A/N: Just a (hopefully) funny flash fiction 🙂
It was one of those instances where a gasp just wasn’t enough.
Still I gasped.
I suppose I should have screamed, looking back. A gasp seems oddly anticlimactic, but I’d never been the screaming sort anyway. That was more Darren’s kind of thing, but Darren wasn’t there.
And so I gasped, and they gasped, and for a few short seconds we could only stare at each other in silence.
Perhaps it was a good thing that I didn’t scream. When one got visitors, screaming hardly seemed polite, and these visitors had sure come a long way.
“Hello,” I said. Or at least I think I said it. I heard the word, and I rather thought I’d felt my mouth forming them.
“Hello,” one of them said in return, but it didn’t sound like a greeting. It sounded like he – she? It? – was merely repeating what I’d said. Tasting the word.
“I’m Harold,” I told them. “And would you mind terribly to get your spaceship out of my backyard? You’re ruining my petunias.”
A/N: Okay, so I tried writing a children’s novel. Or at least the beginning of one. My first try since elementary school, so let me know what you think 🙂
The day started with an impossibility and it just went down-hill from there.
RSP was currently standing in his room, heart racing and wings flapping in panic as he stared into his bedroom mirror. Staring at what he couldn’t see. His horns. The horns that he should have gotten last night, on the night of his one thousandth birthday, but which were lacking as surely as every one of his future prospects. What kind of dragon didn’t have horns?
He had to hide them. Though they never said anything, he knew his parents had to be disappointed by their only son’s utter failure as a dragon. Not only was RSP the worst flyer in his class, but his flame was so weak that it could hardly light a match. The lack of horns, however, was the worst of it all – what kind of dragon would he be without magic?
Desperately rummaging through his closet, he found a jungle hat that he‘d stopped wearing when Raoul had told him that he looked like a toddler with wings. For now RSP only cared that he looked like a dragon at all, toddler or otherwise.
Continue reading Horns
A/N: Somehow this originally free verse turned into a sonnet… guess I just looove structure 😄
My favourite flower is the simple rose,
And isn’t that dreadfully boring?
How ordinary isn’t it, to pick a rose?
When you in the rainforest could go exploring?
But I just love the rose, it cannot be helped,
It’s beauty is just so very simple,
So I stand here now, and I proudly state,
That yes, sir, the rose is my symbol.
So sweet a scent if you handle with care,
Though blood will flow if you do not.
There’s a reason the rose is a symbol of love,
Though I can still feel you call it boring in your thoughts.
But if the rose is so ordinary, so let it be,
But for me; complex beauty is all that I can see.
If I fall asleep now I can get seven hours.
Except I need to get up, because I think I let the stove on.
If I fall asleep now I can get six hours.
Except I’m thinking of all the things I’ve got to do tomorrow.
If I fall asleep now I can get five hours.
Except I’m thinking about all the things I didn’t do today.
If I fall asleep now I can get four hours.
The ticking of the alarm clock is driving me insane.
If I fall asleep now I can get three hours.
I have that big project due next week. I’m not even halfway done.
If I fall asleep now I can get two hours.
How am I ever going to work on two hours of sleep?
If I fall asleep now I can get one hour.
One hour. Surely I can’t work on that.
I’m supposed to get up now.
I call in sick.
First day of a new job.
And my insides are tightening.
Like a wind-up clock.
Ready for release.
A/N: Not quite sure how I feel about this story, so please let me know what you think!
Heart beating wildly, Hannah smiled at the incredible handsome man who’d just walked into the book store. An Adonis thrown into the midst of her normal world of complaining customers and delayed orders.
“May I help you?” she asked.
He shrugged, turning intensely blue eyes towards her. “I’m looking for a book for class,” he told her.
“Then I guess you’ve come to the right place,” Hannah joked.
The man frowned. “It’s for my English class,” he said. “We’re supposed to read a classic or whatever.”
“Of course. Do you have a preferred author?”
“No, it’s supposed to be a classic. Like old, you know?”
Continue reading A Meeting with Adonis – Oh, and George Too
A/N: Hi everyone! So this week’s post is a bit different. Not only will it be the longest piece posted (without being divided up) but it’ll also be a Western, which I have never tried writing before, so any comments are much appreciated!
Elise made her way through the saloon, hating that she had to be there. The saloon was as always full of smoke, and it smelled like beer and sweat. Both scents that she had learned to associate with men.
“Dad!” she called out, trying to catch a glimpse of her father, the formerly esteemed Doctor Hamilton. The man who’d used to be the most respected man of their small town, but hadn’t been the same since Elise’s mother had died seven years ago. Elise had been eleven, and even the death of her mother hadn’t hit her quite as hard as her dad’s transformation. He’d lost his job, his reputation, and, seemingly, also his love for his only daughter.
Continue reading A Single Drop
A/N: Okay, I am quite interested in hearing everyone’s opinion about this piece. It’s a flash fiction, and I think it turned out pretty okay. (If I may say so myself 😉 )
Mr. X was a perfectly normal man, which was quite a rarity nowadays. He wasn’t much of anything really. He wasn’t spoiled, wasn’t selfish, wasn’t generous, wasn’t particularly good or particularly bad. He was a completely average human being and very proud of this fact.
Sure, he supposed that he was rather orderly. Didn’t like a mess if he could avoid it, but that was still pretty normal. It was just such a shame that certain other people couldn’t see that.
“Seriously, it’s just a pen!”
It was his new roommate talking, and Mr. X already knew that this arrangement wasn’t going to work out. It wasn’t ‘just’ a pen. It was a pen on an otherwise perfectly empty table, and Gaby wasn’t even using it!
Continue reading Mr. X