Flash Fiction Faction: The Fruit

This is another 100 word Flash Fiction inspired by a prompt. This prompt came from Quill Shiv; follow the link to read more posts based on this prompt. Thank you for the inspiration.

Here is the prompt and I have tried to go the extra mile. Tell me, if you think I have done it in a convincing manner. I welcome other constructive criticisms as well. Cheers!

Mark had been overjoyed to see his partner, who had been missing for days from the excavation site. But that joy had swiftly turned into anger hearing that idiot’s preposterous plan.

“I am trying to conserve your ancestor’s dynasty and you threaten to blow up the temples? That is totally senseless behavior, even for you!”

“Taste this fruit, Mark. The food-hunter said that he can easily market this as a high priced product. We need to destroy only a few walls to aid the harvest!”

Mark bit into the sweet smelling food, puncturing its smooth skin. The taste was indescribable!

Back to Nature

This flash fiction is inspired by the following photo prompt. the challenge is hosted by Madison Woods.

I welcome constructive criticism that’s why I am posting these pieces on a blog. 🙂 Thanks in advance.

“Mommy! I need to pee!”

“Lily, why aren’t you asleep yet? You peed thirty minutes ago!”

“Mom! I can’t sleep. Lee is wiggling in her sleeping bag!”

Samantha rolled her eyes at Jack. She left the warmth of the campfire and headed towards the children’s tent.

“Come on Lily. Do you only need to pee?”

Lily nodded her head energetically as she got out of her sleeping bag.

Samantha looked back at Jack and her smile slowly melted away.

“Lee sweetie, I need you to keep quiet and still. Kids, remember what I told you to do when a bear visits us?”

The Dreaded Red Box

This is a 100 word plus the prompt, …the red box…, flash fiction challenge hosted by Julia.

Pete stared dreamily at the photocopier. The CEO was scheduled to arrive that morning. Maybe he would be in the meeting too and witness Pete’s strategy to increase sales. That overdue promotion could finally be his! He caught a flash of colour from the corner of his eyes. He turned to look directly at Mr. Smith walking down the aisle. He was carrying the red box. Pete felt sweat beads rolling down his forehead. His colleagues had noticed the box too; their eyes glued on its path. All were silently praying it was not their time to pack their personal belongings into the box.

The Hate Game

Amanda closed the cubicle door. She lowered the lid and sat down. Her pulse should have been racing, given but she felt extremely calm. She took a box of Panadol out of her school rucksack. She had bought one at the pharmacy last week to add to the package she had found at home. She popped one pill out of the blister package. Her fingertip traced the groove in the middle of the pill. Would breaking them in the middle quicken the effect? She held each end between a thumb and index finger and pressed. It was harder to split the pill in the middle than she had expected. She decided to leave the remaining pills whole. She couldn’t risk dropping any of the pills; she needed every single one.

Her heart skipped a beat at the shrill ring of the school bell. She prayed that no one would enter the toilet. She had chosen the one on the third floor because most of the rooms were only used for Extra-Curricular Activities. She had one more free period before her next lesson started. How fitting that it would a Math class; since she hated it and hopefully wouldn’t have to live through it. It would have been nice, if it were music instead because singing made her happy. Amanda wiped the tears on her right sleeve.

There was no other way out.

She needed to put an end to the pain. She threw the ham and cheese sandwich, her mom had made for her lunch, in the bin in the cubicle; the lunch menu has changed. She removed the remaining pills from the blister packages and put them in her lunch box. She concentrated on the monotonous action and managed not to think about the chain of events that had brought her there. She had 47 pills in all. She hoped it was enough for her plan to be successful. She stuffed the empty packages in her rucksack. She stood up, righted her uniform, swung her rucksack over her right shoulder and left the cubicle.

