sunday photo fictioner

Flash Fiction: Trash

This was it, the last hope for me.

I plod towards the trash can, the only thing could save me from starvation. I could not recall the last time I had eaten a proper meal, which for me was half a sandwich. I opened the lid in hungry anticipation, only to find it completely empty. The garbage truck had come and gone before time.

Dejected, I looked around. My eyes met with a kid’s eyes. He was staring at me. In his left hand, he clutched a rather large lollipop. He saw me looking at it, and held it out towards me. He smiled at me as I shuffled towards him. I reached out my arm to take the lollipop. He promptly pulled back his hand and stuck the lollipop in his mouth. I could only watch as he finished the lollipop making sure I knew how much he was enjoying the lollipop. After he was done, he stuck out a purple tongue at me and turned around.

The lollipop looked tasty, but as my tummy grumbled, the kid began looking tastier…

Word Count: 182


Sunday Photo Fiction: January 6th, 2018

Flash Fiction: The Food House

I was walking back home on an alternate route, with my friend, Emily,

“Andy, it is almost Halloween. We should not be here.”

“Why’s that?”

“The Food House appears here.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a house, that entices you into going inside by making you smell amazing food. And once you go inside…”

“…You never return. Right?”

I sniggered.

“Come on, Em. It’s a made-up story.”

Suddenly, I spotted a house and could smell delicious grilled chicken. Emily went into a hypnotic state and briskly started walking towards the door. I looked at the window.

I saw an old lady wearing a chef’s hat, brandishing a spatula, smiling a toothless smile….

Word Count: 110


Sunday Photo Fiction Sept 30, 2018

Weekend Writing Prompt #74 – Brandish


Flash Fiction: Highway to Hell

Mathew pushed down on the accelerator, breezing on the highway.

He turned up the music when the familiar AC/DC track began playing on the radio. Mathew sniggered.

How appropriate.

Mathew knew that there was a bleak chance at best to defeat the berserk demon. The scars on his breast began throbbing, because his borrowed vitality was fading. Mathew thought back on last week when the demon had appeared in front of him in a black billow of smoke. Mathew had looked into its bloodshot eyes, before it had swiftly struck him down. Its razor-sharp nails had made a huge gash on his chest. He remembered the spray of blood pouring out from it, causing him to collapse on the ground. As he lay in a pool of his blood, Mathew could only watch as the demon proceeded to briskly destroy his family and friends, shredding them to pieces and feasting on their flesh and bones. Mathew had felt himself falling into a bottomless pit of darkness. That is when he had heard a voice, offering him a deal. An eternity of servitude in exchange for vengeance. Mathew had accepted.

Now, he was bringing hell to the demon…

(Read the sequel here – Flash Fiction: Nemesis )

Word Count: 200


Bonus Wordle “The Letter B”

Sunday Photo Fiction – Sept 23, 2018

Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt: Scars


Flash Fiction: Sunday At Sea

The weather was perfect for a nice day at the sea.

It was Sunday, their Sea-day. Every week for the last four years, the couple had gone sunbathing in the sea. This Sunday was no different. The two had booked their regular floating double-chair, waddled their way to it, and plopped themselves on it. It was their recharge zone. The swaying waves, delightful breeze and the mild sun helped them relax their bodies and minds after slogging hard at work. The two slept back, listening to the jazz on their waterproof i-pods. They painted a picture of sheer serenity with the sunlight being reflected off the suntan gloss on their resting bodies.

The picture remained serene only for a couple of hours. The oblivious couple failed to notice the crowd rushing out of the sea.

They also failed to notice the approaching giant shark fin.

Word Count: 145


Sunday Photo Fiction – Sept 16 2018

Word of the Day Challenge – Gloss

Flash Fiction: Bagpiper

“Well laddie, are you sure about this? It won’t be easy.”

The burly man was looking at me with doubtful eyes.

“Yes, sir. I’m sure.”

He nodded at me.

“Very well. Then I suggest…”

Before he could finish his sentence, I heard my friends running towards me.

“Hey Ian! Whatchya doing here? Let’s go to the guitar section.”

“You go on ahead, guys. I will join you in a bit.”

Darren looked at me suspiciously.

“Say Ian, are you interested in bagpipes?”

I nodded at him. My friends looked at each other for a second and then burst out laughing.

“You are such a loser, Ian. Everyone knows bagpipes is for old men. Guitars are the cool stuff. Let’s go guys!”

I watched as my friends turned around and went towards the guitar section of the exhibition. I looked up at the man, who had witnessed my interaction with my friends. I could feel tears welling up. The man smiled at me and ruffled my hair.

“Don’t listen to them, laddie. If you really want to learn bagpipes, do it. I will teach you. Do your best, and prove them wrong.”

I smiled back, at my new mentor.

Word Count: 198


Sunday Photo Fiction – Sept 9, 2018

Tale Weaver #187 – Doing Your Best – 6th September


Flash Fiction: Outlaw

Another day, another kill.

As a kid, I loved outlaws. Listening about their exploits: those daring raids, those glorious heists and that volatile lifestyle, I adored all of it. It was every kid’s dream to become an outlaw in the wild west. Then, it all changed. Outlaws attacked my family ranch. Dragged me and my parents out of the house, and made me watch as they shot them.

Now, I loathe outlaws. And they fear me, The Dark Sheriff.

Word Count: 79


Sunday Photo Fiction – Sept 2, 2018

Weekend Writing Prompt #70 – Outlaw

FOWC with Fandango — Loathe

Word of the Day Challenge – Volatile

Flash Fiction: The Inn

Marak trudged through the slushy roads, making sickening squishy sounds with every step.

It had been a long trek, and Marak’s heavy backpack was weighing him down. He pined for a hot meal. He had never gone hungry for even a day before this, let alone three. He had almost made up his mind to toss his bag, when he spotted The Inn.

He could feel hope re-enter his body. He summoned his remaining strength and dragged his heavy load to The Inn’s door. He saw that a notice hung on the door. It was written in a script he did not understand, so he paid it no heed. He pushed lightly on the door with the intent to knock, but to his surprise, the door swung open. Marak saw a round table with hooded figures sitting at it. One of them spoke up.

“How did you enter the secret lair?”

Marak shrugged.

“The Inn has been enchanted to allow only the greatest of individuals to enter. Individuals who are destined to change the world. You, young man are one such person. Chosen by Fate itself.”

Marak scratched his nose.

“All that’s fine, mate. But, do you serve food here?

Word Count: 200


Sunday Photo Fiction August 26, 2018

SocS August 25/18

Flash Fiction: Derelict

Her job was to keep the pesky birds away from the garden.

She was to be a vigilant lookout. However, the new LED TV ruined it all. She ignored her duties and diverted all her attention to soaps and football.

That derelict scarecrow was soon fired.

Word Count: 46


Sunday Photo Fiction August 19, 2018

Weekend Writing Prompt #68


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”