaxing in his hut by the beach to look forward to.


Written for ‘What Pegman Saw’, a weekly prompt based on a view from Google Maps. The idea is to write a piece of fiction of around 150 words based on the prompt. Full details can be found HERE. This week we’re off to Nassau in the Bahamas for a purely fictional tale.

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

Feature Image – Aqua Beach by Daniel Piraino via Google Maps.


Sarah felt like an idiot as she was lifted onto the horse. Her face resting on the warm hair of the horses’ neck, she felt her feet being pushed into the stirrups. Cautiously, she lifted herself and sat upright in the saddle. The horse twitched and pulled underneath her.

‘All yours,’ her father beamed at her with pride.

Two years since the accident. She remembered the pain as her spine and legs were crushed underneath the fallen horse. The months in hospital after waking from her coma. The rehabilitation. Accepting that she would never walk again. The determination that she would ride again.

Her hands rubbed the smooth flank of the horse. She tapped it and felt him respond by stepping forward. A few steps clenching onto the reins, another tap and the horse began to trot. That would be fast enough for today.

The breeze blew in from the sea, the spray gently hit her face. The horse splashed through the tide water on the wet sand.

Sarah smiled. She felt alive again.


Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story, in around 150 words based on the weekly photo prompt. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.


Returning to the porch of his ramshackle beach hut, he looked at the shelves filled with his collection of driftwood, shells, coral and flotsam and jetsam.

In the two remaining spaces he placed the latest additions from his morning walk along the sand. The severed foot sat nicely in the smaller space, and he managed to bend the arm at the elbow joint to place it at an aesthetically pleasing angle in the larger space.

He sat back contented on his deckchair as the sun rose higher in the sky. Another day in paradise, and finally some proper peace and quiet.

© Claire Fuller

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).

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


After they had not made love they did not go to sleep. Nor did they talk. They lay side-by-side on the bed in silence. It was not an awkward silence. It was the silence that exists between two people who have become comfortable and unhappy with one another. The sounds of the Cretan night drifted through the open window. The cicadas did not sing at night, moped engines and Greek youths returning home did. Continue reading “A SUMMER IN CRETE”