Amanda knew the perfect spot, where she could consume her special lunch in peace. There was a bench next to the canteen, overlooking the school garden. There was a rose bush right next to the bench. She loved sitting there because the roses smelled lovely. When she closed her eyes, she imagined being in a candy shop, surrounded by the sticky sweet smell of roses. She bought a can of Coke from the vending machine. She had read on the internet that carbonated drinks increased the effect of paracetemol. Even if it did not, it was much tastier than plain water.

She placed the first pill onto her tongue. She took a sip from her can and swallowed the mixture. The next 5 followed swiftly in the same manner. However she couldn’t hold back the tears for long. She wiped her tears with a tissue paper, folded it and blew her nose. She hoped no one noticed her crying, especially not a teacher. She was doing the right thing. She couldn’t live another day reading the lies her classmates spread about her on Facebook. The names they had for her went through her mind, virtually burning, hitting, spitting on and shaming her before hundreds of spectators. Some were strangers but most she knew personally. They encouraged her demons with their applauding and cheering! Why her? Some of her tormentors used to be her friends. She has looked for a reason many times before as to why they had turned on her. But she always came up blank. There was no sense to the madness that had overcome them.

Amanda had difficulties swallowing the remaining pills. Her throat felt constricted and she was sure that the slightest pressure could result in her puking into the rose bush. But she would see this through. She wanted her death to haunt her tormentors with guilt for the rest of their lives. She practically shoved the remaining pills one by one down her throat and washed each down with Coke.

The bell rang again. Amanda stuck the empty lunchbox in her rucksack and threw away the can. She was starting to feel ill, comparable to the time she had the flu. Her stomach was cramping as she slowly made her way to class.

“Amanda, you’re late!”

“Sorry! I don’t feel well.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do look pretty pale. Cynthia, please escort Amanda to the sick bay.”

“Not Cynthia. I can go myself.”

“You look as if you would faint any moment. Now get to the sickbay quickly.”

Amanda and Cynthia walked to the sickbay in silence. Amanda wanted to tell her a lot of hurtful things but she couldn’t get a single one out. Instead as they stood in front of the sickbay she said, “Hope my death makes you feel happy.” The shock in Cynthia’s eyes was enough to make Amanda feel temporarily happy. At least Cynthia will suffer after her death.

“Here’s a pail my dear, in case you need to be sick again. Your mom is on her way here. She will bring you to the doctor. You have a slight fever. It is probably only a stomach-flu. Have had a couple of kids come down with it last week. You will be fine in a few days time.”

***************************

“Amanda! You have visitors.”

“Mom! Who?… Oh! What do you all want here?”

Cynthia and five other classmates entered her bedroom. Cynthia held a bouquet of roses up and spoke.

“We want to apologise for being mean to you. We did not seriously mean the things we said. It was only fun. We have deleted all the posts about you. We hope you can forgive us.”

Tales around the Campfire

Some interestings historical facts surrounding poetry. 🙂

Limebird Writers

Many of the posts here, and much of the discussion, revolves around one aspect or another of ‘story’. However, the modern understanding of ‘story’ seems to be based mainly in the world of prose. This is a relatively recent evolution in the history of storytelling (it could be argued that Western fictional narrative, and its more ‘informal’ language, grew out of the ‘histories’ – and only became popular when books first became widely available in the fifteenth century).

If we go back to the first storytellers, while they may not have originally thought of themselves as poets, that is what they were. In order to remember extremely long tales, certain formulations, certain rhythms were used to aid memory.

Campfire

The oldest known version of the “Epic of Gilgamesh” was originally five independent Sumerian poems that date from as early as the Third Dynasty of Ur (2150-2000 BC). Four of the poems…

View original post 737 more words

She was never yours to start

She is ripe for the taking

If you had gotten through the wall

Sleeping beauty won’t be waking

Just because you call

Make room for the next

Knight in Shining Armour

Who is game to axe

The enchanted wall with ardour

Why cry over a kiss

That never took place?

You knew that one miss

Would throw you out of the race

It would seem

It was not on the card

Outside of your dream

She was never yours to start