As a weekly contributor to the Friday Fictioneers I produced 37 tiny works of fiction inspired by photographs and offered suggestions to fellow Fictioneers on how to improve their writing. These are three of the 100-word flash fiction pieces I wrote.
Inspiration is not easy in places like this.
Curled and hard, awash in the glow of morning light, it is a fanciful play of metallic certitude doused in nature. Stark, yet beautiful.
Even the name is sharp. It does not roll off the tongue — it pinches. Pointed pricks piercing at my taste buds, slightly sour in their composition.
I turn and my mind shifts to thoughts of the day ahead. The cows must be brought in, the fences mended. If I collect the eggs now, breakfast will be ready for seven. Maybe toast with fresh-churned butter? Or jam?
I Am Not Alone
The clouds swirl and I feel at peace. The moon shines brightly tonight. I raise my head and lift my voice to the heavens.
“I am not alone!”
My call is returned, ten-fold, as my neighbours join the chorus.
“You are not alone!”
Our cries echo through the barren wilderness, haunting those who wander too close.
I hear my sister-wolf, and her three young pups. Her mate’s call, entwined with theirs, resounds deeply.
“We are not alone.”
We are not alone. We are the pack. We stand together. And we take care of our own.
I am not alone.
I dig my heels into the sand and sit, patient. Watching.
Ripples shimmer on the surface, and I gaze beneath, trying to digest the vision of angel wings that greets me.
What pearl did these once hold?
Was it wisdom? Strength? Solemnity?
What beauty died in these pristine waters?
The ripples disappear, fading gracefully into calm.
If I touch the surface, will they return?
I bend and skim my fingers atop the water. Tension melts away.
When I remove them, droplets tumble back to whence they came.
Ripples form, welcoming home the wayward sons and daughters.
Blessed are the young.