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

Beneath the Glass

(c) Alastair Forbes. Sunday Photo Fiction May 3, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page, hosted by Alastair Forbes.
(c) Alastair Forbes. Sunday Photo Fiction May 3, 2015. This photo brings you to the challenge page, hosted by Alastair Forbes.

He would not suspect a thing.

But maybe he would, he’s a smart guy. No one else would think to hide nuclear launch codes on thier watch.

Wait, I need to shut up and concentrate. I’m dealing with a genius here. But unluckily for him, I’m smarter.

But still, these spybots are not easy to control. It took me all day just to get it to land on his watch. But finally! The damn bug landed right where I wanted it to!

Snap snap snap… alright, I got those pictures… now, which city to blow up first?

Word count: 116

Beneath the Glass

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

#Writing101 Pulses of Fear

Today’s Writing 101 Prompt: We all have anxieties, worries, and fears. What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears.

Today’s Twist: Write this post in a style distinct from your own.


When people see needles, they may imagine why they trigger anxiety and uneasiness in someone else. But they don’t know the whole story.

I was twelve going on thirteen. A lonely lil’ boy in a big city. A newcomer to a strange land. It was imperative and customary for the authorities to conduct health checkups for every new batch taken in.

The Raffles Medical Clinic was a great brown building with grand, ceiling-high glass doors that betrayed the acrid odor of disinfectants and pervasive chemicals within. I belonged to a group that was scheduled to the ten o’ clock inspection, but I was unfortunately acquainted with none.

The waiting time seemed to stretch from morning to noon, noon to night. I had witnessed the medical campaigns replay itself for an eternity and I exhausted every form of reading material: the plaques, the pamphlets, the directories. Thus, I looked to the nurse with scorn as she finally approached me.

“Tan Chuan Ming,” she confirmed. I nodded in response.

“Follow me. I need to take a blood sample,” she instructed. I followed silently.

I remember neither the room, nor its contents, but the memory of what transpired within haunts me til this day. At the age of twelve, I had naught fear of a foreign shaft of steel entering my skin. It could be attributed to the ineptitude of that female sadist in white, or the pale sallow quality of my skin, or even technical faults, but I never had the same courage to face a needle after that day.

She pierced the skin. I daren’t look, for I was not interested in matter pertaining to blood. But she announced a result, warning me of an upcoming prick, for the blood drawn was meager and insufficient. Thus, I was punctured once more. Alas, the halfwit excuse for a nurse has managed the impossible! She missed the vein! My memory may have become unreliable over the years, but it was to my horror that she drew a oily, yellow liquid that had suspiciously resembled blubber.

(The vein in my neck is pulsing as I write. This is my equivalent of shivering in fear: I pulse in fear. *laughs*)

The process became unbearable, my emotions were a turmoil of fear, anger, hatred and panic, and my cognitive faculties were in no state to keep track of the numbers. The instruments of torture alternated its host, it begun on my right hand, then my left, and right again..

I left that room and that medical center literally unscathed, but I pulse with fear whenever the horrific anamnesis resurfaces.

#Writing101 Pulses of Fear