Little wonder we stumble in life.


Trifecta – Rusty

It was still all rather horrifying. From the moment she got the letter in the mail, summoning her to court, she had been walking around, rather shocked. And now, as she stared warily at the plaintiff’s table, she could see the girl who was suing her pull out a rusty, scrap-paged notebook. Her supposed evidence.

“In this notebook, you’ll see the evidence of what I’ve been saying,” she said, handing it over towards the judge. “The song was not an original work by the band on trial –” a glare in her direction — “but by me. When I was a little girl, I wrote all these lyrics myself –”

“Um –” said the judge, “I’m sorry, but this doesn’t appear to be lyrics. This appears to be a diary.”

“Yes, of course it is! If you will look carefully,” she said, pointing, “you’ll see the opening lyrics of the right at the top of the page.”

“Ah, yes…” said the judge.

After scanning the document more thoroughly, she handed it back, however. “This isn’t sufficient. In order to have a case against Mrs. Lee, you have to have composed the actual music and lyrics. Some similar sentiments when you were a child aren’t enough.”

“But it isn’t fair! She stole –”

“Silence!” said the judge, banging her gavel. “Settle down or I will find you in contempt!”

The girl sank back down.

Amy would almost have found it flattering if the situation hadn’t been so serious. The only thing she was guilty of was writing a song that people — including this girl — connected to. Very deeply, she added, at seeing the adamant look on her accuser’s face. She may not have written it, but her accuser certainly felt it, had probably lived, more than anyone else.

Amy made a move, and announced all this to the court. In the end, it was that speech that stuck at the end of the case. Her accuser simply didn’t have any evidence. Amy was cleared.

Maybe they could be friends.

Tale for Trifecta


Trifecta – Black

“What are you all dressed in black for?” her grandmother complained. “You going to a funeral?”

Kay rolled her eyes. Old people just didn’t understand. “I don’t need to go to funeral to dress in black. All the kids are doing it.” That wasn’t quite true, actually. She just didn’t think she’d understand Goth.

She didn’t do it because she was fucked in the head, or because she was sad or mourning. It was a fucking fashion statement.

Only… that wasn’t true.

The first time her mum had heard her listening to Jack Off Jill… “What is this? Why are you listening to this garbage?”

After fiercely defending her style in music, she soon had to defend her mind. “Are you alright, dear? Is there anything we need to talk about?”

“No!” Kay had shouted, and slammed her mother out of her room.

But in the privacy and darkness of her room, she began to wonder. She used her music to help her probe deep into her mind. At the end of the night, she was cradling herself from crying about everything; the isolation from her parent’s divorce; the abuse she’d suffered under her uncle’s hand; the death of her baby sister.

Her grandmother was judging her. She had only recently sorted all this out — somehow — with her mother, and she wasn’t exactly ready to share yet.

“If all the kids jumped off a bridge, would you?”

“No, but I’d push you –” she lashed out.


She looked to her mother. Great, here it came. She was gonna drag her away to have a talk.

“Can I see you in the other room?”

Sarcastically, she spat, “All hail the talk!”

She let herself be dragged away to drudge through it. She knew all this, and it wasn’t helping. In fact, it just made her feel worse.

“Okay?” said her mother.

“Whatever. I’m going out.” She wasn’t listening to another word; she stuck a cigarette in her mouth and shot out the back door.

Trifecta prompt.


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.