This is my response to this week’s prompt from FFfAW brought to us by Priceless Joy, and photo by momtheobscure.
“And that’s how our world was created.” Professor Whimple swirled his hands like he did when he was making a particularly important point, before resting both knuckles on the table.
“Kronos scratching his back?” A brave soul tested the waters without identifying himself.
“What? Who said that? Speak up!”
The Brave Soul sealed his fate by standing up to repeat his question.
“Er.. Professor so does this mean that the world was created by Kronos? Because ah.. there doesn’t seem to be any scientif..”
“GETOUT!” The front row was sprayed with flecks of Whimple Special.
“Yes. As you can see from this archival footage, Kronos was scratching his back against this ancient temple, causing a series of earthquakes which resulted in the formation of the continents as we know them today.” The knuckles returned to their place on the table.
“Any more questions?”
Here’s my go at this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt, with a photo provided by Graham.
The Lady Orla sat watching her guests savour the delights laid out before them. Each table set with a sumptuous feast for the senses. Pink, juicy meats roasted to perfection, and oozing wheels of cheese served on pillows of soft warm bread. Exotic fruit from unknown places – and endless glasses of wine, glittering like liquid rubies in their hands.
She watched them eat and drink and laugh, listening to the clink of knives on plates made of gold, as her own plate sat untouched. Her slender, gloved hands resting softly in her lap.
She sat as the chatter grew quiet, and her guests feel asleep where they sat, waiting until the last hand dropped lifelessly against its owner before she moved. Her guests were arranged as she needed them to be, and only when they were ready did she bare her own hands.
The Lady Orla walked amongst her guests and caressed each one gently, pausing a moment to watch them turn slowly to gold.
Here’s my contribution to this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, kindly hosted by Priceless Joy.
Gregor stood unblinking against the endless expanse of red, scanning the horizon for signs of life. Crossing the great desert was suicide, they’d known that when they had set off, but they were dead anyway and better it be on their own terms. Amali absently rubbed her tiny belly as she stood beside him.
Humanity’s solution to an overpopulated, drowning, earth was to dump those displaced by rising oceans on Mars. They helped the chances of survival by establishing hundreds of tiny colonies, scattered over an unforgiving landscape. However the architects of this new world had never planned on their experiment lasting this long, and four generations later most of the colonies had been wiped out by hunger, disease, and our innate inability at getting along.
Survival was dependent on scarce resources, and maintaining a strict quota on births was the only way ensure the survival of the colony.
Those who didn’t agree had no choice but to find themselves a new home, or die trying.
Its been a long while, but I’ve finally made back it to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers in time for the week’s story.. Thanks Priceless Joy for providing another great prompt 🙂
Upon reflection, using the balloon seller’s bike probably wasn’t the most practical choice of getaway vehicle, but it was there and I was in a hurry. Anyway, hiding in plain sight is meant to be more effective then stealth isn’t it?
I had to elbow past gawking toddlers and a few nosey grannies, and may have toppled an ice-cream or two, but those were minor misdemeanours, a small price for the greater good.
I pedalled as fast as my rhinestone encrusted stilettos would permit, the deflated meringue of a dress dragging sadly behind. Should have torn that silly train off when I had the chance.
Most people didn’t quite register what they were seeing – maybe they thought that I was part of the entertainment. The Crazy Bride, a modern day rendition of the Bearded Lady, perhaps. Anyway, who cares what they thought – the important thing was that I was NOT getting married today.
Here’s my contribution to this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, brought to us by Priceless Joy.
Albatross Island wasn’t known for its warm inviting waters or white sandy beaches. The tiny speck of rock stuck out of a remote, wind swept corner of the North Atlantic, unknown to most of the world. We called it Fools Island, after the fools who thought to live on it once, and the fools think to visit it now.
They come to chase the big waves. 100 foot giants, pushed off the continental plates beneath the island.
This year like every other, they descended upon the island during storm season when the biggest waves formed. Most of them rode in on boats and jetskis, but the diehards stayed in the old abandoned fort on the main part of the island.
Why do we call it Fools Island? Because Albatross Island sits inside the crater of a dormant volcano, and everyone failed to notice the rumbling of the earth beneath. Needless to say, this year the surfers got a lot more than they bargained for in their search for adventure.
Here’s my contribution to this week’s FFfAW prompt, brought to us by Priceless Joy.
Chateau Vieux Monde stood at the top of the hill, catching the first rays of the sun as it rose over the valley.
The Allen’s watched the sunrise before walking up the main steps. They had waited years for this moment, so the few extra minutes meant nothing. Conventional medicine had brought David no relief, and they had sold everything they owned to travel to this remote little corner of France based on nothing more than a rumour.
And now here they were- pressed into an oppressive little room deep beneath the Chateau, rank with the musty smells of earth and rot.
Monsieur Le Monde stood by a large black barrel and half filled a small tasting glass with a rich golden liquid. “Who first?”
David took the glass and gave it to his wife. She took a sip.
“Did it work?”
Monsieur Le Monde pressed a small knife into her hand.
“See for yourself Madame. Test your immortality.”
This week’s FFAW prompt reminds me of a talk I went to a few years ago by an economist from the UN, and it was about how the world’s coral reefs will all be gone within 50 years. 50 years! Anyway, enough of my soapbox, here’s the story..
Dr. Sandy Shaw led the expedition to track down the world’s last remaining coral reef.
All around the world, reefs were dying, hapless victims to warming seas, pollution, and over fishing.
It was too late to stop the decline as the tipping point was reached well before we even knew what was happening, and ecosystems created over millions of years were being wiped out in less than a generation- all that could be done now was to salvage whichever species could be rescued.
But the degradation wasn’t over yet. A lucrative black market for highly endangered marine animals, some selling for millions of dollars had turned the oceans into a battleground.
And as they made their made way towards the tiny blue sanctuary, she saw the glint of other boats up ahead. Poachers. She gripped the barrel of her gun tighter as they drew closer. The hunt was on.