Posts Tagged ‘short fiction’

spoonerla-sign_of_the_rose-revised

Hey everyone! Sorry for being gone so long – I’m going to try to get back on top of posting – but I return with exciting news! My short story, “Sign of the Rose,” has been published by Crimson Streets, who also published “The Lazarus Riddle.” It’s a Victorian-era murder mystery which I’m quite proud of.

They have also provided the above gorgeous illustration by L.A. Spooner that I cannot praise enough. It captures the gothic mood of the story perfectly and I would not have chosen any other scene to depict.

Please take the time to check the story out if you have a minute!

“Someone’s coming for us,” Calvin said as he sat down opposite Algernon Brook’s padded brown armchair, searching the shadows behind the looming bookcases in the study as though they might hide paper-thin assassins. “They killed Cameron and we’re next.”

Read Sign of the Rose here!

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piano-anshu

There was a tree that grew music.

In spring, it sprouted symphonies. March overtures became triumphant swellings by May. On a mild April day, the melodies shamed the birds to silence.

In summer, the music continued, but it seemed to most that it was dimmer, paler. Not a patch on its earlier stuff, most people said.

In fall, it was nearly bare. A couple crisp, drying notes still clung to the branches. The birds sang over them and they shriveled in silence.

Come winter, there was no music left.

But spring would come again soon enough.


Word Count: 96

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

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tltweek163

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Offers not valid in cities under martial law, territories outside the Protective Zone, or available to any citizen considered “non-desirable.” 


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

bonfire-anshu

The fire was the only light left in the cold, black night.  The last star had flickered out, the sky an endless mass of shadow.

An old man sat in the firelight and thought of worlds that had been, lives lost, the stories there was nobody left to remember. The night closed in around him. There would be no dawn.

“Is it over?” the Voice asked.

“Almost,” the old man replied.

“A shame. But nothing lasts forever.”

“A good universe. Still. There’s always the next one.”

The fire went out and there was only night.


Word count: 95

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

from-renee-heath

The three watched the teepee like owls watching a rabbit hole.

“Very authentic,” said the first, skin like wrinkled paper, glasses perched on a thin nose. “A splendid recreation.”

“I love the little campfire,” said the second, bluing hair in unnatural curls. “So primitive.”

The third, splotched red with sunburn, snorted, making his mustache tremble. “Fire’s nice. But where’s the Injun? They promised me an Injun.”

Inside the inauthentic teepee, Biashan checked his bank app. The money had gone through.

Time to entertain a few more white fools, he thought and pulled on a headdress he’d bought from the Halloween store.


Word Count: 100

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

tltweek154

Verity hangs in the air, gravity tugging, orange curls flaring behind her, the deep water so far below and she remembers what her mother said: “Never jump unless you know you’ll land on your feet.”

But the rocks were placed so perfectly, one after the next, each just a little further, the waters between them a little darker, until at last she jumped and knew she wouldn’t make it.

The waters give way, tearing like silk, and she falls on, down into another sky, strange wind on her face, song in her ears, and a kaleidoscope of stars in her eyes.


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

image

The line moves in spasms, little fits of stopping and starting. All around: coughing, grumbling, the whining and crying of children, the barks of irritated adults. He is adrift in a river of misery, drawn slowly on towards the little booths with their tired attendants and thumping stamps.

He clutches his passport, making sure he has it close. He won’t need it for another ten minutes – perhaps twenty – but he wants to be ready. Announcements echo: last calls for flights to cities he has never heard of, messages to people he does not know. He tugs his suitcase closer, trying to make space for the couple behind, shoving forward like all this is for them and everyone else is an inconvenience.

A traveller and her family are pulled aside. He’s not sure if they’re being giving a pass to the front or an interrogation, but she follows the attendant with dignity, even with two children tugging at her legs.

He tries not to pay attention to security guards with their guns in their holsters and their stern faces as the crowd surges again. An anxious voice tells him something’s gone wrong.

He checks his watch. It’s only been three minutes.


Word Count: 200

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to Susan for running the challenge!