Too late

Five Sentence Fiction

Prompt: Scorching

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Too late

She could feel the scorching heat against her face on the wind.

The farm was almost entirely engulfed. James came back from the animal pens, his face dirty with ash and soot and his clothes torn and dirty.

“Could you save them?” she asked.

His face was full of guilt as he answered, “They’re all gone.”

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The last thirteen

100 Word challenge for grown ups – Week#158

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Prompt: … the 13…

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The last thirteen

The last thirteen of general Philip’s army were at last spotted spotted returning to the Keep early one New Spring morning.

Rosaline ran across the pebbled marketplace. It filled with more and more eager wives and mothers each passing moment.

All waited to see who would be reunited. Rosaline pushed herself to the front of the silent crowd. It was a miserable, cold day with grey skies.

The Keep’s heavy doors were pushed open. General Philip led the remaining few in.

She reached out her hand to him, silently asking for her son.

They left her standing alone with his helmet.

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Changes

Lillie McFerrin Writes

Five sentence Fiction

Prompt: Changes

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Changes

Three days passed and on the morning of the fourth there came a knock on the door that pulled me from uneasy sleep.

A lumbering man with thick arms like trees and hard eyes, came inside followed by the still gracefulness of the king.

I sat dumbfounded against the now warmer walls of my corner as this mountain started speaking. I could understand every beautiful word from his scarred lips.

“The king has been making changes. You will no longer be executed.”

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Follows the post Isolated

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The day out

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100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups

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The day out

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“What’s on that island?”

He turned his head to peer over his shoulder. “We shouldn’t go there,” he answered, quickly.

She crossed her arms. The dog barked at a seagull that swooped down near to them. They were all quiet after, with only the still lapping of water against the deck. He turned his body. His eyes darted between the almost golden glow of the island and his young daughter. He sighed and pushed himself up from the railing.

“Daddy…”

“I met your mother on that island.”

She held her breath when she got excited.

“And that’s where she died…”

What will the neighbours think?

Mondays Finish the Story

Mondays Finish the Story

Finish the story begins with: “The neighbors were not happy about my choice of yard art.”

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© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

What will the neighbours think?

“The neighbours were not happy with my choice of yard art,” he said, crossing his arms.

We looked up at the gazing warrior whose eyes were permanently fixed on the blue sky.

“Why would they be?” I asked. “You only bought it to upset them.”

He smiled, proud that the statues hit all the right notes on his sour neighbours. “Well, they shouldn’t have pissed off the rich guy with ‘poor taste’.”

Poor taste was what had been said about his choice of wall hangings at his last party. I couldn’t argue with them. Thom had a knack of liking the peculiar. In all honesty, both buffalo and man fit right into his yard. I remained silent. He liked what he liked.

“I mean,” he continued. “Mrs. Smith has a backyard full of naked statues doing all kinds of weird stuff.”

“You really need to stop jumping on your trampoline to spy on your neighbours,” I said.

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Isolated

Five Sentence Fiction – Isolated

Lillie McFerrin Writes

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Isolated

He must have thought me a very strange creature and so with a wave of his hand I was dragged away to an isolated room far below the icy palace.

My cell had a tiny wooden bed frame lined with hay with only a piece of dirty fabric to keep me warm. There was an unlit fireplace dirty with soot and ash, and only one window, high above on the wall before me.

I sat in the corner beneath the window, where I could look at the iron door. I gathered my feet underneath me, refusing to let the cold drag me down further.

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Follows the post before the king -> Before the King

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Before the king

April 7 2015 Writing Prompt 100 Words

Velvet Verbosity‘s 100 word challenge

Prompt: Indulge

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Before the king

I had closed my eyes, waiting for teeth to rip through my flesh and indulge in my blood.

I opened my eyes (against my better judgement) when all I felt was hot breath against my cheek.

He stood in a statuesque state once more. Only his eyes moved. They darted back and forth, up and down. Was he trying to sense danger in me? How would I communicate that I wasn’t a threat? I was merely trying to observe his people?

Moving my arms were useless, but as best I could, I lifted my hands and held them up in surrender.

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Follows this post: King of Obsidian

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