littlewonder2

Little wonder we stumble in life.


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Friday Fictioneers – Heights

rescuers

She laughed bitterly.

He turned to her. “What?”

She gripped the edge, her palm pressing into the cold metal, as they waited to be rescued. But she was not the kind of girl who got rescued, she was the kind  always fending for herself.

“It would be so easy…” she said, sour giggles breaking out against tears. “Even if we’re not that high up, it would be easy… to throw myself off. Oh, I wouldn’t plunge and die, no…” her smile widened, “no… but the pain, the pain… not enough to die…” She broke down.

“Don’t,” he said.

“I know.”

For Friday Fictioneers.

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Friday Fictioneers – Deserting Home

Copyright - Janet Webb

There was no going out tonight. Not here, not ever again… I couldn’t even take my writing. I left my dress hanging out over the balcony, and my notebook there on my bed.

I felt a tug from my heart as I left my bedroom for the last time. We could take nothing with us. It was too poisonous, the radiation already exceeding the Ukraine.

I was just a teenager. I didn’t want any of this. Leaving everything I knew and loved. My mama held me in her arms. Within hours, the streets would be empty.

Time to leave… Chernobyl.

For Friday Fictioneers.


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Writing is like Exercise

I was recently rewriting my About Me page, when I started thinking about hobbies I enjoy. One of them, which I didn’t mention, is Boxing.

Recently, within the last two months, I’ve started eating healthily and exercising. I now go to the gym and I have a personal trainer named Jess. I often do boxing exercises when I work out with Jess; I find it motivates me, I enjoy it, and I’ve always carried a store of anger with me that it lets me express.

Exercise also helps me in my writing, if for no other reason than my characters live active, dangerous lives, and working my body helps me put myself in theirs.

But I’ve also begun thinking recently that, although many writers don’t do a whole lot of exercise — indeed, for a while in my own writing, I’ve used the fact that I’m a writer as an excuse why I didn’t have to exercise — the two activities aren’t so different.

Both require discipline of sorts. Both are beneficial; one to the mind, and the other to the body. I’ve even begun to think that the two things together are important to the whole, that a person needs both to be a satisfied or balanced person.

Balance, I’ve thought for a while now, is important in anyone. Not extremes, which makes you biased and closed-minded, but a medium between them.

Of course, I believe that bias is inevitable in any person. No matter who you are, I believe there’s always something to overcome. But the point is, in the case of brain vs. brawn, of athletes versus writers, there need not even be a contest.

If books are soul food, then exercise is just as important for movement. That feeling in your muscles… is life speaking to you. And that’s just as important as the words you use to describe it.


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Friday Fictioneers – Rebel

Sandra Crook

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a motorbike.”

“No,” scoffed Jeremy. “That’s a hunk of metal.”

“Isn’t this gang about rebellion? Well, I’m just fighting the system here. I made this with my own hands. I think it looks cool. I’m proud of it.”

“What about all those sharp edges? Rebellion’s one thing, but you show up at the club on that thing, you’re gonna be the village idiot.”

“Oh, yeah? Just you watch me! They’re gonna love it!”

He really wished he hadn’t. It was one of the stupidest things he ever did on that bike. There was a riot…

Flash fiction for Friday Fictioneers


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Friday Fictioneers – Starting Over

Copyright -Douglas M. MacIlroy

I woke to the worst disaster in history.

My heart jolted as my eyes opened to the inside of a tent.

“I think she’s awake,” said someone just outside. Dad? He poked his head in, smiling. “You awake? It’s almost one.”

“You dragged me camping?”

“A storm hit early this morning. You wouldn’t wake up, so we had to carry you. The cyclone destroyed half the coast; we had to move inland.”

“Where are we?”

“Come out and see.”

I poked my head outside. Fields all around; there was a horse behind a rabbit proof fence.

“Great.”

Flash fiction for Friday Fictioneers.


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Trifecta – Trapped

All she could hear was the dull thud of stone behind her and the dirt as she rolled it under her shoes absently, so faint it could’ve been her heart beating.

She huffed.

The hunger came and went. It was day two down here. It was about time she got rescued, wasn’t it? She looked down at her left foot, the one that wasn’t moving. The one that remained painfully still, the one revealed from her shoe, caked in dry blood.

She couldn’t climb out of here. Hell, she couldn’t even walk out of here. When she heard echoed voices yesterday, she had screamed for help. She was beginning to think she would die down here.

She looked down at her bloodied foot. It would hurt to stand up on it again. It would bleed. Even if she favoured the other foot, it was going to kill. She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining that blood oozing out again, picturing the pain. She didn’t want to, she didn’t want to, she didn’t want to!

She opened them.

That was no good. She could think about it.

She couldn’t do it. No.

Then what? That gentle thud came back to her again. It was starting to irritate her. “Go away!” she shouted to whatever animal was doing it. She was beyond rescue. Which was why she had to rescue herself.

“Okay,” she said, breathing in again. She could do this; she had to.

Dragging herself along to the cave wall, she pushed up to stand with her right leg. Her left soon joined in.

“Aah!” she cried, feeling the burning of her blood. She rested against the wall, squeezing her eyes against the thought, instead following the course of the cave in her mind, following Jonathan in her mind. Where had he gone? Had he found help?

Soon the darkness of her mind closed in on her imagination self, and her eyes popped open. No, that wouldn’t happen… it couldn’t.

There was a crash. “Anna!”

Prompt taken from Trifecta (and inspired by my last flash fiction).


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Friday Fictioneers – Winding

copyright - Jennifer Pendergast

The day was dawning. Dawn was heading up at high speed, racing for the top of the tower.

The double doors at the top crashed open with a clatter. Looking around briefly, she saw the clouds turning the whole world grey. Soon the sun would light them golden, the lightbulb inside the building a cheap imitation of it.

She ran around the barrier, searching. Finally she found a last set of stairs, smaller and narrower than the large flight behind her. The cold of the white side rails rippled in her hands.

She climbed to the top. He was ready.

Flash fiction for Friday Fictioneers.