Flying Free

Sunday Photo Fiction – October 4th 2015

TITLE: Flying Free

WORD COUNT: 200 words

♦

I drift along this cobblestone path, directionless as the auburn leaves resting there and dancing around me. They move according to the whims of the wind and I to the whims of everyone. How I envy those leaves.

A gust of wind rustles through, lifting the scattered ones into the air and snatching others from their attachments. I look up, wondering when my wind will blow to lift me up and away from my chains. Surely there must be one out there for me.

I keep moving, dragging my hefty baggage, when a particularly raucous wind shoves at me from behind. I stumble forward but my ties pull me in the opposite direction. That constant tug-o-war I have grown accustomed to.

A song dances upon the wind, inviting my freedom — or maybe it’s just a blaring horn. I turn to greet the player, my shackles giving a frightful clamor. My wind has come at last. The burdens are put down and my soul bleeds free. At last! At long last, I am free to swim among the leaves in this formless, colorless ocean.

The wind rises up with a roar, taking the autumn leaves and I on a whimsical ride.

♦THE END♦

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Thank you for reading,

— N

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Daddy

Sunday Photo Fiction – July 26th 2015

TITLE: Daddy

WORD COUNT: 287 words

Statue of Air Force pilot at Battle of Britain memorial in Capel le Ferne in the UK

“Mommy, why are we here?” the little boy asks, clutching his mother’s hand tightly.

His mother doesn’t answer but she is wearing an expression that his little brain cannot understand. He can only think that he had made her angry with his constant pestering.

“Mommy…?” He asks, tears welling up in his eyes as she lets go of his hand.

He didn’t where they were or why they were there. He looks around and his eyes lights up at the sight of the two planes. He rushes off to the closest one without hesitation.

Won’t it be nice, he thinks, to fly one of these.

“It’s called a Spitfire.” His mother speaks for the first time, startling the little boy. “Figures you would be interested in the same thing.”

“Mommy, are you crying?” He questions.

“You really are your father’s son.” She says with a small laugh as she dabs quickly at her tears. “Your father, Dave Windsor, used to fly one of these. He… died flying a Spitfire. He was a pilot like that guy over there.”

She points to the statue of the seated man looking far into the distance.

“Mommy, don’t cry.” The boy says. “We will find daddy. Daddy was a hero right.”

His mother can only nod.

“And you always say that heroes go to Heaven.” The boy smiles with a wise expression. “Let’s keep searching. I am sure daddy is searching for us too.”

“When did you become so wise?” She pinches his cheek lightly before taking his hand. “You’re right. We’ll find him.”

The bustle of tourists remained unaware of the two figures. Just the statue and the planes noticed them because they were all no longer among the living.

♦THE END♦

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Hello~ Is everyone doing well~? What? I’m in a good mood? Well, yesterday was my birthday so i got a lot of cake~ Yay~Cake is life~~

Anyhoos, once again I’m over the word limit but it really couldn’t be helped. I hope you enjoy reading~!

— N

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UPDATE:

Brigit’s Flame Writing Community is hosting their July Month-o-Minis and yours truly has entered my humble piece “Emotionlessly Emotional” for the week 3. Voting is now open, so if you think that my entry is satisfying, kindly vote for me by clicking ⇒here⇐

Thank you for reading.

— N

Childhood Agony

Sunday Photo Fiction – July 12th 2015

TITLE: CHILDHOOD AGONY

London Bridge is falling down,

Falling down,

Falling down.

London Bridge is falling down,

My fair lady.

Sounds of delighted laughter ring out as the ‘fair lady’ is captured between the joint hands of her mother and elder sister. Squealing in enjoyment, the little girl manages to wiggle free and rushes over to where her father sits watching them in amusement beneath a beautiful gazebo. They were the picture of happiness.

Standing by the fence, a young boy looks on with envy burning in his heart. Why couldn’t he have been born into such a loving family? No, his family was a loving one, just not towards him. He was the unwanted one; the outcast, just because he looked different from their definition of natural.

“Papa look it’s that boy!”

That innocent voice snaps him to awareness. He looks up to find the little girl by the fence, looking at him with wide innocent eyes. Upon closer inspection, she seems to be around his age.

“Cecily!” A man’s voice calls and the boy looks pass the girl, Cecily, to see her father striding over. “Cecily come here!”

“Papa?” She tilts her head in childlike confusion before rushing over.

“Cecily I told you to never speak with that.” Her father says, leading her away and casted a disdainful glance at the little boy.

“Tch!” The boy grits his teeth, walking away.

He wasn’t just an outcast in his family but in the entire village as well. And in his little brain, he believes that this world didn’t want him either. Even his twin brother – who leads a life that was much different from his – treated him the same. Where he was the target of endless bullying, his twin was a star and loved by everyone. The little boy wished he had been born into a different world with different kinds of people but he understood that you cannot choose where you are born.  And so at the young age of six, the little boy resolved to destroy the world in which he had no part and create one in which he did belong. A world where he was not referred to as ‘that’ or ‘it’ or ‘demon’ or any of those terrible things the adults, and by extension the children, called him.

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Thank you for reading. I went quite a bit over the word limit but well, that couldn’t be helped. When I saw the prompt I laughed thinking of the piece I am working on. So I took the beginning and edited it as much as possible to fit the word limit (and failed, but oh well). Well, I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.

— N

Never Free

Sunday Photo Fiction – July 5th 2015

Title: Never Free

Words: 220

The Waterfront in Cumbria, along with exact location

It was aimless wandering that took him to The Waterfront – or so Ryley would like to believe.

‘The end of the road is The Waterfront, 54⁰ 33⁰ North 03⁰ 35⁰ West.’

Ryley shook his head to dismiss the memory of the old woman from earlier that morning.

‘Find it and you’ll be free.’

Ryley laughed wryly as he kicked a nearby rock into the still water. Free? Him? Never. His shackles can’t be easily gotten rid of, even if he died. That is what it means to make a deal with the Seelie, the most powerful creatures to exist alongside Humans.

‘Would you escape if you could?’ A voice whispers besides his ear.

Would he? Maybe, maybe not.

“You’re such an indecisive fellow.” This time the voice is louder, carrying subtle irritation.

“That’s because I knew it was you whispering to me, Lars.” Ryley replied shifting his gaze to where a dark haired faerie hovered over the water surface.

“You know that the only way is to become one of the Unseelie.” Lars responded holding out his hand. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Ryley studied Lars for a moment before reaching out and grabbing the extended hand. Lars eyes widened for a moment but then he grinned, pulling Ryley below the water surface – replacing the old shackles with new ones.

— N