Randy was the new kid in class, so he didn’t get to see Bradshaw hills with us during last term’s excursion. For this term’s, we had formulated a plan to trick him. Bradshaw hills was unique for its cave markings. The class as a whole decided to pretend we couldn’t see the markings on the cave, to make Randy think he’s going nuts when he points at them.
It was funny when we planned it. What began as a joke ended up with Randy screaming his head off and throwing a tantrum to the teacher, declaring that he was losing it. It resulted in his parents being called to take him home and “we” all scared and getting a week of punishment.
That night, I got a call from Randy, thanking me for getting him 2 days off school to rest. Turns out, he had been to Bradshaw hills before and knew of its markings. He only played along because he could use it to his advantage.
Oh the little evil genius.
Word count:171. The above story is jn response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you @Any1Mark66 for this week’s picture.
Something unexpected happened today. I awoke to the news that we had a 25 hour day, yesterday and the time has shifted from +3gmt to +2 gmt. I was messed up in the head this morning when I found out.
In my 21 years, this is the first time its happened. I had to sit down for about 30 minutes to get my bearing straight. It was confusing trying to decipher if the 11 am lecture I was having today meant 11 am old time or new time.
But then again, thats one of the great things about living in a different country; you get to experience new things. I sure wouldn’t be experiencing any time changes if I was back home.
That being said (I just had to air it out), welcome to another Writer’s Quote/Poem Wednesday. I do hope the poem i’ll be sharing today doesn’t put a damper in your mood. I found it beautiful and melancholic.
Middle Age by Pat Schneider
The child you think you don’t want
is the one who will make you laugh.
She will break your heart
when she loses the sight in one eye
and tells the doctor she wants to be
an apple tree when she grows up.
It will be this child who forgives you again and again
for believing you don’t want her to be born,
for resisting the rising tide of your body,
for wishing for the red flow of her dismissal.
She will even forgive you for all the breakfasts
you failed to make exceptional.
Someday this child will sit beside you.
When you are old and too tired of war
to want to watch the evening news,
she will tell you stories
like the one about her teenaged brother,
your son, and his friends
taking her out in a canoe when she was
five years old. How they left her alone
on an island in the river
while they jumped off the railroad bridge.
D.S Fenworthy was almost unrecognisable in his new attire. He stood across the street, dressed in an all-white monk robe, capped with a realistic looking balding cap. He wasn’t thrilled with his new look, but pokerfaced his way through it. To passersby, he was just another worshipper.
His partner, D.I Lucy, on the other hand was having a field day. She was laughing her head off as she watched him from a safe distance, in a white van. Their week had been a tough one, spent proofing a plan to infiltrate a buddhist cult run by a sociopath who had no regard for religion.
“Everyone is in place“, confirmed a voice into D.I Lucy’s head piece, drawing her attention back to the task at hand. Her facial expression contorted into a grim one. It was showtime.
Word count:137. The above story is in response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you for this week’s photo @dorothy
My eyes steadily went down the list, Aisha, Alisa, Amal, Basma… I stopped. My heart skipped a beat. I ran through the names again up until Basma. Ameena wasn’t there. My name had been skipped, which meant, I failed the exams.
I walked away from the board in a daze. I failed…. what would my parents say; and I had already told them that results were coming out this week, oh the price of talking too much. My palms were getting sticky, my throat felt like a hot coal had been stuck in it.
Tears formed in my eyes and were starting to trickle down, I let them flow. It was a good few minutes of grief and mourning before a thought occurred. What if, my surname was used on the list. That way it would be Khan Ameena. And I didn’t get to K while checking the list so, I wouldn’t know.
There was a chance after all, I didn’t fail.
Word count: 162. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge where each week we are provided a picturw and are to write a 75-175word on it. Thank you for this week’s photo @Grant-Sud
I opened the notification on my phone to see a huge brown coffee mug with various calligraphic inscriptions adorning it. Sitting on top of the mug was a rose-colored round lensed sunshades.
I didn’t need to see the name of the sender, it had to be my best friend Sadie. Under the picture was a text which read- “I got these as Maud’s birthday gift. Cool huh?” Maud was Sadie’s sister.
I paused for a moment. Sadie loved coffee, Maud hated it; Sadie adored sunshades, Maud couldn’t wear it because her eyesight was myopic. So why would Sadie buy that for Maud?
Then it clicked. They were sisters, they were used to sharing things, Sadie was killing two birds with one stone. She’d conform to the social contract of gift giving, by getting her sister Maud, what she knew would eventually come back to her.
I didn’t know if I should admire my best friend’s smartness or fear for my own upcoming birthday gift.
word count: 164. This story is in response to flash fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy. Thank you for this week’s picture @shivamt25
Is there any poetry lover here who noticed the “Sadie and Maud” reference? 😁
The lovely blogger at Accidentally inked nominated me for an award. I honestly don’t do them anymore, but I loved the questions she put forth. And anyway its been a long time since I did one of these so I thought, I’ll give a shot.
