The little boy scampered through the puddles left by the rain that came on him suddenly. The tin roof of his shack by the dirt track had holes that let in the rain water. The coarse orange blanket he shared with his brother was soaking wet. He would get curses and kicks when Buddy got home from working the shift. He pulled the blanket out to spread and dry in the sun, dragging it and making it muddy.

The sky looked grey and the little boy sat outside on the edge of a large jagged stone, half buried in the dirt track. Momma had once cut her face on that, when Pa had pushed her out in a drunken rage. She was gone before long and the boys took to looking for food in the bins.

The sun was out now and it got warm. The little boy scraped the mud stains out of the blanket and flicked away the water droplets.

Word Count : 162. This is my submission for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Challenge, where we are given a photo prompt and approximately 100-175 words with which to build our stories. The challenge is open to everyone who would like to participate.

Cross posted for Day 4 task of Writing 101.

Clickety Clack


Clickety clack went the sound in all hours of the night. Granny’s house was near the rail tracks and the trains could be heard whooshing by, the tracks rattling, the screech of the wheels and the shrill whistle. The branches of the nearby trees rustled in the wind, disturbed by the passing train.

The children always hated the noise and put their fingers in their ears to block out the sound. Granny smiled because she had lived half her life there. The trains did not let her feel lonely, she said.

And now she gathered the children’s clothes and tied them in a dirty sheet to make a bundle that their father could carry. He was coming later that day to take his little ones across the tracks to the settlement where he had a small farm.

“Please come with us, Granny,” they tugged at her skirts. “I have someone to take care of,” she said placidly, as she plucked button daisies and held them in her sweating fists, hobbling slowly towards her husband’s grave.

Word Count : 175

Thank you to Louise Bunting with The Storyteller’s Abode for the prompt photo this week.

This is my submission for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Challenge, where we are given a photo prompt and approximately 100-175 words with which to build our stories. The challenge is open to everyone who would like to participate.

The Brook


In the day, the brook had murmured soothingly. It had been bright and sunny, the grass had smelt sweet and the glistening of the metallic bridge made them squint. The children had been quite content playing on the grassy bank while Kiara kept an eye on them. The warmth made her drowsy but she did not give in to sleep, listening placidly to the laughing and the high pitched squeals.

Now, in the gathering dark, the flashlights made the shadows look deep and eerie. There was silence except for the scramble of the rescue team’s shoes on the loose stones and the squelch of the wet mud. The lights shone on a little red sock caught in the bushes. Kiara screamed in her mind while she fought to catch her breath.

Word Count: 131.

Posted in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy.

The Dream


Rachel woke up with a start. The storm had gathered force and there was a lone window banging somewhere. The wind whooshed around the turrets and through the crevices in the ancient stone walls. The walls were crumbling in places and she could sometimes hear loose stones rattling down the sides of the huge castle. She could hear voices when she walked along the passages of the magnificent house. It was just such a night when she had first dreamt of her new house, this castle. Her wealthy suitor was surprised to have her hand so fast in marriage. So, here she was, a few months later, in the historic, rambling house with an army of servants at her beck and call. And now she had dreamt of a pool of blood.
She didn’t even flinch as she heard the blood curdling scream.

Word Count: 143. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, a photo prompt challenge, hosted by Priceless Joy.



She shut her eyes against the sunlight filtering in from the closed curtains. The sound of the ball being bounced about in the tennis court brought on a pounding headache-the kind she was quite prone to now.

She looked at her son’s peaceful face as he snored gently, the carefree sleep of an eight year old. They had been at this for the past five days; having a party all night, walking the lawns, sighting the moon, listening to the waves crash on the boulders. And then sleeping away for the most part of the day.

Trying to shut out the memories of her husband, his father. Hearing his baritone above the sound of the ball. Of his scream as he jumped from the balcony. They had been asleep but she heard the final cry as he plunged seven stories to the concrete floor below.

“Mom”, he cried in his sleep, sobbing imperceptibly. “No, don’t push, Mom”.

Word Count: 158

Posted in response to the flash fiction challenge hosted by Priceless Joy- Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers . The photo prompt is used to write a short story of 100-150 words.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers-Bits of paper


Bits of Paper

Sam slowed down whenever he cycled past the big bookstore. He usually cycled around the block a couple of times before he got up the courage to stop, lean the cycle against the lamp post and walk right in. Mr. Roy, the burly bookshop owner would not even look up from the cash register to acknowledge Sam.

Sam would get down to work right away. Sweeping, dusting, rearranging, always fearful, looking over his shoulder furtively, tingling with the anticipation of the routine beating that he seemed to invite. Still, he had courage enough to gather the bits of brown wrapping paper and stick them in his waistband, underneath the jacket, for his baby sister to play with. Life under the flyover was cold, bare, hungry but the paper bits made her happy.

Word count : 132

Posted in response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge.