Treasure Hunters

Roger sighed. He had been promised gold, but all he’d seen were enough rocks to last him a lifetime and an expanse of cold, grey-green ocean.

After hours of searching the rugged shorelines of the islands, treasure still seemed to be in short supply.

He turned to Marie, who was scrutinizing the worn fragments of map with pursed lips and furrowed brow.

“Time to turn back, I think,” he said. “Storm’s coming in.”

Marie shook her head. “No. My great-grandfather’s treasure is out here somewhere.”

“He probably spent it all on rum,” Roger said. “I know I would. My point is–”

“There!” Marie pointed. “That’s it! Raven’s Point.”

The outcrop was just like the shape on the map: a rough outline of a raven’s beak extending over the waters.

And beneath, there was a cave.

Marie smiled.

“Full speed ahead.”

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Word Count: 140

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Louise for providing the photo prompt!

The All-Mother’s Path

Forty days Muirdain had walked the path of All-Mother Macca through the wilderness. Her fair skin was burnt crimson and her hair was a fiery tangle of curls and thorns. Her scabbard hung empty by her side.

By the foot of a green hill, where stone steps carried on the ancient path, she met a woman, clothed in rags, her eyes milk-white and her teeth rot-brown. The woman called to her.

“Pilgrim, have you water for an old woman?”

Muirdain stepped past her.

“Spare a moment.”

Muirdain kept climbing.

“What brings you to this road?”

“Penance,” Muirdain replied. “The Queen asked that I walk the All-Mother’s path. Only then may I earn my sword again.”

“Then stop and spare me some water.”

Muirdain didn’t look back.

The All-Mother sighed. Three times she had tested the knight and three times Muirdain had failed.

She did not give fourth chances.

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Word Count: 148

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and J.S. Brand for providing the prompt photo!

Missing

He stood on the edge and breathed. His eyes closed, he felt the wind against his cheeks, the cement under his feet, and the emptiness in front of him, pulling at him like an eager lover.

He heard the screeches of tiers, the laughter of children, and the honk of horns. The city throbbed around, a living, pulsing organism.

Whispers and shouts rose up from below. People were watching him.

They were waiting for him to fall.

His heard pounded in his chest. It had to be now, before someone came up to stop him. Before he lost his courage.

A thought rushed through his mind – Flying is just throwing yourself at the ground and missing. He smiled.

And stepped out into nothing.

He felt the wind against his cheeks, the air under his feet, and the emptiness around him.

He opened his eyes and laughed.

He was flying.

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Word Count: 149

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Grant-Sud for providing the prompt photo!

Guardian of the Tomb

A hiss and a slow, winding slither. A flicker of a flame-thin tongue between two white teeth.

Kenna froze under the branches of the ancient tree, inches from the cracked, moss-covered gateway into the ancient tomb, and stared at the serpent hanging down in front of her, its scales shimmering in the evening light.

A single venomous bite and she’d be dead. A movement, a breath, could startle it and she’s be done for before she could move.

But wait and it might strike anyway.

Her hand twitched, a subtle movement towards her belt. The serpent’s tongue flashed.

Her fingers closed on cold steel and the serpent lunged, mouth spread wide.

The machete hacked through the writhing coils and the serpent’s head flew off, landing amidst the stones.

Kenna’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked down at the bloodstained steel.

Then she stepped forward, into the tomb’s shadow.

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Word Count: 150

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Kecia Spartin for providing the prompt photo!

How It Happened

Nobody was sure quite how the deer had got on the roof.

Little pink-jacketed Susan, her frizzy hair flying in all directions and her hands unable to stay still for an instant, suggested it came from Santa’s sleigh. It wasn’t Christmas, but the deer must get bored waiting in the shed, so this one wandered off and got stuck on the roof.

Her father Mark fiddled nervously with his glasses and ran his hand through the tight curls of his hair, muttering about how it could have leapt from one object to another.

Grizzled Grandpa John, dressed in worn jeans and a stained white vest, just spat out a brown glob of tobacco and kept cutting wood.

Sarah crossed her arms, looked at her daughter, her husband, and her father, and asked the more important question.

Nobody was quite sure how to get the deer down from the roof either.

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Word Count: 152

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Mark for providing the prompt photo!

Clouddancer

One step after the other. Feel the song. It’s simple.

Orange light streaks through the clouds. Like she’s dancing on fire. The clouds are soft under her bare toes, rising up around her ankles.

Below, cars, roads, and buildings drift past. Gravity-bound grids of ground-walkers.

Most of them don’t even look at the sky, shot through with shimmering lights, and the rings of clouds, billowing like ripples in a pond. They don’t hear the song of the birds or heed the beautiful mystery of shadows.

She spares them a laugh, sweet as spring’s first lily, and a tear, glistening golden as it falls in a single raindrop.

Clouddancer watches the Sun fall below the distant hills and dances a greeting to first twinkling stars.

And the stars dance back.

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Word Count: 129

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Footy and Foodie for providing the prompt photo!

The Last Knight

Each night, as the red sun dipped over the horizon, Lorena stood by the castle gates, looking out upon the moonlit moorland. Her sword was in her hand, the rings of her mail shone gold-bright, and her dark eyes glinted beneath her polished helm.

The wind blew cold against her cheek and carried the whispers of far-off voices: her mother lost to plague, her father slain by steel, and her bold love Badogund who had ridden over the hills into battle never to return.

They begged her to come to them, to kneel before the darkness that lurked upon the moor, the shadows that spread through the skies, and the black-eyed emperor in his rough-hewn throne.

Lorena stood firm.

They tested her each night for a hundred years and still she did not yield.

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Word Count: 135

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and The Magesticgoldenrose for providing the prompt photo!