A Night on the Town

china

Abject horror? Or rapture?

She snipped away at a few errant strands and removed her tool belt. The face reflected in the mirror beamed its appreciation. Done for the day!

A half hour later, she showered and slipped into a beautiful white sheath. A spritz of her favourite perfume and she was ready.

Shoes! Where were they? She found the perfect pair waiting for her.

Red. Her favourite. He never forgot. He had crafted them especially for her, in the little workshop below her salon. She carried the box out to the hallway.

He was waiting for her, dressed in a tailored suit.

The room lit up with a sudden radiance.

His assistant looked at the lovely vision in white and hurried to help her try them on.

They were perfect.

They walked away, she leaning on his arm, leaving their ordinary lives behind for a blissful evening.

Sheer rapture!

[150 words]

Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Challenge  hosted by Priceless Joy.

Thank you, PJ! Thank you for the beautiful photograph, Yinglan!

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Bad Writer

melbourne-australia

This spot, they said. You’ll find your muse, just go there and thoughts shall flow. You shall be able to write again, they said.

I can barely read what I’ve written.

Little toy boats all in a row. Blue and white are the predominant colours. You can’t see it but the table cloth at this café is blue and white as well. The plates, you guessed right, blue and white.’

Backspace.

The waitress hovers and I get the feeling that she’s reading over my shoulder. I minimize the screen, waiting for her to leave. She scuttles off to another table.

The row of little yachts, perfection. The skyline of the city, etched across the sky, just so. Hard to believe that chaos can exist in such perfection.’

Delete.

I slam the laptop shut and order lunch. The food’s worth the trip, I decide.

And oh, they; they were so wrong.

[150 words]

Written for What Pegman Saw, a weekly flash fiction prompt inspired by google maps. This week Pegman takes us to Melbourne, Australia. The photograph is of St. Kilda Pier, Melbourne, Australia.  © Paul Huang Google Maps

 

Up with the Lark!

spf-july-22-2018-2-of-1

It’s over. I shall not sacrifice my Sunday morning sleep for you, any more. Don’t pretend you don’t understand. I pedaled, pushed, wheeled and cycled this morning, allowing you to hoodwink me into trying out ‘the fresh air of the early morn, the incessant chirps of birds and the gentle breeze that whispers in the ear’. NO! Shut up! Stop right there! Beautiful morn, indeed! Arrrrgh! Your infuriating enthusiasm! The birds had never been more annoying and as for the breeze, it howled in my ears. What was I doing out there, cycling like a fitness freak when I could’ve been as snug as a bug in my heavenly rug? All that maniacal activity made me quiver, tremble, spasm; not in a nice way, for your information, so wipe that disgusting smirk off your face. I can feel the presence of ghost muscles that shouldn’t have been conjured up in the first place. Don’t dare smile! What? No, I’m not smiling. That is a wince, as I try to reach for a sandwich. No, I don’t want to get fit. I am fit enough, you @#$%^$#! No hugs! Be gone, demon! Away! Now, allow me to stuff my face in peace.

[200 words]

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. The photograph is by the wonderful C E Ayr. Thank you!

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Last Light

dawn-in-montreal

Within a wall, is a maze of walls that mirrors other walls that collapse together into picture perfect houses. The swarm descends, blazing lights and honking, parking their little toy cars in the driveway. Facing their colossal television screens, tuned to the NEWS, they sit down to dinner at the dining table, a perfect walnut veneer, and shovel down forkful after forkful of salad, meat and potatoes and chew and chew till they can chew no more. They stare and stare till they can look no more; shuffle upstairs, toss and turn, till dreams overcome them in the yawning darkness.

[100 words]

Written for Friday Fictioneers prompt hosted by Rochelle. Thank you!

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

 

Muted

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Has anybody seen this place? I ask all and sundry. All I remember is how sunlight dances off the walls that change colour with every passing minute. The evening draws on as I make my way uphill, leaving the car far behind, to its inevitable fate. Everything ultimately boils down to this. The path widens into a square and I sit on the steps of a building waiting for it to come to life. Not a soul in sight. What do I expect? Raucous laughter? Chatter? The din of everyday life? Silence reverberates without, while thoughts ricochet within. It is still as still as a photograph. I’m in the frame, looking on, there, but not really. I get up to leave. I don’t know what I’m looking for. All I have is a photograph in my hand, memories that I can’t trust anymore, and a hollow where my heart once was.

[151 words]

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Thank you, Priceless Joy, for hosting the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers weekly challenge.