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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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Flash Fiction

Heartaches

147 03 March 13th 2016

“If this be heartache, let it be mine to endure,” she voiced as she solemnly stared at the raging storm that seemed to mirror her feelings well. The sky was as dim as northern seas, dramatically staged with lightning that made the clouds flicker. Rain hammered the earth and outside was already sea of puddles. The wind was still in full fury.

She’s uncertain of a thousand things. Does he love her truly? Will her heart be spared from distress? Friends have warned her before. But she melted into a languid pleasure of gentle sea breeze and curling waves. On that fleeting moment, a tiny wisp of time, they were infinite— or she so thought. And just as the calm sky before the first drop of rain concludes, she looked up, then knew why typhoons were named after people.

Katrina, Joaquin, Ivan, Wilma, Ingrid, Dianne, Lenny, Jose, and the list could go on for names that have left people devastated, ruined, and overthrown. As for her, Alex must be the worst of all.

Be it a storm or a person.

Word Count: 180


Written for Sunday Photo Fiction’s prompt.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story. Thank you, Al!

Enjoy more awesome stories here:

 

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Slacker Droid

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http://publicdomainarchive.com/public-domain-images-grey-black-trash-can-empty-parking-lot-white-lines-shadow/

It was almost midday. Most students were gathered in the cafeteria eating junks and fast food— or “prison food” as what he mockingly called them since it often comes in trays. Meanwhile, Clark, a forty-two year old veteran janitor at VSU Laboratory High came out of the building and squinted to the sun that hung just above his head. Time to do some custodial work, he thought.

He walked in the pathway like a man with great pride, a broom on one hand and a dustpan on the other, his eyes watchful for litters in the surrounding. Without these tools, his uniform, and a pencil tucked behind his ears, he could surely pass as professor.

“Now what have we here…” Clark murmured as he motioned towards parking lot. “R2D2, why aren’t in your post?” he barked at the trashcan. Lines of suspicion creased on his forehead as if hearing an absurd response, “But this is the middle of nowhere. Did you really think there are trashes in this area?”

A moment of silence passed. Positive that his imaginary droid have been slacking around, Clark took the trashcan and walked away.

“Move along, R2D2. I’m taking you back to your station.”

Word Count: 200


Written for Roger Shipp’s flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. Please tell me it’s not too weird to think of R2D2 and Star Wars while staring at this photo ‘coz it really was the first thing the came to mind! LOL

This week’s prompt is: For this week, please use the phrase… ‘but this is the middle of nowhere…” somewhere in your flash piece. 

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Dusks and Rocking Chairs

emmylgant

Most people fear age.

But I don’t. I’m Ben— an eighty-something graying man, probably on the verge of decline. On dusks like this, as the remnants of the day slowly fade, I take the time to marvel that age. From a rocking chair, I like to ponder the things that I’ve done (or did not do) and tally my age in days.

“Boy, you forgot to throw the garbage out!” I suddenly remembered.

“What?” my wife’s voice echoed from behind.

“Nothing, dear. Today, I’m just 29,293 days old.”

She gave me her most beautiful smile and acquiesced, “Aren’t we both?”

Word Count: 100


In response to this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt. Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields where a photo is used as a prompt for a hundred-word piece of fiction. The photo prompt is a courtesy of Emily L. Gant. Thank you!

Glad to come up with this story while listening to Kenny Roger’s Through the Years on a reclining chair and I just found out that I’m 8,786 days old! Happy weekend, everyone! 🙂 🙂 🙂

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Some battles

I am over you— or so I thought.

For the tears brimming from my eyes begged to disagree as I walked in the ruins of Corregidor, one step after another, while our tour guide, Mark, eagerly narrated the tragic history of its ruins. I should be sad for the thousands of souls who have suffered and died, fighting for their freedom against the Japanese troops. My heart should bleed for Bataan’s fall.

But no.

Instead, memory lane brought me to the footpath of our past. A battle that was only written in our history. A battle that I have never won. It was the time when we’re throwing curses at each other like they were mortars; each hit led to an explosion. We did all the talking but no one dared to liste—.

“Mika?” a voice stopped my reverie and I was back with the tour guide again. “Are you okay?” he continued.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I nodded. “Yes. I was just thinking that someone should have raised the white flag.”

Word Count: 175


Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. Thank you Louise for the photo and PJ for another fun prompt. :):) 🙂

P.S. For some strange reasons I kept thinking of WWII when I saw this photo. Philippines, of course, was not spared from the bloodshed. A few hours after Pearl Harbor, Japanese troops came and seize occupancy in the country that lasted for 3 years. Thousands of Filipino and Americans suffered and died during that time. On May 6, 1942, at the Battle of Corregidor, Japan roared with victory.

…and sorry for the love twist. I couldn’t help it! 😀

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MV Logos Hope

146 03 March 6th 2016

“Dad! Hurry!” shouted Grae

“Daddy!” yelled Abbey

It was a cloudless day when Danny, along with his kids, drove towards the harbor for a very special event. Docked in the berth of Pier Uno was the world’s largest floating library. Operated by a German charity group, MV Logos Hope has been travelling across the world for forty-five successful years. The ship remains in each port for a month, offering its wide-range of educational materials and over 5,000 titles to thousands of visitors at an affordable price.

As they entered the ship, Danny felt transported to a different world. He couldn’t help but wonder how this warship-looking vessel carried books instead of bombs. Its dark hardwood timbers coated in a flat clear oil-based varnish maintained its antique look. Three cannons are also noticeable in the bow area where Grae has started playing make-believe pirate. Boys, he thought.

Amid the towering bookshelves, Abbey was also immersed in her own world— her little fingers running through the spines of every book. “How’s my sweetheart?” he asked.

