Flash Fiction: To Kill a Fly

This flash piece was written for the 20June 2014 Flash! Friday competition and received first runner up.  The cartoon and “arrogance” was the prompt.

To Kill a Fly

“A woman on the throne, women explorers, what will be next? Women voting?”

John stared down his nose at the newspaper. Next to him an issue of Punch showed a cartoon of Queen Victoria.

Mary stared at her cooling tea. She could feel old tears burning her eyes. New bruises throbbed.

“I want to fly in an airship one day.”

John snorted behind the newspaper and slurped his tea.

Mary thought of the flypapers still soaking in the kitchen.

“Did you see the girls again this morning?”

“I did.”

“I do not know what you women have to gossip about. And then act like you are learning practical things. The house is still run exactly the same. Preposterous. A waste of money.”

“I enjoy it.”

“You are being foolish. Tell me one thing you learnt today.”

He rustled the paper again.

“Did you know flypaper is full of arsenic? It does not have a taste or smell.” Mary smiled.

“New crowns for old ones!” –Benjamin Disraeli presents Queen Victoria the crown of India. Punch, 1876, by cartoonist John Tenniel.

Fiction Update – Murder! Mayhem! Strange Browser Histories!

I’ve updated A Slip of My Pen with all the Flash! Friday pieces I’ve written thus far. Some of the research for these definitely made my browser history look really… odd. Especially the research for “To Kill a Fly”.

TheFlash Pieces Include:

The Worth of Death

Old World, new World

Shells

To Kill a Fly

Rose and the Wind

White Flag

A Cup of Tears

Graffiti

In other, mostly unrelated news

I’m very close to actually handing in the final version of the eternal dissertation all bound in mock leather and hopefully looking very interesting and important. I think once I actually hand over the pile of copies (getting my daily exercise while doing so – it’s going to be very heavy) I may need to sit down with a cup of tea and a biscuit and just let it all sink in. Or with red velvet cake. Red velvet cake sounds good.

#180699094 / gettyimages.com

Rose and the Wind

This flash piece was written for the 12 June 2014 Flash! Friday competition and received an honourable mention.  The photo and “friendship” was the prompt.

“Rose Biodo, Philadelphia, 10 years old. Working 3 summers, minds baby and carries berries, two pecks at a time.” Photo by Lewis Hine, National Archives public domain.

Rose and the Wind

A voice drifted on the wind, stirring leaves and berries. Children’s dirt-crusted faces lifted, red-stained hands frozen. Younger ones turned to watch the swaying shrubs. Older ones didn’t bother. Time taught that there was no place for imaginings in the life of a berry picker.

Rose stood rooted to the well-trodden path and watched the wind whip dust into a dance. The song continued, the dust showing a phantom arm here, a face there, a dress billowing. A longing filled her to follow the wind woman. Rose sang a few of the song’s strange words before the wind left. Other children watched from afar.

She came in the night, dancing, singing, calling through clusters of hovels. Rose woke at the sound and slipped through the door. Small bodies crept closer, clutching hands. The wind woman opened a door to a new world of shimmering castles and bright lands. Rose took their hands and stepped through.

***

Of Resurrected Laptops, Writing and Dinosaurs

Greetings people of the internets!

It’s Alive

After the fire incident a few months ago, I am extremely happy to report that my laptop is again up and running. This will save me so much time. Meaning more time to write, not binge watch DVDs, mind you.

Of Writing

So far I’m writing a flash piece every week for Flash! Friday and enjoying it immensely. I’ve now made a separate blog for these called A Slip of My Pen, which will also contain some “behind the story” snippets about the inspiration for my take on the story prompt of the week. Music will also be involved and some other fiction will also be added in the future.

Dinosaurs are Here!

Well, in Sandton at least. The Days of the Dinosaur exhibition is here for a month before moving to Cape Town. I helped out on the first weekend along with a few friends and got to see it. I just loved to see the kids’ reactions. And hey, dinosaurs will never not be cool. Some of my photos did end up looking a bit strange, though.

Flash Fiction – White Flag

This flash piece was written for the 6 June 2014 Flash! Friday competition* (and received a special mention!).  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 some micro 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.

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

Flash Fiction: Graffiti

This was originally written for Flash Friday on 23 May 2014.

Graffiti

Letterboxes, Area 51 by MartinStr. Via FlashFriday

Steve stood by his graffitied mailbox. A few dropped paint cans lay around.

“Bloody teenagers!” He would have preferred an echo, but only got the screech of cicadas. At last the postal van drove up and a postman sauntered over. He tried stuffing more unpaid bills into the mailbox.

“Some of us actually pay our bills, buddy.”

“I would love to. Of course, if you came into the house for a moment, I could show you why I can’t.” He kicked another can and sent it flying. The man didn’t notice it as he walked back and drove off.

Steve picked up another discarded can. It didn’t matter if he could move stuff if people didn’t notice. He covered the black spray-painted word “alien” with the more appropriate “dead man” in red. He added an arrow pointing to the house and threw the can as far as he could.

***