Archangel’s Last Fight

His body slowly crumbled as if he was devastation itself. Peering through the blur, he saw the snares of evil vanished into the pits of hell.

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

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In response to Shapeshifting 13 #74 KICKOFF: GHOUL FESTIVAL!

During Ghoul Festival, you will be provided a picture prompt and an audio prompt. The prompts should create an atmosphere for you that (we hope) will elicit some amazingly creative writing that is incredibly diverse. Let the image and the audio guide you through your imagination.

Visual Prompt: “Nike” by Cordray Parker (Located in the Birmingham Botanical Gardens, Birmingham, Alabama)

Audio Prompt: Beethoven – Moonlight Sonata

P.S. The 26-word limit is a tricky task and does not equate with Beethoven’s deep, dark and ferocious sonata. Phew! That was quite a cavernous chasm I was in!

War on Drugs

 

War on Drugs
Realistic Fiction

“How are we doing?” Police inspector Stone inquired, pouring another glass from his bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Seven-hundred deaths, eight-thousand surrenders, sir.” Bates answered aptly.

Disgusted, Stone felt the liquor boiling from his insides. “That’s a lot of mouths to feed. We’ve had enough of these pushers and addicts. This is war on drugs, kid. I want you men to purge.”

“What about due process, sir?”

“Call it resisting arrest or self-defense, I don’t care. Just get those body bags out—fast.”

*BATES’ PHONE RINGS*

With a lump in his throat, he voiced, “Sir… It’s your son. He’s…  He’s dead.”

Word Count: 100

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

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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 this week is a courtesy of Ted Strutz. Thank you!

I was watching Senator De Lima’s privilege speech last night and regardless of she has done or has failed to do against the proliferation of drugs as a former justice secretary, I stand by her side when it comes to extrajudicial killings. This do-it-yourself justice is inhumane, an impunity that must come to an end.

“Drugs destroy lives, but we need not destroy lives to destroy drugs.” -Leila de Lima

 

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Kicking Butts

Kicking Butts
Realistic Fiction

“Hey, Chev!” Dorothy called out to the 1967 Chevrolet Impala. “Going out with that horse? It’s not my favorite pair but suit yourself.”

Ace snorted loudly as he eyed the white Cadillac beside them. “Is this the one, Chevy?”

Chevy has seen Dorothy the day Marcus, her owner, received that dreadful foreclosure notice. Marcus lost his home to the bank, concurrently, losing his whole life, too. She hated Dorothy and the bank since then.

“You’re looking rather sleek today.” Ace walked towards Dorothy, appraising her body. “A Cadillac Escalade?”

“2016. The latest model.” Dorothy grinned with pride.

“I see… So your owner came here to take the Marcus’ ranch. Four decades— the man has been working up a sweat living his own life.”

Dorothy noticed anger in Ace’s voice and refuted, “He’s just doing his job. He didn’t—

A loud smashing sound left Dorothy startled. The last thing she remembered was the sight of her shattered headlights and damaged wing before Ace gave one last angry jolt, “Tell that professional crook I’ll kick his capitalist butt.”

Word Count: 175

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

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Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt is provided by Phylor. Thanks PJ for hosting another fun prompt.

P.S. I missed this!! ❤ 

This one is inspired by a documentary I was watching last night. Michael Moore’s Capitalism: A love story.

Enjoy more stories here:

 

First Dance

First Dance
A Mythic Fiction

Cybele, the goddess of nature, came in the earliest crack of dawn. Soft gust of wind kissed on her cheeks, flirted with her long drape, and tousled her golden curls.

“Oh! Good morning, Boreas! You’re awfully playful today.” She said in between chuckle, whisking the wind away.

“All for you, Cybele,” Boreas, the god of wind, replied and with all the pride and air he could muster, gave a ceremonial bow, “May I have the honor to be your first dance?”

“You’ve always knew for whom my first dance is,” she softly whispered. With that, Cybele started moving slowly, her long dress flew gracefully with every bend and every curve as she performed her morning mantra.

Flourish my children, spread your verdant greens
Bloom, oh sweet buds, show those smiles to me
Creatures in the wild, live and run freely
Breath with pride my mountains and rivers in between

With one final pose, she pointed her toes and lifted her foot to an arabesque.

“What a pleasure it is,” Boreas exclaimed, “to hear your prayers, dear Cybele. You are as refined as a queen and as graceful as a swan.”

“Thank you, Boreas! But you still won’t get your dance.”

Word Count: 200

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

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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!

*Cybele is known as the mistress of wild nature and  goddess of fertility. She personified the earth and its abundant benefits, and was regarded as the Great Mother and unceasing producer of all plant life. She was also believed to exercise unbounded sway over the animal world including wild animals, especially the lion.

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Not Tonight

It’s Saturday date-night. My boyfriend, Bran, is staring with intensity as if the rest of the world has gone silent—as if it’s just him and the TV.

Yes. The TV.

Not at my golden curls or my beautiful silk dress. Nor at the makeup that I so gracefully wear. He didn’t even bother to breathe my scent! Bryan was whole-heartedly, all-eyes on ESPN’s coverage of the Lions VS Calgary game.

My head hurts from watching the endless throwing, running, passing, and tackling yet I don’t understand a thing.

Oh, for sure, my boyfriend loves me… but just not tonight.

Word Count: 100

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

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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 this week is a courtesy of C.E. Ayr. Thank you!

