Category: Short Story

flash friday · General · Short Story · Writing

Friday Flash: First Day

Sonia Lal1 Comment

This is my first Friday flash in months! Months and months and months! It is exactly 304 words, which is alright.

The baby grinned toothlessly into the camera. Its little fingers gripped the bare mattress.

Than it plopped its butt onto the bed and the blue blanket balanced atop its head slid down until the baby was completely covered, from the top of its bald skull to its bite-size toes.

The baby shrieked, whether in joy or distress, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know enough about babies. But I knew what I was going to do next. It sure was loud. Nice, healthy lungs on this child. Maybe it knew this was the first day of its new life and it was celebrating with noise.

I turned off the camera and looked across the room at its mother. She looked like she was trying to scream louder than her baby. The bright pink ball gag kept her silent, though. Mostly silent. Tiny sounds still came made it through.

So annoying. Maybe I needed to cut off her tongue. But then she wouldn’t be able to scream when I wanted to hear her. Hmm.

The sweet sounds she would make later were worth a little irritation now, I decided.

“Come to Aunt Rosie,” I told the baby. “You know you love me.”

I reached forward and yanked the blanket off the baby. The baby was startled into silence, looked at me with big blue eyes and scrambled forward on hands and knees.

My sister said the baby was a boy, but how could anyone know? The baby wasn’t old enough to decide on a gender. And I would keep it alive until it did.

For now, its mother would do. She would last until this little one grew up enough for me to decide what to do with it.

Tomorrow was soon enough to take another picture. I would keep a collection as it grew up.

flash friday · General · Short Story · Writing

Undead

Sonia Lal29 Comments

This flash was inspired by the letter U!

She pondered the picture.

It showed a lady, dead from drowning. She knew that face.

She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of her class; they wandered the room, looking up at the photographs on the wall. Her teacher was across the room, with most of the kids.

She turned back to the picture. It was colored, but not pretty. She took a step a closer and peered closer at the woman’s face.

She took her wallet out of her bag and slipped out a picture hidden away behind her school id and transport card. The black-and-white photo was yellow with age and tattered at the edges. Grandmother was young in this picture; she grinned into the camera, knee-deep in the ocean, holding up her printed maxi out of the water.

She studied the picture on the wall, then her wallet picture and back again.

“Girls and boys!” The teacher clapped her hands. “Gather around now. I want to introduce to artist. She composed these photographs with herself as the model.”

A woman who looked exactly like the picture of her grandmother stood beside the teacher.

Short Story · Writing

Friday Flash: Victory

Sonia Lal19 Comments

This is another drabble! It is exactly 100 words. It was inspired by a photo from this   Mete Özbek. I found it on 500 px. Enjoy.

 

A swipe of gloved fingers and my queen fell off the edge of the board.

Smoke rose, obscuring the board. But I knew what was what.

I picked up my bishop and knocked out the enemy’s knight. A harsh scream sounded in the distance, just below the cliff precipice.  

Checkmate.

I blew out a breath and the smoke faded just enough to let me see the enemy’s face. Dark, wet eyes, like drops of oil given life.

The enemy moved, a useless sacrifice of a knight.

I struck. The king fell into my palm, dead, cracked ebony.

Victory was mine.

fantasy · Short Story

Friday Flash: Snake Woman

Sonia Lal5 Comments

This didn’t turn out quite like I intended, but here it is.

He heard steps and turned. A woman’s light yellow scarf fluttered outside his window and vanished.

Just a passing woman, he thought. No one was inside.

He turned back to his sketch. His wife had long black hair, large, lively eyes and a faint smile. Her laughter was a balm to his heart, like cut roses floating on water. Pretty, delicate and, he thought now, dead.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought. His last sight of her floated into his head. Wrapped in a white sheet, eyes closed, she was very still on the wooden pyre. The warmth licked up his face. His tears dried from the heat of the fire even as the flames consumed her.

The sound of light footfalls and the tinkle of silver ankle bells filled the air. He looked around. A light yellow scarf flickered, but this time kitchen window. That was his wife’s garden.

Frowning, he set the sketch aside and rose. How dare a strange woman enter his wife’s space?

He walked out the kitchen door and – stopped. There was his wife, smiling, standing next to the basil, skin glowing like black pearls. Too much time gardening, he thought dimly. She’d spend months gardening. How had he missed it?

