Posts Tagged ‘microfiction’

After the Rain

Posted: October 2, 2019 by J.A. Prentice in Flash Fiction
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The sky was a miserable grey over the abandoned, rain-drenched pier as she stood on the very edge, looking into the beckoning deep, feeling the damp in her bones.

At the last moment, she took a breath and looked up to see a sky lit up by the shimmering bands of a rainbow.

She walked home, watching how the light played in the puddles and smelling that wonderful after-rain smell.

This for Three Line Tales, Week 192. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Sara Riaño for providing the prompt photo!



It would be five hundred years that Thursday since the monks had begun their long watch of the Sleeper Who Must Not Wake, keeping up a constant chant and a constant vigil.

Since in those five hundred years (give or take a day), the Sleeper had done nothing of interest and shown no sign of doing anything but mummifying, the Abbot decided he could take an afternoon to head down to the village and try some of the local, artisanal coffee the tourists were always going on about.

He had been there thirty minutes when he saw dark clouds gathering about the mountain.

This is for Three Line Tales, Week 187. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Manthan Gupta for providing the prompt photo!


The pub  is off a side street between a takeaway and a cramped alleyway. Step through the door and hear the ring of an old ship’s bell and see something beyond imagining.

A whale skeleton stretches across the ceiling, vast and white and overwhelming. Tanks flutter with bubbles and sealife churning and creeping amongst strands of seaweed and bright coral.

There are never many customers, but the proprietor is always there, a secret smile on his pale face, dusting an ancient harpoon.

Remember what you can. You will never find this place again. Your memories fade, dreams in daylight.

Word Count: 99

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Dale Rogerson for providing the prompt photo!


There was once a girl who could talk to horses. This would have been a better gift if horses had anything interesting to say, but horses were not renowned for their conversational skills.

She did enjoy telling them who to kick.

This is for Three Line Tales, Week 186. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Melanie Dretvic for providing the prompt photo!


There were two ways to win a dirigible race. One was to be the fastest. The other was to always have a sharp object handy.

The Baron–simply the Baron, name and adjective-less to admirers and competitors alike–preferred the second way. He was quite thankful for the accident that took his left hand. Nobody tried to take your hook from you.

He smiled as his dirigible rose and Stevenson’s did not. Stevenson shook a fist in the air, but the rest of him remained on the ground and out of the race.

Only one remained. The Baron set his eyes on Bellerose, floating ahead of him, a golden telescope pressed to her eye. She was looking ahead. Her first and last mistake. She should have been looking behind.

He adjusted the gas and his dirigible crept slowly ahead, closer to hers. His hook reached for the control to activate his needle-sharp ram.

She should have left her craft unguarded, like that fool Stevenson did. The fall would have been gentler.

Bellerose put down the telescope, turned her head, and smiled. Her eyes shone with fire.

The Baron realized he had entirely underestimated his competition. It was his last realization.

Word Count: 200

This is for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Week #33. Thanks to rogershipp for running the challenge!


She loved an elf with eyes like starlight, bright and unfading, and that was her curse, because for the elf each day was as the day before and those eyes were unchanging, while hers grew dim with the crawl of time.

And when she looked into those beloved eyes, she knew that she could never really understand what lay beneath them, no more than she could know what lay beyond the sky.

But she still she loved her elf, because she could not understand love either.

This is for Three Line Tales, Week 182. Thanks to Sonya for running the challenge and Rikki Austin for providing the prompt photo!


This close he can hear the clock ticking. He checks his rifle, glances at the hotel below. The target will be outside soon, off to sell secrets. His Employer doesn’t want that.

Any minute now.

Behind him, he hears his name. His real name. He turns.

He didn’t expect to see the most wanted woman in the world, smoking an e-cig.

“Don’t bother calling it in,” she says. “None of your equipment will work.”

He aims the rifle. “This will.”

“You won’t fire.”

“Why not?”

“You want to know what I’ll say.”

“Either you’re here to save him, or to kill me.”

“I’m here to tell you it doesn’t matter.” She shrugs. “He lives, your Employer runs a story about corporate spies, the  need for vigilance. He dies, the Competition runs one on the ruthlessness of your Employer.” Her breath is a cloud against the blue sky. “You know the only way to be sure to win a game? Play both sides.”

She’s lying. He knows she’s lying. But if she isn’t–

The target exits the hotel.

He watches through the sights, finger on the trigger.

He might pull it. He might not.

It might make no difference at all.

Word Count: 200

This is for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Week 30. Thanks to rogershipp for running the challenge!