SUNRISE / SUNSET

Peter Jones was born at sunrise on a summer’s day.

He enjoyed a happy childhood, living with his loving parents and two older siblings in their small one bedroom tenement flat.

He enjoyed playing with his friends, kicking a football up and down the street. At school he enjoyed sports and reading stories of lands far away.

The war started when he was 14. When he turned 18 he was called up for military service.

He enjoyed the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers during brief training with the infantry. His first trip abroad was part of the D-Day landings. He looked forward to seeing a foreign land for the first time.

On Gold beach, near Arromanches, he survived the onslaught while many of his new friends perished.

Two days later Peter Jones was shot by a German sniper while enjoying a cigarette watching the sunset over the town of Bayeux. As he took his last breath he thought it was the nicest sunset he had ever seen.

He died alone in the field and was buried in an unmarked grave next to a church.


photo-20170619154627204
Copyright Footy and Foodie

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.

THE GIRL ON THE OLD TRAM

Modern, sleek cars had been rolled out along the route.  At the time Jonathan travelled every morning an ancient tram still clanked and rattled along.

Accompanying him each day were the unchanging faces that shared this journey. The familiar smile and muttered greeting part of their set routine.

She appeared one grey morning. A ray of light piercing the everyday gloom. She sat opposite him. For the first few days he couldn’t making eye contact.

After a fortnight they established a nodded ‘hello’ when she took her seat.

Now Jonathan began to dream. Should he speak to her? What should he say? Was there a future for them? He resolved to talk to her the following Monday.

When she got on the tram that morning she was talking to Richard. Richard was another regular on the old tram. Richard boarded at the same stop as her.

She nodded to Jonathan as usual, then spent the rest of the journey chatting to Richard.

The next day Jonathan got an earlier tram. It was modern and sleek.


photo-20170529154641697
Copyright Yinglan

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.

DEFIANCE

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.


photo-20170522162303645
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.

HUNTING SEASON

White gives way to green. Cold to warmth. Life returns.

I feel invigorated. Hibernation is over. Fresh blood runs through veins.

Months since anyone came through. It’s been lonely recently.

I’m eager to entertain. Soon the tourists will return.

The young and adventurous. The healthy and vital.

The thrillseekers. I’m happy to oblige.

The highway will open again.

Final checks. Rooms cleaned. Fresh sheets. Walls painted.

Into the office. Hit the switch. Neon light.

Motel. Open. $12 a night.

Just like Daddy before me. Keeping the family business running.

The swamp no longer frozen. A watery grave once more.

The axe is sharp. It’s not needed for firewood anymore.

All is ready. Now I wait.

It’s hunting season.


photo-20170515154640540
Copyright Ioniangraphics

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.

CAN I HAVE MY BALL BACK?

The chairs and table sat in the centre of the garden, with uplighters in either corner. Around the four flawlessly straight sides a selection of rare flowers and plants, all in symmetry.

The gardener snipped the last piece of grass with his lawn clippers. A smile spread across his face. He had taken the patch of poor quality soil and created perfect harmony.

He could hear the children playing nearby. The sound of a ball being kicked. He raised an eyebrow in disapproval at the thought of the lawn being trampled.

There was a louder kick. Looking up into the sun he watched in horror as the ball dropped over the wall. It cannoned off an uplighter, knocking it over, ricocheted into a plant pot that smashed, rolled across the rare and fragile Jamesia Americana, before settling on top of a miniature Chusan Palm.

After a moment the doorbell rang. He stormed to the door and flung it open, to be greeted by a small boy.

‘Please, sir. Can I have my ball back?’


photo-20170508154649843
Copyright Yarnspinner

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.