CASTAWAY

The sea was calm and a brilliant clear blue, mirrored by the cloudless sky above.

The storm had railed against the mysterious island for three weeks, the same surge that had capsized the cargo ship and driven them to the unknown land in the canoe life rafts.

‘You’re sure which direction?’ Gideon asked.

Cyrus shrugged. ‘We can’t stay here. Nothing but sand and rock and we haven’t seen another ship all the time we’ve been here.’

‘There must be a search party looking for the wreck and survivors. Why haven’t they picked up our emergency beacons?’

Cyrus shrugged again. He wanted to get away from the island. Something felt wrong. They had explored it all and found no sign of life but still he couldn’t shake the feeling they were not alone.

They shook hands before each solemnly getting into their meagre craft.

As they pulled away from the beach Cyrus looked back.

He saw the glint of sunlight reflected on glass. Standing on a rock he saw the man watching them leave through his telescope.


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My small tale was suggested by the classic novel ‘The Mysterious Island‘, by Jules Verne.

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.


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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.

Y IS FOR YACHT

Sand sprinted as fast as his aching body would carry him along the dock. In the storm he kept losing sight of Moen until the dark was illuminated by a fresh lightning strike and he saw the toiling figure ahead. They ran clear of the hulking whaling ships, now it was private yachts and sailboats that were anchored in a marina, bobbing about on the surf caused by the strong wind.

Moen turned sharply and leapt onto one of the yachts. By the time Sand had drawn level with him he had untied it’s mooring and started the engine. He looked back at Sand as the gap of water between the dock and the yacht grew. Sand could only watch. The sea water would kill him in minutes if he jumped into it, and Sand wasn’t a great swimmer.

Bakke arrived, out of breath. ‘He’s gone,’ he puffed, bending over, hands on knees.

They watched the yacht motor through the harbour. Sand followed the direction it was travelling. ‘It’s never over,’ he said. He left Bakke standing gulping in air as he sprinted along the marina walkway. Continue reading “Y IS FOR YACHT”

SAND

The taxi pulled up at the end of dirt track. Gabi Henriksen got out and asked the driver to wait.

She walked over to the figure standing at the edge of the cliff. The wind blustered, blowing her blonde hair across her face. The waves crashed onto the rocks at the foot of the sheer drop.

‘I thought I might find you here,’ she said.

Detective Anders Sand turned and gave his young partner a sad smile. ‘You are getting to know me then.’

‘Do you want to know?’

‘Guilty?’ Sand said. He turned and looked back at the jagged rocks below.

Gabi nodded. ‘Sexual assault and rape. Sentencing in two weeks.’

‘He’ll get ten and be out in five.’

‘The judge said he would take into account the suicide.’

‘It should be a murder conviction. Hanne may have jumped off this cliff, but it was him that drove her to it.’

They stared at the jagged rocks and the swirling sea.

‘I have a taxi waiting,’ Gabi said.

‘You take it. I’ll make my own way back.’

Gabi left him standing staring out over the cliff into the clear blue abyss.


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

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

This month I am taking part in the A to Z Challenge 2017 – a post each day based on the letters of the alphabet and a theme. My story is a case featuring Detectives Anders Sand and Gabi Henriksen. You can visit my A TO Z CHALLENGE 2017 page here to read the story.

As this challenge will take up a lot of my blogging time I may not get round to commenting on everyone’s posts, but I hope to find time to read all your stories as usual, and still be able to participate in Sunday Photo Fiction each week.

LOSS

They lay side-by-side on the bed.

The sun broke over the harbour. Helena sat up and drew her knees to her chest. Nick looked up at her. He knew it was over. He put his hand out to brush a hair from her face.

‘There is nothing more I can do?’ Nick asked. Helena’s hands smoothed her stomach where the scars gave a constant reminder of their loss.

‘There is nothing left to do,’ she said.

‘I will leave tomorrow,’ he said. ‘It’s time I returned home.’ Helena returned his gentle kiss and nodded.

They both knew they could survive apart.


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© Fatima Fakier Deria

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 stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

This week I have cheated slightly and adapted and edited a previous piece of writing that the prompt photo reminded me of. The original, slightly longer version, A Summer In Crete, can be found HERE.