The Hemingway Day. Soul.

After my latest barrage of photos and words I decided it was necessary to give your inboxes a break, but I am back today with my old Flash Fiction Friday feature wrapped up in some brand new packaging… 

It was F Scott Fitzgerald that dared to tell the great Hemingway that he couldn’t write a story in six words. Hemingway delivered a literary KO with “For sale, baby shoes: Never worn.”. 

The Hemingway Day: Inspired by Ernest.

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Soul.

Her shadow still stood there, lingering.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/gone-but-not-forgotten/

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Absent.

Day5

The challenge of the day… to imagine you’ve stumbled across a letter that hasn’t made it to its addressee, and to create a story from it in as few words as possible.

So to the great Hemmingway for inspiration I go, incorporating this challenge with my usual Flash Fiction Friday series of six word stories…

 

If only they knew. He lived.

 

 

Cinders.

day4

Today’s challenge: The first of a three post series in tales of loss…

 

Laura looked down at the ground and marvelled at the sight. This was the first time she was a victor in battle, at just six years old she had managed to coax her parents into fuelling what was to be a lifelong fire, by purchasing the most ladylike pair of shoes a girl of her age could ever hope to own. These were quite the opposite to the regular reserved rubber soles of a school girl. For the first time, Laura’s footsteps made a rhythmic clinking against the ground, giving her little steps a ladylike air in their echo across the playground. They glistened in patent and they framed her white socks with their frills, but on the underside hid a treat that would afford them a league of their very own. Around her neck Laura hid a secret key which, when placed into the heel, allowed a magical fairytale to appear on the very soles she walked on.

It seemed to happen without warning. For weeks Laura would dash to the hallway each morning to feel the glove like fit of this perfect pair, but on this particular day it was not meant to be. As she pushed her left foot inside it was refused by the buckled strap, but after fully unfastening the offender it seemed that this wasn’t the only thing preventing her from adorning her feet with this magical pair. Perhaps it was nothing more than centimetre, maybe it was even mere millimetres, but this little girl’s foot had outgrown something that meant so much. She was a princess no more, and there was no way back.

Flash Fiction Friday. Unable to Find.

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In losing himself, unabating angst ensued.

Flash Fiction Friday. The Lost.

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Sometimes I see her. Drifting through…