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.

Flash Fiction: Memento Mori

This is definitely a world I’m going to explore further in some longer fiction. “Memento Mori” was written for the 31 October Flash Friday competition and received third runner up. The prompt was the photo and you have to include a monk.

Memento Mori

The monk-like caretaker of the captured souls met Gerhardt at the door.

“The procedure worked. We got to her deathbed just in time,” he grinned.

Gerhardt didn’t dare look at the photos they passed in the corridors. Whispers cluttered the air.

“She’s not in pain?”

“Not at all. Souls are extremely resilient,” the monk said. The whispers became louder until individual voices could be heard. “They wake up when people walk past. It takes a while for the eyes to adjust, you might say. Your… doctor gave you only a few months?”

Gerhardt felt a ghost walk over his grave as dozens of eyes turned to watch him. “Indeed. And then I will no longer require your services.”

“Here we go.”

Gerhardt stared at the photo of his wife. Her face moved slightly. “Gerhardt?” she whispered.

“When you die, we destroy the photo and the soul is freed immediately.”

Gerhardt smiled. “And then we will go to heaven together.”

Caution: Radiation Controlled Area. Creative Commons 2.0 photo by Oleg.

And this is why “Victorian corpse photos” are now part of my browser history. For more book reviews, mythology, and information about what writing stuff I’m busy with, click here to go to Hersenskim.