The Docks

She sat down on the docks, her mind as dejected as the wind blowing her hair away. She hugged herself because of the cold as she shivered. The cold usually didn’t bother her, usually, she rather liked the small drizzle of rain that had no indication of stopping. But today was not a usual day for her.

She shook her head to clear them of straying thoughts and did her best to focus on the dark and decrepit scenery ahead. She’d been on these docks so many times before but never had it seemed so bad.

The day’s events kept popping up in her mind despite her valiant efforts to pretend that didn’t happen. Everything kept replaying like a broken record, highlighting the worst parts. Amidst the rain, a few tears streaked down her face.

When the sun rose, her demeanor didn’t change. But as she looked upon the rainbow in midst of such a dreary day, Em smiled despite herself.

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Word Count: 161

Written as a response to Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by the lovely Susan. The challenge is to write a story in less than 200 words with help from the picture prompt above.

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Pumpkins

It was pumpkin painting day at school so naturally, Em and Row were thrilled.

Em, despite being thrilled had little artistic talent but she never did let such a small thing deter her. To make up for it, she had imagination in spades, and so she put her whizzing and wheezing brain to use.

She thought hard and hard. And slowly let ideas flow from her mind into the world before her. Everything illuminating with just the barest glimmer, she had so many things she wanted to do.

Row, her ever partner in crime did not deter her. Instead, she helped where her best friend couldn’t. She mixed in colors Em didn’t think was possible and corrected the teensy tinsy mistakes Em did.

They worked hard for the hour and a half they had to work. Both girls giggling and covered in paint. But the most important of it all, they were happy and really really happy.

It was something that was theirs and they were proud of it.


Word Count: 169

Ooh boy, this was fun to write. Photo prompt by Susan on Sunday Photo Fictioner. Bit late in replying to this prompt, I know.

Memories

She stared as she felt the destruction of her childhood, she watched as she the home she grew up in got demolished unable to move, unable to do anything but look and weep silently.

Sweeping her eyes around, a new wave of nostalgia passed within her. Vivid memories replacing the desolate scenes they were now. She reminisced for it was the only thing she could.

She smiled as many familiar places jumped at her carrying an undertone of melancholia within them. The fun she’d had once, all the brilliant moments she’d experienced tainted now.

Her eyes rested on two old and decrepit armchairs and despite her sadness, she smiled bitterly. She could see her grandparents sitting there regaling her with tales of old, her tiny self, hanging on their every word.

As a piece of an old tree fell on top of them, she turned away, brushing tears she hadn’t seen fall. She kept on walking, not daring herself to look back, not able to witness anything more.

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Word count: 168

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by the lovely Susan. Been a while since I’ve last written anything so I hope I’ve done alright.

Serenity

She sighed as she took another sip of her drink her eyes ever so often traveling towards the sun-soaked beach. Giving herself a mental shake, she sighed again. Her eyes drifted towards the decorated clock on the wall. He should’ve been here minutes ago, he’d pay for that, oh he would.

She drifted away again, turning those thoughts away from her mind. Lost in her refreshing drink, she began to imagine all sorts of wonderful things, her eyes traveling outside every once a while.

So lost she was into her own world that she did not see, nor hear a man approaching her.

“Um, miss…” She turned her head towards the relatively overweight man, slowly, purposefully and gave him a once over. He face was strained, his body shaking, and he was sweating, a lot.

She smiled as she gestured over him to sit down. “Well, Mr. Smith, I’m glad you finally showed up.”

His excuses did not interest her. She sat her glass down, a predatory smile on her face. He shivered as she spoke. “We shall talk about your tardiness later. Now, let’s get down to business…”

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Word Count: 189

Written as a response to Sunday Photo Prompt, hosted by the lovely Susan. To read other stories from the same prompt, click here.

Splash

Em was bored. Her parents were off doing boring adult stuff and she was stuck watching her brother. She glared at the little kid, who in turn bared his teeth. Remembering the countless bites she’d experienced, she looked away.

There were other children nearby, in a similar predicament as theirs. But one look was enough to turn Em away from them. She wasn’t nearly as girlish to join the other girls, who seemed busy checking for lice or attempting elegant hairdos, nor was she interested in the snot-nosed brats.

One glance away was all it took. A sudden splash was heard and to her panic, her brother had decided that swimming in the fountain was a good idea.

She rushed forward, grabbing her brother by his arms tightly and instructing the other kids to call the parents. She grabbed and did not let go. She held, panicked until their parents arrived.

Many teary apologies and panics later, they got him out. And all that remained about this incident was an embarrassing story to tell.

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Word Count: 174

Written as a response to Flash fiction for aspiring writers prompt 169, hosted by Priceless Joy, photo copyright wildverbs. To read other stories inspired by this prompt click here.

Blast

Em stood with a smile, her body gently swaying to the beat. All around her, people were smiling, happy, enjoying the music to the fullest. She was too, the music was great, the people were trippy, and more importantly, her target was too.

Maneuvering the crowd to get closer to him was a struggle. But she was no slacker, she would get the job done, and she’d do it with a smile.

When adequately close, Em did a once-over of her target. He was sufficiently drunk, not enough to have lost coherency, but enough to make it easy for her. Looking around, and after determining the crowd’s inefficiency, she got to work.

