the image belongs to the rightful owner. thank you!
It had been three weeks since my boss called me and said sentences full of high words, which I had simplified as Carla, you are transferred.
The one I liked the most in here was its central park.
“Young lady, you have to be careful.”
At my fourth visit, an elder approached me. As all benches were occupied and I was a greedy person who claimed a whole bench for herself, it only meant one thing. I shuffled aside and offered him to sit. He gratefully accepted it.
“There is a tale passed from generation to generation.”
Long story short, I regretted my oh-so-good intention. As the reciprocation, he narrated me a good yet full of bullshit tale.
“Don’t go to the south area of this park – no matter what happens.”
I remembered saying thank you, sir while inwardly snorting.
One time, when I stayed in the park too late for me to trail back by the usual route, I decided to take a shortcut.
My mother warned me not to underestimate something and now I understood why.
Uh, I don’t know what I’ve done. Really. Words are 178 because I can’t cut it any longer arghhh I’m soooo sorry. Anyway, this is for flash fiction for aspiring writers. Thank you!
We all live hiding a secret.
No one knows. But everyone tries to figure them all out.
(Some claims it’s their privacy, some says you’re sticking your nose too far.)
But darling, what’s the meaning of life without secret?
Even you, even the world hides a secret.
“Seriously. This is the creepiest writing you’ve ever written.”
“Shut up. It is full of meaning, try to look it out.” He puts his index finger in front of his lips mysteriously.
“Cleaning tradition!” Mai Sheridan glances around and sees people around her are cutting wild grass, sweeping the ground, doing whatever’s typical to be worked in such activity.
The last time she was here and followed this is…
“Dear young lady!” Her mother cried, duster held firmly at her left hand. “Stop gawking there and help us clean! Chop, chop!”
“Time passes so quick.” This time, her companion snorts elegantly. How does she do that, Mai will ask later.
“Thank you for stating the obvious. Off you go. Want to remember the past, right?”
Mai smiles painfully. ‘Yes, yes, I do.”
another story related to this: gloves—faction of power. i might write the complete story for nanowrimo, but it seems like my hands are really, really full right now, so maybe later.
You might never notice this, but there was always a spark flying in the air when you said i love you. It was evolving—the first time, it was love, a simple innocent child-like love; your typical puppy love. It grew to a full-grown one, the i-am-happy-if-you-are-even-though-actually-i-am-not kind of love. The one in which one could do so much for their beloved one.
It didn’t stop. Actually it evolved into the love in which it meant nothing but lies.
somehow it explains about aviate—you know, the type of love where one’s sent flying. your typical teenage love, if i may add.
“Goddammit, Rachel, stop imagining things!”
Rachel grimaced slightly, then closed her eyes tightly. She tried to imagine something else, beside fire-breathing evil dragon which somehow bore a striking resemblance with the one she saw in the movie of Doraemon—
Gerald’s cry of Rachel, stop! and the temperature in the room increased dramatically made the girl bite her lips and she forced herself to imagine a brand new Ferrari and a bag full of dollars in it.
She opened her eyes as Gerald cried in joy, and muttered boy under her breath.
My body decided, unilateral, that the need of rest was far more important than my duty as a student. Thus, it messed with my schedule and everything went downhill from there.
At ten past seven, when I was still on bus, I grumpily accepted my fate that I was late and the consequence was not being able to follow the first and second hour, which was unfortunately, physics.
At half past nine, as I stared at the blackboard, I cursed my luck because in a week from now, there would be an exam about this lesson and I missed it.
for daily prompt – fifteen credits. the title’s purely from title generator, for i have no idea right now.
In Sheridan’s house, when everything was shaped and changed – they had missed something. Well, not really. On the window sill, there lied a pair of gloves, once as white as the snow. Now, they barely were dirty white, dust-covered, and there was a stain of ink on the left pair.
They held a lot of story, and right now – it’d be delivered.
Everything began when Mai Sheridan found them.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Choose Your Adventure.”