Posts Tagged ‘3LineTales’

tltweek98

The bear – a little too white, too soft – frolicked in the pristine snow and the little girl clapped her hands, smile spread to show her slightly-crooked white teeth.

“It’s beautiful, daddy,” she said, tugging at his hand like she was trying to pull it off.

But he remembered when there had been real bears, when there had been real snow, when there had been a world outside holograms and domes, so very, very long ago.


This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for providing the challenge and Caterina Sanders for providing the prompt photo!

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tltweek97

Grandmother had a door painted in all the colours of the sea – from blue to green to grey – and it was always locked with a chain of unbreaking iron.

They said that she had wrestled with the god of the waters and bound him with iron, stone, and wood – a three-fold charm.

When I pressed my ears against the wood, I could hear the ocean – the crash of surf driven endlessly against the cliffs, the cry of lonely birds over grey waves, and the soft whisper of a cold sea breeze.


This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Bogdan Dada for providing the prompt photo!

tltweek96

His hair white with frost, his fingers wrapped tight around the reins, the boy urged the pony on into the swirling storm. It faltered, whimpered, then fell to the snow-strewn rocks, the boy tumbling with it.

He picked himself up, pulled the scroll from the saddlebag, and went on into the storm alone.


This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Patrick Wittke for the prompt photo!

tltweek94

In the days before the fall of Britain, in the court of Arthur, there was a boy named Gareth who cleaned pots and pans while the knights drank and boasted of their great deeds. “Beautiful hands,” they called him, jeering and drunk, while he rubbed his fingers raw on their plates.

But he knew that one day he would have deeds to boast of, that one day he would sit with them at the round table, that one day he would be a kitchen boy no more.


This is for 3 Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Scott Umstattd for providing the prompt photo!

tltweek92

A thousand earth-born stars, the lanterns rose high over the river, shining bright in the darkness.

Each contained a spark, a flame, a soul ready to take flight and move beyond the curtain of night.

Little Tai sat on the riverbank, her eyes red-rimmed, and wondered how to call them back.


This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and gn dim for the prompt photo!

tltweek91

The crows remember, passing stories on through generations in oral histories and great epics, the stories of crows and men and gods. They remember firelight on the stones, secrets whispered in the dead of a Bronze Age night.

And they try to tell us these stories but, of course, we cannot understand the language of crows.


This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Julien Laurent for providing the prompt photo!

tltweek89

Red text flashed fluorescent against the brickwork as the scholars leaned closer, each trying to gently elbow the others out of the way to get a better look.

“It’s utterly impossible for it to have just suddenly appeared from nowhere,” Professor Night concluded, tugging at his tuft of white beard, “and yet it is also utterly impossible for it to have been put here by anyone, so therefore we come to an unescapable conclusion: the Sign does not exist.”

A sheet was put over the Sign and none of them ever mentioned it again.


This is for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Austin Chan for providing the prompt photo!