The Pearls

“I remember one day…” Mrs. McCallum stroked her cat with a wrinkled hand. “Father sat with me at his side and I listened to him play while Mother danced… We’d lost so much, but we still clung onto those pearls.”

Victoria Burton sighed. “Please try to remain focused. No extraneous details.”

“They were stolen.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow. “When?”

“I don’t know. I took them to an expert because they’d never been valued…” Mrs. McCallum looked at Victoria with deer-in-the-headlights eyes. “The pearls had been replaced with fakes. Cheap glass.”

“Who had access to them?”

“Only I knew the combination.” Mrs. McCallum looked distant for a moment, then nodded her ancient, bird-like chin. “And Todd, of course. He looks after things now that I…”

“Then there is a clear answer.”

“Not Todd!” McCallum gasped. “He’s like a–”

“No. The peals were never in the safe. Your mother sold them.”

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Word Count: 149

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

At Least Ten

“I could think of no better way to tell you I love you than with this,” he says, presenting her with the waffle-heart-capped dispenser.

“Funny,” she replies, pushing her sunglasses down her nose. “I can think of at least ten.”

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

Weary

Each day the old soldier sat alone in the empty church, staring at walls of ancient stone, before walking amongst the green fields, the plants brushing his fingertips.

At day’s end, as the sun set and orange light spilled across the lonely town, he watched until the stars came out, fresh and new and twinkling.

And as he lay down to sleep in that solitary place, he always thought that tomorrow might at last bring him the peace he sought.

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

Running Down Corridors

Fluorescent light gleamed on cold, metallic walls. The white and grey sterile corridors were freezing, as if the whole building were a giant refrigerator. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

Then a door was flung open and four figures burst out at tremendous speed: a mad-looking man in a tattered coat and scarf and three scientists in lab coats.

“Shut the door!” the man yelled. “Quickly!”

But the last scientist wasn’t quick enough. A black tendril ripped through the door, wrapping around him.

Everyone else ran. It was the only thing they could do.

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Word Count: 94

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

The Last Garden

All around, there is sand, ash, dirt – stretching on and on to the blood-red horizon and the jagged outline of the desolate mountains. The earth is dry as old bones. Everything is dead here. It has been dead for a long time.

But there is the garden.

White flowers spout from grass, turning their heads to the sun blazing overhead. They grow out in all directions, refusing to stay in their neat rows. They are wild, free, alive, the last green things in a world of grey death.

They are the last embers of a dying fire, but they refuse to stop glowing. They refuse to surrender to night’s black cold.

An old woman tends to them as best as she can. She gives them what little water she manages to collect, saving almost none for herself.

There are no weeds to worry about now, at least, she tells herself. That makes things easier.

There is nothing here but her and her flowers. She knows that one day – one day soon, she fears, for her bones have begun to ache – she will be gone.

She hopes the flowers will remain.

And from them, life will begin anew.

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Word Count: 197

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction.

A Dangerous Situation – A Three Line Tale

George was certain that the yellow car – bright as a canary’s feathers, smooth and sleek like something from a gangster film – was hunting him, stalking him through the skyscrapers like a tiger through the trees. A glance out his window at lunchtime showed it was there, waiting, but he decided to risk going out anyway.

A hail of bullets almost got him just as the door of the yellow car was flung open and a man stuck out his hand, shouting “Come with me if you want to live!”

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

Giving is the Holiday Spirit

They glowed like a field of stars: a net of lights, swaying gently in the breeze from the open window. As she looked at them, she wondered how much they’d cost and how long they’d taken to put up.

They’re beautiful, she thought.

The whole house was beautiful: the curving staircase, the wide window she’d climbed in through, the almost castle-like exterior. Mr. Englehart could afford beautiful things.

It’s amazing how much you can get just by charging thousands for life-saving medication. 

Her only regret was the lights wouldn’t fit in the bag with the rest of her loot.

Word Count: 99

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