Kaleidoscopic Vision

(C) pricelessjoy.co . Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) August 09, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by pricelessjoy.
(C) pricelessjoy.co . Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) August 09, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by pricelessjoy.

Things seemed like they were the same. The world seemed as bright as it always was, with the leaves as brown as they were in the autumn, and the kids sounded as joyful as they always were. I could see the trees in the distance, at the opposite side of the park, and I can even see the gray skies in the distance which meant that it was raining somewhere far away.

The thunder boomed, and it sounded the same as it got closer and closer. But when the rain began to pelt on me, the world started to look different with every drop. My vision was clouded by splashes, and it dissolved into a blur of colors.

Kaleidoscopic Vision

But I Don’t Want A Farm!

(C) pricelessjoy. This photo brings you to the prompt page. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW), June 17th, 2015. Hosted by pricelessjoy.

Horace was Telela’s second uncle which she never really liked and met only once a year and he had just passed away. But the real bomb was that he had left his entire farm for Telela’s inheritance.

What on earth is he thinking?

~

Today is the day that she scheduled a visit to his farm which was located very far from where she resided. She dressed to ensure as much of her skin was covered because she hated mosquitoes.

~

When she got there, she decided the farm was in a decent enough condition to be put up for sale. She took out her phone to phone her agent, but she was rejected by a notification: Low credit. Flustered, she drove to the nearest convenience store, just to realize a small tree has fallen over the road. The tree was no higher than her shin, and it irked her that something as thin and weak-looking as that would be such a huge obstacle for her.

If only my car could jump, or do an itsy-bitsy hop. But cars don’t jump. *sigh*

Then an idea struck her.

But horses could.

But I Don’t Want A Farm!

A Very Watery Date

(C) Sonya O. Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFFAW), June 10, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy
(C) Sonya O. Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFFAW), June 10, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy

The Sea World would be an excellent venue for their first date, he thought. He has never been so wrong.

The instant that she realized that his plan was a visit to Sea World, she burst into tears. She did not tell him why though. She did not want to ruin the date; he booked the tickets in advance too. They did not come cheap.

But the tears invariably came again as they passed by the Angelfish aquariums.

“What’s wrong, Jenny?” Mike asked, genuine concern evident on his face.

“Aquariums remind me of Gabriel,” she struggled between tears.

Shit. Ex-boyfriends are never a good first-date conversation topic, Mike silently berated himself for asking and braced for the imminent emotional roller coaster ride.

“He was found dead last year,” Jenny sobbingly continued, unaware of the horror spreading across Mike’s face. He was thinking, a dead ex-boyfriend!? Shit, this girl is full of baggage that I don’t need. Why do I always pick the bad ones? Then she added, “Next to a cracked aquarium,” before her turbulent sobbing made the rest of her words inaudible.

Mike did not know how else to react, so he put his arm around her, and listened to her incoherent tearful speech. But at the back of his mind, he thought he heard, “Gabriel was such a good angelfish!”

Word count: 222

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A Very Watery Date

If Gazebos Could

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(C) Dawn M Miller. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW), May 20, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy.

If gazebos feel shame,
This gazebo would hang its head,
His flesh and friends were of the same;
From wood they are all made.

If gazebos could move,
This gazebo would not stand so proud,
He’d rather hide than be aloof,
Far away from the crowd.

If gazebos have hearts,
This gazebo would apologize publicly
Announcing he’d rather be torn apart
Than to live a life of hypocrisy.

If gazebos can dream,
This gazebo has other plans.
He will assemble a big team,
and start gathering his fans.

If gazebos could rebel,
This gazebo will start a riot
His pain, no one can quell,
No one can make him quiet.

But gazebos stand still,
So we don’t need to worry,
They neither speak nor feel,
So we believe they’re happy.

Word count: 130

If Gazebos Could

A Duck-watching Day

(C) Priceless Joy. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 12, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy.
(C) Priceless Joy. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 12, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy.

“One foot… then the other foot… then the other- OH CRAP!” The duck tumbled over sidewards.

“[Insert string of swear words of choice here]” The duck was unabashed at exhibiting her extensive esotericism of expletives.

“Woah girl! You kiss your mom with that mouth?” A fellow duck waddled over.

“That does not make any sense at all.” The lopsided duck fixed a stare at the other duck that shocked me (the author) because I thought ducks can’t show expression. I was proven very wrong. This duck epitomised the phrase: ‘If looks could kill.’

The other duck flippantly disregarded the look it received. “Are you going to get up?”

“I’m trying but I can’t.”

“…”

“Are you going to help me?”

“…”

The lopsided duck let out an enormous sigh. “Oh dear Caleb the wonderful, brilliant and greatest duck in the human and spiritual planes, won’t you please help me up?” If ducks have eyelids, this one batted them enthusiastically as if her life depended on it.

Caleb obliged, and while he helped to upright his friend, I thought to myself, if ducks could grin and look smug, Caleb was the most self-satisfied duck I’ve ever seen.


Moral of the story: Projecting human traits onto ducks is a ton of fun.

Word count: 196

A Duck-watching Day

Manufactured in Atlantis

(C) Ady. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 5, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy
(C) Ady. Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) May 5, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page. Hosted by Priceless Joy

There was nothing but ocean as far as the eye can see. Stomachs were beginning to rumble.

Meanwhile, several miles below the sea, a great king with a great beard was having a feast. Then a guard ran in, announcing, “Sir, there are four humans above us.”

The great king, with trident in hand, stood up. “Who are they?” He demanded to know.

“They seem shipwrecked, sir. They’re in a tiny rowboat.”

“Let’s show them a good time, shall we?” A cheeky grin spread across the great king’s face.

~

Later that night, four humans found themselves on the shoreside but they had the wildest dreams about talking fishes and partying with dolphins, as well as a seaweed crown adorning their heads. As they examined it, they discovered a label. It said: “Made in Atlantis.”


Word count: 155

Manufactured in Atlantis

Introducing Annabelle White – FFFAW

(c) Dawn M. Miller
(c) Dawn M. Miller.  Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers (FFFAW) April 29, 2015. The picture takes you to the Challenge page, hosted by Priceless Joy.

Night fell and claimed the land with its shadows. She was free to roam once more.

Burgers, she thought, I have an appetite for burgers today.

She left her hair wet and dripping, just how she liked it, and proceeded to don her favorite white gown. She loved the reactions it elicited from passers-by, especially the males.

No, not wolf-whistles and seductive looks. That’s not what she’s about. She’s all about the jumps-of-terror, the petrified looks and the effeminate squeals.

Oh, I love the squeals. I hope I hear one tonight. She smiled wide as she relished in her imagination.

She slipped into the empty passenger seat beside a charming young driver as he collected his take-away set meal.

“Is that a Swiss Mushroom Whopper? My favorite!” She let the scent of warm mushrooms invade her nostrils, which made her mouth salivate and stomach rumble ravenously.

The set meal was now hers, and she retreated to her lake, her home.

Meanwhile, Timmy rushed home, his stomach unsatisfied, his eyes wide with fear, and with a story to tell, but without proof apart from his memory. Oh, and the drenched passenger seat in his car. Annabelle was real sloppy, wasn’t she?

Word count: 200 😦

Introducing Annabelle White – FFFAW