Posts Tagged ‘3LineTales’

tltweek115

In her tower of brick and concrete, she lay and dreamt of a world where there were no locks on her door, where her father did not watch her with drink-red eyes, where her arms were not black and purple with bruises, where she could see her love again.

Knuckles tapped on the window and there he was, all smiles and curls, his face bruised but his hand outstretched.

“Rapunzel,” he whispered, “let down your hair.”


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

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tltweek110

It was at twelve-thirty-five on a Wednesday that the workers at the processing plant walked out. Their employer, a short man with a twitching little mustache, asked why and they told him that they hated the long monotonous hours, the low wages, the inadequate health care, the whine of the old machines, and the way the dull grey walls made the whole place feel like a prison.

“I hear you,” their employer said and he had the walls painted green.


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

tltweek109

When she was a girl, she dreamed of the things beyond the ocean, of strange shores and high-turretted castles, of pirates’ treasures buried deep, of mermaid kingdoms in the deep where men rode upon seahorses and blew horns of seashells.

The world told her there was no magic, no joy, no wonder, only more grey, bleak reality at the other side of the sea.

Yet some days, when she watched the light catch the waves and heard the calls of the gulls, she thought the world had it wrong.


For Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Jeremy Bishop for providing the prompt photo!

tltweek108

She is a shadow in the corner of their eye, a noise in the dead of a moonlit night, a whisper on their lips. Once a child saw her, dancing on the very edge of a building, perfectly balanced, her eyes like fireflies, her laugh like birdsong.

There is a faerie on these streets, they say, and she wears yellow shoes.


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

tltweek107

Nobody knew the name of the grey woman who lived by herself in a grey house on the edge of a grey cliff that overlooked a grey sea. When she died, they did not know who to call, for she had never had a single visitor in all the years they had known her.

Among her belongings, they found three battered diaries crammed full of poems, two withered roses, and a quilt sewn for a child that never was.


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

tltweek106

All was black and silent except for the escalator, its signs shining like beacons. Moments ago, the platform had been full of people, noise, trains, but now all that was gone.

He stepped onto the escalator and wondered where it would carry him to.


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

tltweek105

Once there was a yak-herder, who lived in a small hut the loneliest part of the steppe, where there was nothing but wild grass and cold wind for company.

One day, there came out of the mist a princess, riding on a grey-flanked pony, robed in fur and silk, whose eyes were like black moons and whose smile was like the dawn.

“I have no lodgings, no gifts, for one such as you,” he said, but she stayed with him through the night, laughing by the fire and drinking yak’s milk amongst the stench and the cold.


This for Three Line Tales. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Jacco Rienks for providing the prompt photo!