My first attempt at a six word story. Here it is with “terror” as the subject. If you want to join in. Follow this link.
Terror
Whisked from sleep. A floorboard creaks.
Thanks to Alistair for providing the prompt. If you’d like to join in on Sunday Photo Fiction visit this link.
©Sascha Darlington
We have done a dance. Eyes meeting eyes. Smiles exchanged. I sang a tune, Pearl Jam to be exact. And he whistled, Soundgarden, to be exact.
Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge. June 22, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that involves a dream. This action could have happened while awake, such as daydreaming, or make up a dream when asleep. Go where the prompt leads as it could be a nightmare or just fond memories or ambition.
This is #2 and fictional, although a very similar theme to the first.
©Sascha Darlington
I feel gentle fingertips caress my temple, wake to his brown eyes fastened on mine, concern etched in them. His breath, hot upon my cheek, once would have been enough.
“Are you getting up?” he asks, a whisper.
“I need a little more sleep,” I say. He nods, kisses my brow. I almost pull him to me, to have him close.
I’ve never told him that sometimes she appears in dreams and her laughter clutches me. I sleep hoping to dream of her.
I think I hear him say: “Please come back to me” before I slide into slumber.
end 6/23/2017
Sascha Darlington
Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge. June 22, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that involves a dream. This action could have happened while awake, such as daydreaming, or make up a dream when asleep. Go where the prompt leads as it could be a nightmare or just fond memories or ambition.
This was the first “thought” that came to mind. I will probably try something more fictional as well.
©Sascha Darlington
photo by Christian Widell via Unsplash
3 Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya who provides the photo prompt. Click here to join in.
PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz
Thank you to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Click here to read the instructions and participate.
I’m wearing my blonde wig, red cowboy boots, denim mini and a tight v-neck red top.
I never have much to set up, just an amplifier and the microphone’s already in place, but I do like to have my guitar plugged in and it’s then that I see him: Callum Johnson, sitting at a front table, his blue jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him, while he draws from a long-neck bottle of some standard American beer. Still no microbrew for Cal.
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
For Friday Fictioneers. Thank you to the wonderful Rochelle for hosting this group. To read the instructions and join in, please visit here.
I met a Swedish boy on Christmas Day and kissed him on Boxing Day and felt the earth move at Kamala Bay.
I touched my fingers to my lips and smiled at this boy, my first kiss.
We were still holding hands, not comprehending when an accented man herded us and other tourists toward a packed bus.
“Tsunami,” someone said.
The joy of the kiss evaporated as my emotions unspooled like myriads of delicate thread concentrating on my parents and little sister at the pool. Praying.
The bus bumped up a steep road and the shore behind became ocean.
end
Sascha Darlington