He strode forward, arms wide open. She rushed to him, laughing, rubbing her rounded belly.

The pungent smell of crushed basil leaves teased his nose. No . . . that wasn’t . . . it couldn’t . . . He blinked. Why had he thought he smelled basil? His wife grew roses here. She liked to use the blossoms to decorate glass bowls.

Later that night, he rose above her. She opened her mouth. He gaped at her thick, black tongue. She grinned – and kissed him.

 

The townspeople found him in bed. The sheets twisted about his body. His eyes stared and he yelled strange things. Black snakes curled up in his lap; he cuddled them like they were his own.

They sent a message to his family and left him be.  

flash friday · Short Story

Friday Flash: Escape

Sonia Lal8 Comments

This isn’t quite what I hoped it would be, but it’s done now. 🙂

 

City lights gleamed in the distance. They were pinpricks of   life, of hope.

He automatically searched out the building with the spire made of stacked metal gargoyle skulls. Even obscured by wet and fog, it was beautiful. His family lived there, walked and worked in its rooms. He’d spent the best part of childhood there.

His lover’s home was a couple dozen blocks past it. He’d thought it was his home, too. He was wrong.

“Come on.”

He looked over his shoulder at his friend. His friend’s dark clothing was wet from the rain and his hair was slicked back. But his gaze held only rough sympathy.

“You knew it would end,” his friend stated.

He nodded. He knew. It still hurt. He took a deep breath of the cool, rain-scented air. “Time to go.”

The both walked to the edge. He placed his hands on the wet railing and looked down. The river below was dark and the waters roiled in the storm.

A small boat bobbed in the water. It was barely visible. He swung his legs over the railing and jumped.

The splash he made was lost in the storm’s fury. The water was numbingly cold. A moment later, his friend dropped beside him.

They looked at each other, than started swimming.

 

Short Story

Friday Flash: I Have

Sonia Lal27 Comments

I wrote this as a challenge: write a one-page nonfiction story like the first page of this piece by David Foster Wallace.

I have some (a lot!!) doubts as to how well I did. So . . . tell me! Don’t hold back. I can take it.
I’ve seen many people push themselves into a small box. I’ve squished myself onto trains so crowded there was hardly room for one more mouse. I have seen a man give   up his seat to an elderly woman. I’ve felt a woman’s sweaty, skirt-covered groin pressed against my butt – and wished her miles away.

I’ve seen rain splatter against the windows like a hundred spiders crawling across clear plastic. I’ve marveled at the confusion the subway map inspires in strangers. I’ve been puzzled by women wearing very high heels on wet platforms. I’ve had random conversations with clowns, a man who used to teach in India and a suburban housewife shocked to hear the city has no Walmarts.

I’ve seen rats scurry across the tracks ahead of a train thundering in. I’ve smelled a homeless man in the close confines of a car – and been grateful for a plastic orange seat. I’ve spent an hour reading the same beer advertisement over and over again. I have become sticky from no AC.

I have heard announcements over the overhead speakers: This is the last stop on this train. Everyone please leave the train. I’ve seen water pumps struggle to pump water. I’ve been forced forward by the push of a relentless crowd. I’ve walked inches from the edge – and come close to falling.

I’ve held fast to poles. I have stomped on the toes of dissipated men. I’ve tried not to see tear-stained faces. I have heard the announcement overhead: The train ahead of us has mechanical problems, only to be told later someone jumped onto the tracks.

I’ve seen boys turn cartwheels in a half-empty car. I have averted my eyes from public displays of affection. I have heard musicians good enough to make you weep. I have seen a flock of geese relaxing on the subway platform in the fall. I have witnessed the tenacity of grass growing in the middle of the train tracks. I’ve felt a baby tug at my fingers, attracted by sparkling nails – and been content.

fantasy · Short Story · Writing

You know you’ve been reading too much romance when . . .

Sonia Lal6 Comments

You know you’ve been reading too much romance when that that fairy fantasy short story you are trying to write keeps trying to turn into a romance. A paranormal romance, complete with sidhe princes, sidhe court politics and star-crossed lovers. Very Romeo-and-Juliet, except for the tragic death thing.

Not that I dislike paranormal romances. I love them. Too much, as it is clearly taking over my own writing.
image

Clearly, I need to read more fantasy. Not just urban fantasy, but the more traditional fantasy. Even if they are a little thin on the ground these days.

