Flash Fiction Challenge 4 at #OurAuthorGang

 Challenge accepted by guest author Sara Sartagne

Flash fiction is a concise form of prose storytelling consisting of self-contained stories that may also be referred to as sudden fiction, short-short stories, micro-fiction, or micro-stories. This particular genre is highly regarded by renowned English writers for its ability to convey profound insights and timeless human emotions within a few short paragraphs.

Sara's challenge was to write a flash fiction story of less than 500 words, based on this picture:

The photo album

The photo album sat on a shelf, and I could draw my finger through the dust that had settled on it. I drew it carefully towards me, away from the old postcards, received three years ago, out of date coupons for money off milk and baked beans, and a bit of string tied in a careful bow. She would have used that string in the garden, I thought, and blowing gently to remove most of the grime, I settled at the kitchen table and opened the stiff pages.

She stared out at me, fresh-faced, her smile as bright as sunlight, her shining eyes crinkling at the edges. She peeked over the bouquet of freesias, Lilly of the Valley and eucalyptus and dared the future. I could still hear her giggle as she only just kept her feet climbing out of the car, nearly putting her stiletto heel through her veil.    

I leafed through the pages, recognising friends, relatives that had been ancient then, let alone now, on a sunny August day that I could still recall as almost too hot for comfort. And there was I, ten pounds lighter, skin less lined, hair a different colour, wearing a preposterous hat (had I worn it for a dare?). I leaned close to her, laughing at the sheer joy of the day with her. I recall we hated the vicar’s ponderous voice and patronising sermon, a church wedding only to pacify her mother-in-law to-be, and how the chicken had been over cooked at the wedding breakfast.

I sat back, remembering. The church bells echoed through the chatter and the laughter, and later the overpowering, throat-catching smell of lilies (another mother-in-law to-be demand). The endless expanse of green lawns, sweltering in the midsummer heat and the gentle clinking of champagne glasses as everyone relaxed at the posh hall.

She slipped your excruciating heels off under the top table and wriggled her toes throughout the meal, discarding them altogether when the dancing started. Even so, she was a little taller than her husband, but stared adoringly into his eyes. The song was by Coldplay, saccharine but absolutely right for the occasion.

Her going away outfit included trainers, to the horror of her (now) mother-in-law, but no-one else cared or noticed, such was the blaze of love in her face. Such happiness, it was hard to look at the pictures too long.

I reach the last page and on it was a headshot of her, smiling into the camera, her eyes soft with elation and hope. But in this last photo, the tear on her cheek surprised me.

Until I realised it was mine. 

Sara Sartagne

https://sarasartagne.com

Sara Sartagne writes women’s fiction featuring brave women, often weaving love stories through the narrative. Her English Garden Romance series reflects her passion for gardening. The novellas are downloadable from her website. The Duality books combine contemporary and historical plots into award-winning standalone dual timelines. She lives in East Yorkshire, moving from London to a HUGE garden in 2019.

Flash Fiction Challenge 3 #OurAuthorGang

 Challenge accepted by Eva Bielby

Flash fiction is a concise form of prose storytelling consisting of self-contained stories that may also be referred to as sudden fiction, short-short stories, micro-fiction, or micro-stories. This particular genre is highly regarded by renowned English writers for its ability to convey profound insights and timeless human emotions within a few short paragraphs.

Eva's challenge was to write a flash fiction story of less than 500 words, based on this picture:

Felicity

Felicity recalled the day it all happened, and the despair she felt. She and her two babies were unceremoniously evicted from the house they once called home. The house where her children aged twenty months and ten weeks should have grown up. Of course it was all his fault – Adam, her soon-to-be, ex-husband! It was the threatening letters from the mortgage company and her subsequent ‘chat’ about the matter with him that she learned of the massive gambling debts he’d accumulated. Their car, plus the large electrical items (bought on finance) were all repossessed. He pleaded, even cried, as she told him to get out and disappear, though afterwards she felt guilty. He was the kid’s dad, after all.

