FFfAW Challenge – Week of 06-28-2016

Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.

3. Please credit photo to photographer.

4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try to stay within this limit.


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Picture by The Storyteller’s Abode.

The scarecrow was all she had left. Ironic that after all these years, the only thing he left her was a tattered thing in her old clothes. Why build a scarecrow so far from any crops crows might conceivably bother. Moreover, who build a scarecrow to guard gate, concrete and hill?

Maybe he had gone mad like they’d said, those men who’d come looking for him.

Ripping off the flower, she torn the scarecrow to shreds, scattering pieces across the damp ground. Taped round the pole was a plastic-wrapped paper.

‘Susan. In the concrete vault behind the scarecrow are accounts set up for you.  Love forever. Mike.’

Now came the tears.

Sunday Photo Fiction – June 5th 2016

The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.

To learn more, Click Here

159-06-june-5th-2016

The hills hunched green and lush, quiet in the greying sky. I hadn’t seen any indication of the enemy, but one didn’t live 500 years by being stupid. Nor impatient. One against 5,000 gave one patience. Or death, and I wasn’t particularly fond of that idea.

Something shifted near the covered mounds. The shift became a man, then a group, moving towards the smaller mound. I tensed, drawing up my bow and taking careful aim.

The gatherers formed a circle around the first man. Their voices carried to where I crouched.

“Why are we here? A hike is fine but this is a walkabout?”

I loosed the arrow. It flew straight and true, twacking into the target on the side of the ancient mound.

A piece of paper flew off the arrow and landed near the circled man’s feet. Slowly, he looked around, suspicion starting to frame his face. Bent to pick up the paper. The gathers’ hands were behind their backs.

Unfolding the paper, the he read – “Happy Birthday!” –  as his friends pulled out noise-makers and streamers.