Loud music and even louder crowds turned out in her advantage. She just walked up to him, pretended to care for her ‘boyfriend’ when he looked like he was about to pass out. After that, getting him away from the crowd was albeit hard, but she persevered.

She made her way out, grinning like a maniac. It’d be a while until the cops found his body.

She’d have a blast. After all, she was doing no wrong, just righting an injustice.

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Word Count: 193

Written as a response to Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner, hosted by Rodger. To read other stories of this prompt, click here.

Flamingo

Stephanie glared at the plastic flamingos outside the mall in disdain. They looked so awkward. She glanced at her watch again, sighing deeply. He should have arrived already. The gall of him, making her come here and arriving late himself. The flamingoes obviously got the brunt of her anger.

She smiled as the music began. Her favorite song, no their favorite song was playing. The memories started to flood her mind. Looking around, she smiled even more fondly. This place had held so many moments for her.

So entranced was she at the song and the past along with that she did not even notice him walking towards her. When she did, she took a double take. He was wearing a suit and looking ruggedly handsome at that too.

He slowly walked towards her, with that coy smile adorning his face. When sufficiently close, he dropped down to his knees, and to her utter amazement and shock proffered a ring towards her.

“Steph I…”

“Yes, Yes. A thousand times yes.” She shouted, not letting him get any words out. ‘

One full hour and many professions of love later, they exited the mall. Suddenly the flamingos did not look half bad.

Word Count: 200

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Written as a response to Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Susan. To read other answers to this prompt click here.

 

The broken remains #writephoto

Em moved her eyes around the bare room, her face impassive, her hands clenched tightly. Barest flicker of anger flashed on her face as she spotted the exotic feather on the floor. She picked up the offending item from the floor, fury radiating from her stone cold face.

Everything was so different now, she remarked to herself. Everything was gone and in its place lay the vast emptiness that surrounded her day and night. Reminiscing about the past brought a whole fresh wave upon her. Outwardly, her face remained so still, a mask of indifference, but inside was a whole different story. Raging walls of anger along with a steady stream of thoughts, both violent and loathing.

The echoes of footsteps around her startled her, snapping her out of the rage-filled reverie. In this vast emptiness, it was hard to determine the location and direction of the sound but she’d guessed right. As she gazed into the form of her lifelong friend, the last remnants of the anger left her but the desperation and hurt still remained.

Seeing the all too familiar shudder pass through her friend’s body, Row hastened forward, enveloping Em into an embrace. She held her as her body shook with fury and hurt. She held on tight as the tears started falling along with a cascade of insults. She held on tight as Em sank to the ground, taking her alongside, not letting her go even for a second, holding her tight. She held on, for herself and for Em.

The two women sat like that in the empty house for a long time. Without words, without any exchange, they consoled each other. Being there for the other when they needed the most, combating the emptiness inside and outside with slow warmth and lasting love. And when they got up, their minds were clear, and their hearts even more so. There was only one thing on their minds, there was only one thing left to do, revenge.

The small blue feather, now downtrodden and messy, floated slowly and wistfully as the footsteps echoed in the empty house once again, dimming with each passing second, slowly ceasing into nothingness.

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Yet another action-packed, filled with emotions and little to no dialogue, narrative-esque short. Feels like I’m doing a lot of those recently…

Written as a response to Thursday Photo Prompt- Remains #writephoto, hosted by the lovely Sue.

 

Waiting #writephoto

A little girl watches from behind the curtains as a Pied Piper named Death plays a tune. A silent tune immune to children. The little girl watches as the brand of an inverted torch pulls everyone towards the couple that possesses it. Blood is everywhere, their screams echo throughout. No one remembers afterward, except the girl. She cries alone that night because her parents are no longer there to comfort her.

The girl has grown now. She understands Death’s melody but isn’t affected by it. She was innocent before, too pure. She is corrupt now, too evil.

She sleeps without Death having to sing his lullaby. Sometimes, she looks at people around her, wondering who will make the fatal strike.

Her time comes and she is unprepared. Unprepared for death but prepared for a battle. The God in question would have chuckled at her defiance, but sadly he isn’t around anymore.

As she walked out of the dark corridor, she felt disappointed. Not because of the lack of the fatal blow but because of how ridiculously easy it is to turn the tables around.

It feels like she is having a constant battle with Death’s remaining puppets. It is not even worthy of calling a battle, but she does anyway. A girl can hope, right?

The world is imperfect without Death, as it could give rise to people like her. However, she can’t deny that she and Death are not that different.

Cruel and Evil indeed.

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Written as a response to Thursday Photo Prompt over at Sue’s Daily Echo. Check it out here.

Love

Word Count: 59

She always stood talking, shouting at him whenever he erred, comforting him when he cried, advising him when he needed it. He always stood silent, his gaze telling all, providing comfort and being stern. Brent wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes as he stared grimly at the photo, wishing his parents were still there with him.

Written as a response to Three Line Tales. Photo by Wynand van Poortvliet via Unsplash.


Also, I would like to apologize for my ignorance regarding puffins and their habits. I might have gotten many things wrong. Google didn’t help either.