“It’s a heaven of books, Daddy!” she beamed.

He smiled then heard Grae roaring from a distance. “BLACK PEARL IS MINEEEEEEE!”

And they both laughed in chorus.

Word Count: 200


Written for Sunday Photo Fiction’s prompt. Another photo that reminds me of a wonderful experience with the world’s largest floating library, MV Logos Hope. It was May 2015 when Cebu, Philippines became one of the chosen stops of this world-travelling bookstore. 😍😍😍

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story. Thank you, Al!

Enjoy more awesome stories here:

 

Case Unclosed

public-domain-images-hine-lewis-national-child-labor-committee-collection-32-1080x675
http://publicdomainarchive.com/public-domain-images-hine-lewis-national-child-labor-committee-collection

I know it’s only been three weeks but I saw evil knocked on our doorstep by the time she arrived.

Since we’ve been living in this orphanage all our lives, new arrivals like her aren’t a huge shock among my thirty-two inmates. Yes, that’s how we jokingly call each other.

However, this girl, with a honey-gold braided hair, pale skin, and freckles across her nose, was different. I heard from the nuns that her mother, the woman who was with her, didn’t want her anymore. She cried on her first day, all day and night. And as always, we gave new inmates their space until they’re ready.

The next day, she was quiet. She never talked. Then bad things started happening. Whenever someone’s happy, they’re bound to meet their gloom the day after— through a headless doll, broken crayons, torn papers, and lost toys.

I knew it was her. I’m certain. But most of us fear her silence, her menacing green eyes. She would stand by the window, staring blankly with an ominous smile and no one would have the guts to face her.

We need proof.

So, until I have our evidence, I, Matthew Burton, will be her shadow.

Word Count: 200


Written for Roger Shipp’s flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. The photo prompt reminds me of Ransom Riggs‘ Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. I haven’t read the book yet, I’m too coward (have you seen the cover and the scans?). BUT I’m working on finding the courage to take the book from the shelf and buy it at once. Soon, maybe? 😉

This week’s prompt is: “Nothing is ever as easy as it…”

Enjoy more stories here:

Forgotten: Back from the Past

I am…

I am…

Wait, who am I?

I paced back and forth in my corner of the street, coins jingling from inside my can. I looked at it, only to find three cents. Damn! This madness has to end. So I walked across the pedestrian lane, towards the glass building. I ignored the stoplights, ignored the honking cars. My eyes and mind fixed only to one direction— Gree Tower.

As I stood in front of the towering building, I noticed I have caught the crowd’s attention. Now, these ignorant fools bothered looking at me? Because I’m a dirty, smelly man in baggy jeans with the audacity to go into such distinguished place?

I ignored them again and went straight to the front desk. “I need to speak with Rick Gree.”

The two receptionist talked in hushed voices before the lady with a caramel hair turned to me while the other one signaled for security. “I’m sorry but may I have your name, please?”

“Gree. Christoph Gree.”


This all started with a comment thread. A chain of chitchats with the ever cheerful, Rosema of A Reading Writer, that sparked the idea of writing a sequel to one of her Sunday Photo Fiction prompt entries, Forgotten.

P.S. Sorry for the delay! I haven’t read Fangirl so I’m not sure if I did this sequel right. I couldn’t add any of our exciting or sizzling details yet, too. Haha. BUT I think I’ve found our rugged homeless man, if you agree? 😀 😉

 

 

Field Experiment

Copyright-Sean Fallon

“Bye, Mom!” Troy shouted, sprinting towards the door.

“Love you!” she replied, shaking her head in disbelief.

Frankly, Melinda has started to sense that raising a fourteen-year old boy has gotten more challenging each day. Troy has grown to be impossibly enthusiastic, quick, inquisitive, and surprisingly experimental. Just this morning, for instance, he was carrying a jar full of batteries and was looking for more. She knew collecting is a great hobby because it’s unique. But batteries? Confused, she asked what the jar was for.

Troy then simply gave her a wide grin and said, “I’m making a mitochondria, Mom!”

Word Count: 100


In response to this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt. Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields where a photo is used as a prompt for a hundred-word piece of fiction. The photo prompt is a courtesy of Sean Fallon. Thank you!

P.S. For some strange reason, this photo reminds me of mitochondria. If there’s one thing that I never could forget from biology class, it is that mitochondria are known as the powerhouse of the cell. HA! I hope this story makes enough sense. 😀

Enjoy more stories here.

Apollo

Do you ever stop and listen to the lapping waves, rolling back and forth to the shore? Do you notice the singing birds soaring above the cerulean skies? Do you hear the children’s laughter on Saturday afternoons? Do you ever feel your beating heart?

Close your eyes. Listen. What do you hear?

I am Apollo, son of Zeus and Leto, God of Music. I’m a fine-looking chap who used to carry a golden lyre until mankind, in your most pragmatic way, has modernized my old-fashioned approach. So here I am, strumming an electric guitar burning with passion.

Mortals tend to make music louder— thinking the loudest sound reaches the farthest place. But I can hear everything from up here, even the softest hum. You’ve changed music a lot, too— some to my liking, some not. Still, I love it when a song stirs a memory and a rhythm calms a heart. I love it when you take my key to chart a journey to a new world.

Close your eyes. Listen. What do you hear?

Word Count: 175


Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt is provided by pixabay. It reminds me of Mitch’s The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto and the Greek God, Apollo. 🙂

Apollo is one of the most complex and important gods, and is the god of many things, including: music, poetry, art, oracles, archery, plague, medicine, sun, light and knowledge. He is the son of Zeus and the Titan Leto, and was born in the Greek island of Delos

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