Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul



Soccer Ball


Soccer Ball

From the corner of his eyes, Liam saw that Andrew was wide open so he scuffled and kicked the ball aiming at his direction. The ball cut through the players but flew straight into Mr. Gardiner’s window and the next thing they heard was a loud, smashing sound.

“Liam, dude, you’re dead!” Dennis came rushing to the house and the rest followed.

“Go on, Liam. Talk to Mr. Gardiner.” Andrew whispered.

Liam, sweating and face flushed, stared at the shattered glass in disbelief. He went inside the house with a heart beating like a drum. His mom would kill him later but would be much willing to pay for the damage. What worried him was talking to the grumpy, old man. Mr. Gardiner never liked kids— or people in general.

A few moments later, Mr. Gardiner appeared from the broken window and threw the ball. Out of fear, Dennis kicked the ball towards Andrew who was suddenly on his feet. The ball, they realized, was not a soccer ball after all. It was Liam’s head.

Word Count: 175

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

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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.

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?”  

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