Flash Fiction – Broken Fence

The fence to her house lay broken. The petulant old woman looked out from the window.

The townsfolk always thought that the house was haunted. They absolutely believed that the old woman was a witch who knew all kinds of sorcery. She welcomed their superstition. She loved her peace and knew that fear kept all the annoying people away from her property. Atleast, it had managed to until today. Today, some teenagers had broken her fence, trying to show-off.

She removed her pen and wrote their names in her black book. Stupid teenagers.

Her fearful legend would expand, tonight…


(Read the next part HERE )

Word Count: 99


Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge July 12

Word of the Day Challenge “Petulant”

RDP #43 “Superstition”

FoWC with Fandango “Fear”

SoCS July 14/18

3TC 13th July 2018


Sort of delayed, but here’s my Friday the 13th post!! Bwahahaha! XD

Phew! Combined a lot of prompts for this one. Hope it turned out well.

Do let me know! 🙂

Happy Reading!




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Flash Fiction: Lunch

I was a regular at Sam’s Pub. I had been visiting it every day for the past decade, for lunch. Sam had been my best buddy since the good old days. Our allegiance kept me coming back for the same old grilled burger, every single day.

Today was no different. I was sitting in my usual spot, enjoying the beer and burger. Sam was at the bar, refilling the glass of the only other customer in the bar, a young brunette by the name of Wanda. She was nice lass, hard-working and extremely amiable. She raised her glass in toast and smiled at me. I toasted back and took a long sip from the glass. I had hardly bit into my burger, when the door of the pub swung open with great force, crashing into the wall. Sam looked indifferent, but I knew he was bugged. A tall well-built man stormed into the pub. Wanda looked terrified. He growled at her.

“Finally, found you, time to go.”

He grabbed her by the wrist, ignoring her protest. He brandished a knife and waved it at Sam and me.

I sighed and stood up.

The punk was going down, special ops style.

Word Count: 200


Sunday Photo Fiction June 23, 2018

FOWC with Fandango “Allegiance”

#SoCS June 23, 2018

Daily Addictions Word for the Day “Indifferent”


SoCS: The Barbecue

It was hot sunny afternoon. I was sitting on our lawn, along with dad. The ice-box lay open, within arm’s reach. A blanket of ice cubes comfortably covered Eight pints of beer, preserving their cold sanctity. They appeared all the more appealing in the mid-day heat. Dad’s eyes were covered with dark sunglasses, but I knew that even he was eyeing the pints. We had no choice. It was mom’s rule that the beer was not be touched until everyone had arrived.

It was our fortnightly family barbecue lunch. We were waiting for my uncle’s family to arrive. Mom was huddled over the grill, marinating the meat with her special mix of spices. Meanwhile, I and dad, were sizzling in the sun, not unlike the meat on the grill. The only redeeming factor was the amazing aroma emanating from the grill. It made me drool more profusely than the sun was making me sweat. My eyes longed for the sight of my uncle’s car. I heard it before I could it see it. The red sedan made more noise than a road roller. The car halted next to our lawn with a bang and rumble. My uncle and aunt got out of the car, followed by my cousin. As always, he was glued to his phone. My aunt carried a brown parcel in her hand and my uncle lugged a crate of beer. Dad and uncle grunted at each other and shook hands. They were both men of few words. Rather, their words only poured when they had poured beer into their bellies. Mom and aunt were quite opposite in this respect. They greeted each other and started chatting away about events that had transpired in the past few days. Events which were entirely inconsequential, in my opinion. Mrs. Wilson’s new petunias, Mr. Boyd’s knee surgery and what not.

As soon as my uncle and cousin had settled down next to us, dad and me reached into the box and grabbed our bottles. My uncle and cousin followed suit. Now, it felt blissful. However, with mom in the scene, calm bliss is usually never long-lasting. No sooner had I taken my first sip of the chilled amber liquid, I heard my mom screaming at my aunt.

“Not again, Susan! How many times do I have to tell you, if you decide to get the leg piece, make sure it is well-cleaned. The next time you bring a homeless guy’s legs to barbecue, shave the hair off first.”

Well, she did have a point. Nobody liked hair mixed in a mouthful of tender, succulent human meat.

Word Count: 435

Merging two prompts here! 🙂

The first one is “Grill” by Stream of Consciousness Saturday May 26/18

The second prompt is “Sizzle” by my buddy Kristian.

Kristian is looking at starting a prompts project, do check it out! 🙂


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