Little wonder we stumble in life.


Flash Fiction Faction – “I Heard It Too”

Thanks to Quill Shiv.

“I heard it too,” she whispered.

“I didn’t hear anything –”


I held myself, gluing my lips together. I waited, listening.

“Hey, in here,” she heard it now, a muffled voice, low and aggressive like a criminal.

My mother held tight to my arm now, scared, clinging to me. So much for the brave, protective mother; I was protecting her, it felt like. And I didn’t know what to do either, except to keep hidden and quiet.

The rustled through the kitchen. The living room. Please don’t make them check the bathroom…

The door burst open, gun blazing. They got my mother first. I used her as a shield, petrified. Couldn’t let them catch me — I charged at the man in the doorway. I grappled with him on the ground, trying to snatch up his gun, my only remaining protection. It was a terrible risk; if I failed, they’d kill me on the spot. But if I didn’t, they probably would kill me anyway.

Too late. The other two were attracted by the sound, overpowering me. Shouldn’t have been so loud…

They took turns pounding me in the stomach, winding me. They kept their guns at me then, ordering me through their burglary. This could be worse, at least, I thought to myself. I could be dead.

I sat tied up for days, starved, before anyone found me, bloodied, raped. I should be dead.


Flash Fiction Faction – Burning Light

I used the following words for this prompt, in random order:









She sat, blinking her eyes painfully against the light. I watched her anxiously.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “How long have you been sitting in the dark like this? You have to let some light into your life occasionally.”

“Not if it hurts,” she complained.

“You look like a mess,” I told her. “What is this downcast behaviour, lately?”

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“No, it’s not.”

She sighed, eyes decidedly closed now. She didn’t speak for a long time. “What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” I retorted.

“Alright, fine…” She hesitated for a long moment. She sighed again, before hesitating again a few more seconds.

“Alright, if you wanna know… you remember how overjoyed I was about getting a compliment a few weeks ago about my new haircut? A week ago, someone spat in my hair and called me ugly. Then when mom saw me washing my hair out later, I told her, and she agreed with them, thinking I was ugly.”

I looked at her sadly, disappointed in my wife. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her tonight.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“There’s just one thing I’d like to know, Fifi. Did he do anything else… after he spat at you? You know, because some people… can sometimes step outside their bounds.”

“No?” said Fifi, definite in her response.

“He didn’t threaten you?”

“No, he didn’t, dad!” she moaned, as though I had just asked her if she had put product in the wash.

“I’m serious, Fi, men can be like that.”

“Dad, it’s not like we’re living in some ancient dynasty in which slaves get whipped every day and die of internal bleeding or something.”

“Maybe not, but you should still be careful. You never know who’s out there ready to hurt you or kidnap you or something awful.”

“Yeah, yeah…” she said.

“Not ‘yeah, yeah’,” I told her. “‘Yes, dad, you’re right.’ Say it with me.”

“Yes, dad, you’re right,” she repeated with me in a monotone.

“All right. As long as you know,” I said. “Now, do you think you might be up to helping me harvest in the backyard tomorrow? I’m eager to see how those Roma tomatoes are going. Perhaps we can use them in a delicious homemade pasta tomorrow night, huh? What do you think of that?”

“Sounds great, dad,” she said, not entirely enthused. I supposed it would be a slow process to get her back on track again. It was hard work trying to preserve her optimism, especially with an outspoken mother like she had.

I still hadn’t exhausted my online resource. Still, it was tough dealing with a sensitive daughter.

Thanks again to Quill Shiv, for her writing prompts. It’s not as good as the last one, maybe. But still; tell me if it’s believable.


Flash Fiction Faction – Blood

My heart tightened in my chest, wrenched at the sight before me. It was devastating, it was life shattering. I crashed to my knees in reverence to the higher power before me.

Blood, everywhere, obscuring everything. Red, the only colour left in the world, I lingered on it weakly. It was grisly in its nature, torturous to the mind.

My baby sister. Killed by a maniac.

I bowed down before him, surrendering to the violence. Surrendering to His Will. After all, it was all in His plan. He was no God, but he was the beginning and the end of my world now, he was the Creator of chaos. He showed as much mercy as Mother Nature, as much love as Lucifer, as much power as God Almighty.

I cradled my demised sister in my arms, wailing, mouth gaping, letting the blood flow over me, her blood. I wanted to feel connected to her still, but there was nothing to be connected to anymore. That blood, that precious blood, I needed to be covered in it to remain as part of her. Even now. Especially now.

She had been so sweet, a sweet contrast to the world’s evils. She had been so pure, my poor sister, and she hadn’t deserved this, no, not at all. She had been so innocent, had never done anything to anyone, even if she was only young. She was a child, a simple five year old child, and he had killed her.

And why? What had she done to deserve it? All she had ever done was treat people with kindness, even the ones who had treated her poorly at school, teased her. That was sad, but surely no tragedy, not like this.

That was one thing. At least she was alive. This was taking a life away, it was destroying others, it was cruel and dark.

And it twisted my heart. It rung it out and squeezed from me all the life, all the happiness that was known to it before. There was something missing from me now, the fullness of my heart, the fullness of my life, and however I tried to absorb it back, I would never be the same, I would never be that perfect again.

And there he was, standing over me, satisfied with what he had done, so happy and smug, as though he had done his job, as if my reaction was the only reason he had done it. But why? I had always known he hated me, but this? He was a psycho. He wasn’t human. No true human being could cause such cruelty for one of their own. If they could, then I didn’t want any part of it, not if this was the result.

My heart was broken, dry and shattered. This felt like the very end of existence, I couldn’t think beyond it at all, yet I knew it was a lie. Unless he planned to kill me too.

I heard his evil mocking. I turned to him, and demanded, like so many who feel forsaken by their god, why he had done this. I shouted it at the top of my lungs.

And he just sat there smiling. Like he could break me if he wanted. Like any second I’d crumple back at his feet, begging for mercy or forgiveness. Like he deserved to be worshipped.

I rose to my feet, furious, incensed, ready to pounce like a puma, claws out, teeth bared. And he laughed. After all, it was just a big fucking joke to him wasn’t it? My fear, my pain, and now, my anger. He was the one who should be lying dead right now!

So I attacked, fighting with my fists instead, ready to bite, ready to crush his body. He pushed me back hard, as though I were just a kitten trying to play, and I were getting on his nerves. That hurt far worse than it ever had before, and my fury mounted.

I wanted to prove myself, show him that I was no child like everyone always thought of me! I could take him down! I could make him hurt!

But the pain from his blows hurt so much I wanted to cry. I literally fought tears as hit me over and over again, and I began to believe it, that I was weak.

No, I thought determinedly. I couldn’t let myself become that. I had to keep fighting.

I landed another blow on him. He staggered back, injured. I seized my chance.

But I didn’t keep it long before he struck back at me once again, practiced in parries and blows, and sent me back to the ground. The tears really flowed now. I really fought them, wiping furiously. But no matter how I hard I tried, they wouldn’t stop. My hands were now coated in tears.

He seemed pretty pleased with himself, just standing there domineering over me. I hated that. I tried to swipe his feet to knock him down, but he was as fast with his feet as with his fists. I was defeated. Desperately, tragically defeated.

I was nothing.

A prompt from Quill Shiv. Obviously a little late, but I’ve done a video writing prompt, and at the time I didn’t realise.