I meant to write a fantasy short story. Not a romance one. Anyone, I’ve only ever read romance short stories in anthologies.

I can’t remember the last time a character insisted on chasing another character instead of the magic, slave-ending object. Really!

I feel like shelving these two fairy princes and starting over. I want a fairy prince who won’t insist on finding the love of his life immediately.

Willful characters. Who needs them? that that fairy fantasy short story you are trying to write keeps trying to turn into a romance. A paranormal romance, complete with sidhe princes, sidhe court politics and star-crossed lovers. Very Romeo-and-Juliet, except for the tragic death thing.

Not that I dislike paranormal romances. I love them. Too much, as it is clearly taking over my own writing.

Clearly, I need to read more fantasy. Not just urban fantasy, but the more traditional fantasy. Even if they are a little thin on the ground these days.

I meant to write a fantasy short story. Not a romance one. Anyone, I’ve only ever read romance short stories in anthologies.

I can’t remember the last time a character insisted on chasing another character instead of the magic, slave-ending object. Really!

I feel like shelving these two fairy princes and starting over. I want a fairy prince who won’t insist on finding the love of his life immediately.

Willful characters. Who needs them?

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flash friday · Short Story · Writing

Friday Flash: Sucking Water

Sonia Lal16 Comments

I made it! I got a #fridayflash and it’s still Friday where I am.

She lay back on the rough wood, smiling into his eyes. The wasteful expanse of miles of clear blue water around them was exhilarating.

The sun was warm. Fuzzy white clouds skated past above in the azure sky. A small one detached itself and wafted in their direction.

“Where are the others?” she asked.

He gently stroked down her shoulders. “Passed out. Poor bastard drank too much.” Smugness there, pride in his decision to drink slightly less. 

She smiled. “Excellent.”

She raised a fist, punched him in the throat. He flopped over to the deck, gasping. She followed up by banging his head against the wood several times. His eyes rolled up into his head.

She got to her feet, dusting off her hands. Work was tough, sometimes.

The craft hovered above the ship now and she lifted her arm, thumb up. A large pipe dropped into the water.

They were going to suck up all the clucking enemy’s water. Give them a taste of their own medicine.

flash friday · Short Story · Writing

Friday Flash: Land Grave

Sonia Lal19 Comments

So . . . yeah I had speeches on the brain today. Don’t ask me why.

Greetings, my people

I come to you today fresh from the land grave of my beloved daughter.

She has surpassed all expectations. She has left this world, but she took with her many hundreds of the enemy. Hundreds more of them may yet follow, as their frail mortal flesh deteriorate in hardship.

Her forward waters and winds caused such damage to the enemy as to make recovery a long, costly affair. Their homes are destroyed and most mortals in the vicinity are left without life’s essentials.

We do not intend to allow the enemy such time as they need to recover.

To this end we have sent our youngest son to their shores, to coat their world in ice and darkness.

For the first time in her life, our second daughter knows joy. The poison the enemy slips into our waters has crippled her limbs, but in the wake of our enemy’s destruction, she knows joy. As do your children.

Our people who are poisoned, we shall starve the enemy in turn. Our people who are dying, you shall be avenged! We will poison their earth, as they have poisoned our waters.

And we shall live! We will move forward as the true heirs of this world.

Our waters will rule.

We will rule.

flash friday · Short Story · Writing

Friday Flash: A Wish for Power

Sonia Lal23 Comments

I don’t believe this flash has a story or even constitutes a complete scene. Maybe a complete scene. But it’s the only thing in my head right now. That’s probably a sign of exhaustion. I am posting due to encouragement from Twitter. 🙂 Go Twitter!!!

Someone’s groin pressed too close, but there was no room to twitch away. The crowd was too close, noisy, and upset voices called out: “Move in, move in, move in.”

If only there was space to move in.

The bus driver shouted: “Let them off. Get off and get back in.”

No one moved, but instead held fast as the departing shoved themselves a clear path.

The bus crawled along, bypassing hordes of waiting people. Someone, exhausted, crouched on the floor. Her hands moved from purse to her folded legs, caressing many other calves, knees and ankles in the process.

People sped past on bikes and skateboards and their own legs. Below, the river was as calm as sunlight.

And then – freedom. People disappeared like flung droplets to the trains, the taxis and the still-dark streets.

A hard plastic chair never felt so good.