What’s the best thing you like about your blog?
Ohhh lets see. I actually love everything. The fiction because I never thought I could actually do one of those “flash fictions” and now, I look forward to writing them; certainly pushed me out of my comfort zone.
The poetry because writing them have been such comfort and therapy at the same time. And the writer’s quote/poem because it gives me the opportunity to share with all of you, the reason why I fell in love with poetry.
What do you tell yourself to convince yourself so that you stay positive when something bad happens?
Honestly- I try to remember that everything happens for a reason and things could have been worse.
Do you like books? If yes, what did you last read?
I Love books, but then again I am a picky reader. I tend to stick to the same kind of genres. Don’t judge me, I’ve branched out but I just don’t enjoy them and i’ld rather not read what I don’t enjoy.
I’m currently reading a book by David Baldacci- The escape. It is the 3rd book in a John Puller series.
Do you think it’s okay to be scared of cats?
Hahaha, I am one of them. Of course its not okay to be scared of cats but thats why they are called “phobias”. They are irrational fears after all.
What do you say, lets get to know one another? I am throwing these questions to anyone/everyone who reads this:
1) Coffee or Tea
2) summer or winter
3) Vanilla or chocolate
4) crime novel or Romance novel
5) Documentary or movie
You can answer in the comments below or in a new post. Lets do this 👊🏽
The sun shone through lace draped curtains, announcing the arrival of dawn. I instinctively turned my face away from it. A few more minutes of sleep shouldnt hurt, but my alarm had other plans. Almost on cue, It started ringing. I turned again, groaned and decided today would not be the day for extra sleep.
It was only as I sat upright on the bed that I noticed it. My hands were flexed at a 45 degree and my fingers were each positioned at an odd angle. I tried to extend my hand but felt a dull aching pain in reaction. They also appeared swollen.
The irrational part of me took over and i started thinking- the village witches have finally gotten to me; I should have prayed before going to bed last night. I worked myself into a nervous sweat, before the rational part of me kicked in to remind me- there was a reason doctors existed. Some parts of culture just never leave us, I sigh.
word count: 167. This story is in resoponse to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you for this week’s image @artycaptures
“Is that what I think it is”, was the first statement which came out of mama’s mouth the minute she stepped into the house. Her gaze went directly to the cup standing in the middle of the living room.
The horror on our faces was impossible to hide. We didn’t know she was coming back so soon, we didn’t have time to formulate any theories. Heck, we didn’t even think she would be back early enough to see it.
I looked to Tracy and Brianna and they glared back at me. Oh crap!
“Well“, she was clearly waiting for an answer as she motioned towards us three.
I laughed nervously and the words that came out of my mouth were,
“At least, it’s not human poop.”
It was too late to take it back; Brianna gasped, Tracy looked like she needed to puke. I glanced at my mum again, and the look on her face told me one thing- Lord help me!
word count: 162 words. The above story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy, where each week we are provided with a photo and are to write a 75-175 word story on it. Thank you very much for this week’s photo @artycaptures.wordpress.com
Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!
The sight of the two boys cycling round the park in a tandem bicycle took me down memory lane to 14, no 15 years back, when mama got my brother Adam and I, a tandem bicycle, to our horror.
It was during the Undertaker & Cain, Jeff & Matt hardy WWE era, and so inspired by them, my brother and I resolved to settle every little dispute, the WWE style- fist fight, uppercut and all. Mama apparently had gotten tired of it and decided to get creative with her punishments.
The next time she caught us fighting, we were ordered to ride on the tandem bike, taking turns to seat at the head. We’d go cycling around the estate yard, singing Barney’s “I love you, you love me”, over and over again while she sits, watching from the veranda.
Safe to say, WWE phase ended pretty quickly in our home.
word count: 146. This story Is in responses to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge hosted by Priceless Joy, where each week, we are provided with an image and are to write a 75-175 word story on it. Thank you for this week’s photo @dorothy.
Facebok page: words of a random. let’s connect!
We sat by the shore, listening to the sound of waves intermingled with the occasionally far-out voices of travellers, traversing the water in their boats and canoes. It was a peaceful 20 minutes, while it lasted.
“Did you know“, Alexa piped up and I was too mannered to tell her I just wanted to enjoy the moment in silence. Darn good manners.
She went on to spend the next one hour enlightening me on who did what from amongst our friends, her friends and strangers I didn’t even know. It was all I could do to throw the occasional good word in there. They couldn’t all have been that bad.
Finally exhausted for words, she said, “So, what’s been going on with you girl“.
“Me,” I replied in a high pitched voice, “ohh just the usual. I’ve been fine. The Lord has been good to me!”
There was no way I was going to be the talk of her next conversation with Lord knows who.
word count: 164. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge, hosted by priceless Joy, where each week, we are provided a photograph and are to write a 75-175 word story in it. Thank you very much for this week’s photo @Louise of The storyteller’s abode.