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? 😁
D.I Lucy gripped the steering wheel of her car with more force than was necessary. Only a few hours ago, she had rounded off the case of a woman who killed her husband in cold blood with such detail in its planning and execution, that it took D.I Lucy and gang several weeks to come up with admissible evidence for court proceedings.
It felt like she had gotten only a few minutes of sleep, when another call came. And now, here she was, driving across the city and beating the sunrise, in a race to see another display of human’s lack of empathy.
Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts.
“What!”, she screamed into its speaker after pressing the answer key.
“Boss, is everything okay?”, the voice asked.
“Its all good Fen. Sorry, I’m just pissed that murderers have no regard for sleep time”.
word count: 143. 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 @Pamela S. Canepa
Uncle Shankar was Ma’s older brother but I often wondered if maybe one of them was adopted. They couldn’t possibly be genetically related. Uncle was as jovial as Ma was prim, he smiled as often as Ma frowned, he was slender in build while Ma was, well, thick.
We moved in with him and grandma after Dad passed away. I was eight. Every morning, when I went out to go to school, I’d find Uncle on his chair outside beside the flowers. His face would light up when he saw me; it appeared as if the sun shone out of it.
“Good morning old lady“, he’d greet me and set me a pun question which, if I answered correctly, would earn me a chocolate. I rarely got that chocolate.
But I was eight and life, couldn’t have been better.
word count: 138. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring writers photo promot challenge hosted by priceless joy. Thank you very much for this week’s photo @shivamt25
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
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!
D.I Lucy strode into the cordoned off section of the beach, lifting the yellow tape to get across. The urgent call had come right as she was about to brew her morning coffee. She didn’t get to make it and was positively irritated, made all the more worse by the huge smile spread across her partner D.S Fenworthy’s face. Who smiles at a crime scene?
Fenworthy had arrived the beach ahead of Lucy and waved her to the site, where two boats rested. He handed her a plastic cup with black coffee. She was grateful, but irked by his morning joy, decided not to show it.
“So, what do we have?” She asked, surveying the scene and making sure not to trample on anything.
“Two boats“, he began, “all geared up for journey but with no sign of travel. The renters have been missing, no one saw anything”.
D.I Lucy looked bored, “and they dumped the case on our homicide unit, why?”
“The boss specifically requested us”. He paused, “One of them is his daughter”.
word count: 175 words. This post in response to a Flash Fiction for Aspiring writers photo prompt challenge, where each week we are provided with a picture to write a 75-175 word story surrounding it. Thank you very much for this week’s picture @tj Paris.
Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!
Jacob watched the world below him unfold. Standing on the roof top of one of the many dilapidated buildings at 23rd Avery. The kids were playing football and would probably keep at it until the sky turned a deep red.
He watched with a ting of sadness, playing statistics in his head- only 2 out of every 7 of those kids would make it to college; most of them would have the misfortune of being jailed at least once; and thanks to the gang bangers, a few of them might not even live to celebrate their 30th birthday.
He stood, oblivious to the shouting going on below. His neighbourhood was dying, both metaphorically and literally. The violence was at a whole new peak, the buildings were collapsing, even the tree leaves had turned a weary brown.
But, he smiled. It was still his neighbourhood. Plastered on every corner were memories he had created; this “mess”, was all he had ever known. And, despite many unfavourable names it’s been called by outsiders, for him, it was simply “home”.
word count: 175. This story Is in response 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 surrounding it. Thank you for this week’s photo @Grant-sud
“Come in”, Leslie answered from behind her desk without lifting her gaze up.
The door was pushed softly and in walked Tony, in his usual black tee, jeans and bandanna.
“You sent for me boss?” Tony asked, a broad smile on his face.
She looked up, dropped her pen and folded her hands across the table.
“Yes I did.” Leslie replied curtly.
“Does this look like an alternate universe to you“, she began, without necessarily waiting for an answer. “where gnomes go around chasing aliens for the entertainment of humans while we cheer them on”
The smile on Tony’s face faded.
“You only had one job Tony,” Leslie continued, “get me a cover picture that would surprise me and stun the readers. And you decided of all the excitement of this universe to supply me with the shot of an alien and a gnome!”
Tony knew the only thing he could do was apologise, which he did.
“Sorry?” She echoed his apology, “well sorry for yourself!” she replied, hurling the picture at him.
word count: 173. The above story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring writer’s photo prompt challenge, for which I am almost late for, almost. Thank you very much @any1mark66 for this week’s photo.