Vonkfiksie: Merely this and nothing more

Ek het hierdie verhaal ingeskryf vir 14 November se Flash! Friday-kompetisie en daar wen ek toe! Die foto moes as inspirasie dien en ’n bekende skrywer moes ook ingesluit word. Ek kon nie besluit wie om te kies nie toe gebruik ek omtrent ses. In die volgende inskrywing sal ek hierdie skrywers en tekste noem, want ek dink dit is letterkunde wat almal ten minste een keer moet lees.

Merely this and nothing more

If on a summer’s day a Story Teller was to exit Hotel L—, she would find herself on the road leading to the harbour. If she walked, her mind would drift through centuries of memories. If she remembered, she would colour memories to adventures, hovels to palaces, obstacles to giants. If she stood on the shore she would recall all the memories of all the ages. Cities. Armies. Voyages. Adventures. Sorrow. Love. Fear. Beasts growing listless in ancient temples beneath the waves.

If she was to tell all these memories to the ocean, she would slowly sink into a story herself; her voice caught in sea foam, her secrets bound in a chest on the ocean floor where fifteen dead men danced, her stories travelling through countries, years, and centuries before being caught by ink.

She asked if her own words, those grains of sand, would be remembered.

She did not wait for an answer; lest it was “nevermore”.

Barbary Macaque, Gibraltar. CC 2.0 foto deur David Stanley.    

Flash Fiction: Merely this and nothing more

This piece was written for the 14 November Flash! Friday competition – and won! The prompt was the photo and you had to include a famous writer. As I could not decide which writer to include, I used about six.

Merely this and nothing more

If on a summer’s day a Story Teller was to exit Hotel L—, she would find herself on the road leading to the harbour. If she walked, her mind would drift through centuries of memories. If she remembered, she would colour memories to adventures, hovels to palaces, obstacles to giants. If she stood on the shore she would recall all the memories of all the ages. Cities. Armies. Voyages. Adventures. Sorrow. Love. Fear. Beasts growing listless in ancient temples beneath the waves.

If she was to tell all these memories to the ocean, she would slowly sink into a story herself; her voice caught in sea foam, her secrets bound in a chest on the ocean floor where fifteen dead men danced, her stories travelling through countries, years, and centuries before being caught by ink.

She asked if her own words, those grains of sand, would be remembered.

She did not wait for an answer; lest it was “nevermore”.

Barbary Macaque, Gibraltar. CC 2.0 photo by David Stanley.

In the next post I’ll give the writers and books I referenced – these are books and writers I love and I think everyone should read at least once.

Flash Fiction: Seeing the Light

This story was written for the 7 November Flash Friday competition. After “Memento Mori” – the one I wrote for 31October’s competition – I wanted to do a more lighthearted story. The prompt was the photo and “treasure”.

Seeing the Light

After a while you get used to the ghosts at the station. The soldier with blood all over his uniform. The pickpocket who doesn’t know he’s dead. The ancient king with his grave treasures. Philip. The ghost train passes here once a month. Anyone who’s here nearly dies of fright when it rushes by, the ghosts all howling. I guess it’s a bit like being stuck on a rollercoaster.

Sullivan went into the light last week, but Philip has been stuck here since the first train to enter the station ran him over. He always goes on about how trains were better in his day, but doesn’t mind the current ladies’ fashion, though. He’s always bothering me while I’m sweeping.

When the clock strikes midnight, I hear the train and I step out onto the tracks in front of it.

And then I’m stuck sweeping again with Philip muttering in my ear.

Maybe next week I’ll see the light.

Chef at the Trans-Siberian rail wall, between Moscow and Khabarovsk. CC 2.0 photo by Leidolv Magelssen.

You can read more flash fiction over here.

Flash Fiction: Seeing the Light

This story was written for the 7 November Flash Friday competition. After “Memento Mori” – the one I wrote for 31October’s competition – I wanted to do a more lighthearted story. The prompt was the photo and “treasure”.

Seeing the Light

After a while you get used to the ghosts at the station. The soldier with blood all over his uniform. The pickpocket who doesn’t know he’s dead. The ancient king with his grave treasures. Philip. The ghost train passes here once a month. Anyone who’s here nearly dies of fright when it rushes by, the ghosts all howling. I guess it’s a bit like being stuck on a rollercoaster.

Sullivan went into the light last week, but Philip has been stuck here since the first train to enter the station ran him over. He always goes on about how trains were better in his day, but doesn’t mind the current ladies’ fashion, though. He’s always bothering me while I’m sweeping.

When the clock strikes midnight, I hear the train and I step out onto the tracks in front of it.

And then I’m stuck sweeping again with Philip muttering in my ear.

Maybe next week I’ll see the light.

Chef at the Trans-Siberian rail wall, between Moscow and Khabarovsk. CC 2.0 photo by Leidolv Magelssen.

Nanowrimo en ander goeters

Ek neem hierdie jaar – ná ek al vir ’n paar jaar dreig – aan Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) deel. Die roman waarmee ek besig is, sluit aan by verhale soos die onderstaande wat ek reeds geskryf het. My blaai op die Nanowrimo-webwerf ishier.

Artikels by dosyne

Verder skryf ek nou op ’n gereelde basis kort artikels vir verskeie webtuistes (wat beslis ook goeie oefening is!). Kliek hier vir dié artikels se skakels.

Vonkfiksie

Ek geniet dit terdeë om weekliks ’n vonkfiksie verhaal vir Flash Friday te skryf. Die verhale (ongelukkig almal in Engels, maar ek werk daaraan) kan op hierdie blaai gelees word.