Flash Fiction – White Flag

This flash piece was written for the 6 June 2014 Flash! Friday competition* (and received a specialmention!).  The prompt given included the photo next to the story and a fire also had to be included.  I delved a bit into some of my earlier stories and worldbuilding for this one, specifically the Rún or Ruon. Here is somemicro fiction about the Ruon.

White Flag

Bell Tower of Guadalest, Costa Blanca, Spain. Photo by Anguskirk

Aldrith worked quickly,  counting stitches and patterns with the ancient Ruon rhyme.  The sea’s calm surface reflected flashes of sunlight to where she sat in the bell tower.  Barely a sign of the storm remained. The sky was so clear she could almost see the coast of the Sundered Lands. Smoke from a cooking fire hung in the air, but there was no time for food.

Into the snowy cloth she worked secrets of the wind and waves,  the sun and stars, the soil of home, her longing,  her love. She made the last stitch and recited the final rhyme before cutting the silk thread.

Wind tugged at her dress and hair as she raised the white flag.  The wind caught it, whipping the message into the air.

Aldrith thought she could already see her husband’s ship. Even with torn sails or a broken mast her flag would guide him home.

* Fiction of 150 words.

Matt Hires - Forever

Here’s a song for the countdown to the weekend. I really love the album ThisWorld Won’t Last Forever, But Tonight We Can Pretend. Find his Facebook page over here.

Vonkfiksie: A Cup of Tears

Hierdie is oorspronklik geskryf vir Flash Friday op 30 Mei 2014.

Cup of Tears

Outside the city walls red battlefields baked in the sun. Elah poured her tears into the palace garden’s dry fountain. “For my brothers,” she said.

Beside the fountain lay the broken statue of a woman – a reminder of a story almost forgotten. ‘There would only be freedom from the war when enough tears have been shed.’ Elah’s tears stained the grey stone. Women in mourning veils crowded behind her, cup in hand. They shuffled forward, each tipping their cup into the fountain. Tears blended, slowly filling the bowl.

“For my father.”

“For my husband.”

“For my son.”

But it was not enough.

Elah stood by the fountain for seven days and cried under a burning sky until she had no strength left. For fathers, brothers, sons, her people, her enemy.

“Is this enough?” she whispered.

Her last tear filled the fountain and spilled over the edge. The sound of battle stopped as darkness took her.

Vroeë dinastiese Illa, ca. 2600 – 2500v.C., Sumeries. The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Flash Fiction: A Cup of Tears

This was originally written for Flash Friday on 30 May 2014.

Cup of Tears

Outside the city walls red battlefields baked in the sun. Elah poured her tears into the palace garden’s dry fountain. “For my brothers,” she said.

Beside the fountain lay the broken statue of a woman – a reminder of a story almost forgotten. ‘There would only be freedom from the war when enough tears have been shed.’ Elah’s tears stained the grey stone. Women in mourning veils crowded behind her, cup in hand. They shuffled forward, each tipping their cup into the fountain. Tears blended, slowly filling the bowl.

“For my father.”

“For my husband.”

“For my son.”

But it was not enough.

Elah stood by the fountain for seven days and cried under a burning sky until she had no strength left. For fathers, brothers, sons, her people, her enemy.

“Is this enough?” she whispered.

Her last tear filled the fountain and spilled over the edge. The sound of battle stopped as darkness took her.

Early Dynastic Illa, ca. 2600 – 2500 B.C.,Sumerian. The Metropolitan Museum of Art