Later the same afternoon, after spending hours making calls (in a café), desperate to find some form of help, that help arrived. A charitable organisation arranged some temporary accommodation for her little family. They gave an address where she was to meet with a representative from the organisation at six pm and sign the necessary paperwork. Felicity left the café and struggled along in the rain, pushing the double buggy one-handed and pulling a humongous suitcase on wheels with the other. Hard work. The case held their meagre possessions. All that she crammed in – clothes for the three of them. Not having funds to pay someone to transport household items to, or for that matter, a storage facility, it was all she could manage. Her parents lived at the opposite end of the country. The purse full of coins she had wouldn’t cover the train fare to them.

And now, three months later, still stuck in the grotty little bed-sit with the second hand cot (a charitable donation) squashed in next to her bed. Both babies slept together each night, top to toe. The only means of cooking - a dilapidated microwave. She’d needed money from somewhere, anywhere. The universal credit from the benefits system barely covered the extortionate monthly rent. Desperation set in over the last four weeks and she’d done things she wasn’t proud of. Caught shop-lifting, she’d hidden stolen food items in the buggy behind the back of her toddler. The store-manager took pity on her after she’d been hauled into his office, uncontrollably sobbing as she related her sad story to him. Yet, far worse than theft, unforgiveable even, she was taking a man back to the bedsit but thankfully, had a change of heart. She had thought about selling her body for money –next to the cot which held her two sleeping babies. All because she cared about feeding her babies and keeping the roof (grim as it was) over their heads. A sixteen year old girl from next door, her babysitter while she roamed the street, turned her nose up at the offered ten pound note. She snatched the offered note rather ungratefully. Felicity was destitute after she’d paid the girl the ten pounds.

Felicity had lost all hope and was unsure which way and to who to turn to next. Her hands trembled as she opened her only letter that morning – a five thousand pound cheque from her parents. Her guardian angels.

Eva Bielby

https://www.evabielby.co.uk

Eva Bielby was born in North Yorkshire in the Northeast of England. She has spent over thirty years of her working life as a company accountant. Eva has a keen interest in spiritualism/mediumship and has attended several workshops to develop her skills further. During her quieter moments, Eva enjoys a cryptic crossword, sudoku, and gardening.

Flash Fiction Challenge 2 #OurAuthorGang

 Challenge accepted by Dawn Treacher

Flash fiction is a concise form of prose storytelling consisting of self-contained stories that may also be referred to as sudden fiction, short-short stories, micro-fiction, or micro-stories. This particular genre is highly regarded by renowned English writers for its ability to convey profound insights and timeless human emotions within a few short paragraphs.

Dawn's challenge was to write a flash fiction story of less than 500 words, based on this picture:

Waiting

By Dawn Treacher

Time. Place. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t look behind me, spot faces in a crowd, add locks to my door or change my daily patterns. He or she was coming. If it wasn’t today then it would be tomorrow or the day after that. I only had myself to blame, I could point to a dysfunctional upbringing, but who around here didn’t have that. I could argue temptation overcame my better judgement, but I’ve never weighed risks against consequences. Life was the here and now. I grabbed opportunities, excelled in consumption of all illicit forms, revelled in civil disobedience if the goal tempted me. Only this time I did something worse. I gambled with my soul. Now a bullet had my name on, if not all that I held dear as collateral too.

I’d not lived long enough to have kids who’d miss me. I’d not have won any recommendations in any job for I never held one down more than a few months anyway. I had no certificates to frame upon my wall. Hell, I had no real place I could call home. I slipped from hostel to hostel, slept on couches in return for favours. I’d walked the streets at night when it was too cold to huddle down in a doorway. Of late, I’d earned enough to rent a room, it was little more than that. But I didn’t want to die. Not this way. I wasn’t one for ambition or goal setting, I had no great desire to strike off a bucket list of sorts either. But when you dabble with evil, well they don’t forget and they sure don’t forgive.