P.S. I know nothing about football except “touchdown” and David Beckham (but as pointed out by the lovely Dajena, Beckham plays soccer not football). Haha! See how bad I am at this game? XD Are most guys like Bran? 

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The Day

© Roger Bultot

The Day
Satirical Fiction

I stared out the window, little birds are clustered on live wires across the empty street. The world outside was ominously still— no cars and not a hint of soul.

Where is everyone? I wondered.

Then I realized, today is the day. The defining moment wherein a new governing body will be established. A new head of the state. A new ruler. A new legacy.

I wonder who’ll win the election. Whose dirty tricks worked? Whose sugar-coated words thrived?

A deafening firing disrupted my reverie but none of the birds came spiraling down.

Then I realized, today is the day.

Word Count: 100

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

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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. Thank you!

PH is three days away from its national election and the country is in clamor. This game of thrones has led families and friends fight among each other, insisting and brawling that one candidate is better than the other. I found this series, Imagined President, from Rappler interesting and thought-provoking. But who really is the lesser evil? I wish I knew.

There is just one thing I hope on May 9. I hope it won’t be a bloody end.

Enjoy more stories here:

 

Madman

https://pixabay.com/en/lantern-old-lantern-brush-sack-316689/

Madman
A Suspense Story

Dusk slowly rolled in as Milo walked along the Osmeña trail, nicely stacked twigs hung above his shoulders. Then he saw a lone figure stumbling into a dingy shack. He wouldn’t have minded it but this eerie-looking cabin had been empty for a very long time—until now. Intrigued, he ran in confused haste towards it.

At the threshold of the shack, he could barely hear hushed voices. With heart beating fast, he shuffled to the nearest windowsill and saw the most maddening scene there is. Inside the cluttered, blood-stained room was a man slumped in a heap of grimy clothes. Cradled in his arms was a limp, mangled body of a blindfolded woman.

“Didn’t you bring a shovel?” the man asked.

“I thought you brought one!” a silhouetted man answered.

“You dim-witted fool!” The man gasped in exasperation. “How could you bring a paintbrush and forget the shovel? What are you supposed to do? Paint this shack red?”

“I’m supposed to paint it with her blood.”

“You’re a madman.”

The man in the shadows motioned to face the window where Milo was peering and there he saw the most sinister smile he’d ever seen. “That, I am.”

Word Count: 198

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

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Written for Roger Shipp’s flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. A sentence is provided and we are to craft a story to under 200 words length.

This week’s prompt is: “Didn’t you bring a shovel?”  

Enjoy more stories here:

Colossal Shame

Colossal Shame
A Mythic fiction

“I refuse this humiliation, Salacia! It’s a colossal shame.” Neptune screamed, pointing at the statue perched atop the jagged rock near the beach.

Down in the land of mortals stood a towering statue that mirrored the god of the sea. It’s an enormous work of art that captured the attention of the world for its immense dominance.

“Il Gigante, they call it. Il obbrobrio, I’d say! For years I didn’t squabble when they made me look like a slave carrying that chunk of concrete over my shoulder while they dance merrily above it. But this?!.”

Salacia couldn’t help but smile at her husband’s distress. He’s been complaining endlessly since they bombed his statue and left it an armless ruin. He wanted to summon the biggest wave to wash out the artwork that he called shame. “My husband,” she sighed, “You are as great as that statue withstanding the strongest storms for centuries. And look, even without its arms, it stood high and proud.”

“But I love my arms…” He trailed.

“So do I!” She laughed.

Word Count: 175 

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

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Glad to be back in the tale weaving world! YAY!  Thanks PJ for another fun prompt. 🙂 🙂 🙂

Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt is provided by Mom the Obscure.

From what I’ve read,  this is a photo of Il Gigante (The Giant) located at the beach of Monterosso del Mare. The 14 meter high image of Neptune, the Roman god of the sea, was originally built from concrete in 1910 to decorate the seaward edge of the elegant Villa Pastine. Allied bombs and rough seas have turned the once mighty century giant into an armless ruin. 

Neptune must be furious, you think? Hehe.

Enjoy more stories here:

Barbecues and beer

https://pixabay.com/en/nature-shapes-england-trees-316781/

Two-one-five, what are your coordinates? A muffled voice came from his earpiece.

“Gorgeous.” Dan thought as he marveled the scenic lands of England. He was flying Nighthawk 40,000 feet above the ground, a beauty designed to fly stealthily and undetected in the radar.

Two-one-five, what are your coordinates?

Slowly, he descended to make out of the silvers, browns, and greens below. Trees towered over the shadowy mountains as rivers threaded the verdant lands, cluster of rocks looked like mere dots protruding from the earth. Dan couldn’t help but think of barbecues and beer during sunset. A lovely lady would be charming too, he added.

Agent two-one-five-

“Damn! Julio, stop shouting!” he yelled, taking the earpiece off and turning on the speaker.

Man, where in hell have you been?

“I heard you.” He answered blankly.

You heard me and? Where are you Danny? Talk.

“I was just… sightseeing. ETA to France, 13:00.”

Damn. Don’t you think this isn’t the time for sightseeing? Retrieve the microchip and return to the safe house. Those are the directions.

Danny sighed, looking down at the grassy terrain. “I’m getting old for this shit, Jules. I need barbecues and beer.”

And sunsets and women, my friend!

Word Count: 200

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Written for Roger Shipp’s flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. A sentence is provided and we are to craft a story to under 200 words length.

Enjoy more stories here: