Flash Fiction: quick to judge

Flash Fiction: quick to judge

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Princess, that’s what they called her. It didn’t take more than a glance to figure out how the name came about. She walked with the elegance of a Victoria fashion model; her snow-white hair accentuated the pale tone of her skin. One could refer to her as delicate.

Dawn on the other hand, was of a caramel brown skin tone in contrast to her sister’s. Her hair was as dark as Princess’s was white. It took a second glance to notice the hazel green eyes hidden underneath long lashes. And more than a few glances to notice Dawn when Princess was in the view- a crime, of which I was guilty.

The fair was over; Princess and Dawn headed for their car when a group of children surrounded them. I was stunned to see both sisters act in the same kindly manner, grinning from cheek to cheek, gently ruffling the kids’ hair. It made me wonder if I was quick to judge. What if Dawn actually enjoyed being in the shadows…


word count: 170. Thank God WordPress decided to bring back word count 😀 . This story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you Sonya for presenting us with this week’s eye-catching picture.

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Flash Fiction: Retmor Manor

Flash Fiction: Retmor Manor

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Lucinda slugged her way through a rocky, undulating pathway to arrive at the hill-top. Stopping to catch her breath, she noted down the exterior of Retmor manor, all the while, cursing her luck for getting the most boring assignment- History of Retmor manor.

It was a ginormous stony rectangular building with high walls and an isolated tower placed at each angle. A narrow metal door led towards the interior of the building and there were no other exits. The first floor was bare while the second contained portraits lined across it’s walls. At the far-right corner was the picture of a lady who could pass for “18th century Lucille”. Lucille stared jaw-dropped at the picture, lost for words. She rubbed her eyes, re-affirming it wasn’t in fact a dream.

Just then a male voice boomed all around the mansion, Lucille’s heart quickened and pulse raced. “Don’t be scared, your highness“, the voice said “this is only your destiny“. The color drained from Lucille’s face and all she could think of was “I am so screwed”.


word count: 175. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy. Every week, a new photo is released and the participants are required to write a 150 word story (give of take 25). It is so much fun participating named also reading the wonderful stories written by the other writers. Do check out the link above, there is a story for everybody there.

Flash Fiction: Kiara

Flash Fiction: Kiara

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The water moves with a speed akin to that of dogs chasing after squirrels, it rushes towards the rocks. Rises with vehement force into ginormous waves and then, collapses all at once with a turbulent sound- that’s on a cold stormy day.
During the Summer, the rays of the sun reflects on the cerulean sea with its low tides, swaying in a slow rhythmic fashion.

The isolated fortress located at the center of Norman’s island (a place rarely visited) was Kiara’s home for six years and 277 days now. Silence and loneliness were the backbone towards her friendship with the sea- she had become at master at the language of water.

She was the sole survivor of a ship wreck and had sought refuge in the fortress, that was the last time her pale feet graced the grassy outside of the building’s four walls. But yet, she hoped, someday, HE would set her free. The price of being rescued couldn’t be that expensive, could it?


word count: 165. This story is In response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge. We get a photo every week and then wrote a 150-175 word story on it. To read more or even participate, clink on the highlighted link above.  Thank you TJ Paris for such an astounding picture.

Day 8: On my way home…

Day 8: On my way home…

     ‘That stone better not hit me’, I mumbled, staggering through the narrow road which served as a shortcut from the school to my apartment. Children in their grey and white uniform were bustling all around, screaming, jumping and playing with stones. They didn’t mind the heat of the 41 degrees radiating on their skin or the coarse clay path hindering clear cut movement- I did.

       Shuffling past the energy-filled kids, jealousy crept up in me seeing the parents in cars lined up on one side of the path; what I’d give to be in one of those.

          I glanced up at the sky, nope, no sign of a storm today. Patches of wet mud were visible, I evaded them. A little further, and the trees obscured the penetrating rays of the sun.

     The voices of the children were faint, which was a relief. The residential homes situated on this part bestowed it a villagy look. The bungalows were arranged linearly in varying colors of cream, green and yellow on either side. The bumps increased; I relocated to the sideline of the houses. The floors were wet.
The blaring of horns and screeches of cars filled the atmosphere- I wasn’t bothered. Standing across from me was the three story apartment I called ‘home’. Joy was only for a moment; the flight of stairs was awaiting my arrival.