The street was quiet for a Wednesday night. Those that walked the pavements paid me no attention. I kept my hands in my pockets, my eyes straight ahead. In the beginning I was scared, but not any longer. When death seems certain there is no longer anything to fear. Fear is the unknown. Once you know your fate, you have time to plan, time to think.

An assassin costs money and evil has deep pockets. One shot would be all it took. But you see, I had nothing to lose, yet everything to gain. And maybe luck would be on my side. In a city that rarely slept and where eyes watched all and everything, the deed would need to be clean. No blunders. No living witness. No mess to clean up. Evil may have hearts as dark as the devil himself but those who gave the orders, bore the brunt of exposure, well, they didn’t want to be known when blood was spilled in their name.

So when I saw him walk out of the shadows, I led him into the open, walked straight towards him. I faced death, looked down the barrel of a gun. I raised my hands skywards, shouting out the words.

“O.Neilly, I saw, I coveted and I stole. May my death be your sin.”

Eyes may have seen, ears may have listened, but the bullet was silent. The rhetoric gone.

Dawn Treacher

www.dawntreacher.com

Dawn Treacher is based in North Yorkshire, England. She writes in both adult crime fiction and children's middle grade fantasy adventures. She is also an illustrator of children's fiction, an artist and plush artist. She runs both a writing critique group and a creative writing group and goes into schools to promote storytelling.

Flash Fiction Challenge 1 #stories4you from #OurAuthorGang

 Challenge accepted by Erika M Szabo

Flash fiction is a concise form of prose storytelling consisting of self-contained stories that may also be referred to as sudden fiction, short-short stories, micro-fiction, or micro-stories. This particular genre is highly regarded by renowned English writers for its ability to convey profound insights and timeless human emotions within a few short paragraphs.

Erika's challenge was to write a flash fiction story of less than 500 words, based on this picture:

One Small Step at a Time

By Erika M Szabo

After thirty-five years of a blissful marriage, Michael's heart was broken when he lost his beloved wife. They didn’t have children, and their relatives lived in different states. For two years, Michael felt lost and lonely without her. But then, he met Sara, a widow close to his age. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he had found someone to spend the rest of his life with.

The first few months after Sara moved in were like a trial period for their relationship. They both made small compromises and got used to living together. One thing Michael had always disliked was handling paperwork and bills, so he was relieved when Sara offered to take care of all their finances.

Then one day, after a daylong medical appointment, Michael found the house empty. Sara’s clothes, personal items, and all his valuable possessions were gone. All she left behind was her passport, driver’s license, and a short note: I can't live with you any longer, I'm moving to Europe. The next day he found out his bank account had been emptied. Michael felt devastated. He had lost everything, including his sense of self, which hurt the most. The police discovered that the woman he trusted had used a fake identity, the real Sara Gutfield passed away in 1902.

Then he went through the heart surgery that was already scheduled. It took a toll on his already shattered spirit. The recovery process was long and difficult, but amid his darkest moments, he found solace in something unexpected: gardening.

As he planted each seed and saw the first signs of green emerging, Michael felt a sense of rejuvenation, as if a flame inside him had been reignited. He dedicated countless hours to nurturing his small garden, meticulously watering and trimming each plant, finding solace in routine and tranquil isolation.

As he worked, Michael found himself lost in thought, his mind wandering to happier times. Memories of his childhood in the countryside, of long afternoons spent playing in the fields, flooded back to him. The memories brought tears in his eyes when he thought about the happy years he spent with his beloved wife.

In the garden, he found a connection to his past and a sense of purpose in the present. Even as his strength slowly returned, Michael continued to find refuge in his garden. He nursed a sickly-looking cherry tree back to health, and as he watched it bloom for the first time in years, he realized that not only the sickly tree, but he too was also healing. He was finding his way back to himself one small step at a time.

Erika M Szabo

https://authorerikamszabo.com

Erika loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introducing her story-writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination with themes such as magical realism, alternate history, urban fantasy, cozy mystery, sweet romance, and supernatural stories. Her children’s stories are informative and educational and deliver moral values in a non-preachy way.

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