Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers and to Sonya for the photo.
Here’s my story:
No one really knows what happened to Mr Kendall, the eccentric old man who lived in the big mansion on the corner, but there was certainly a lot of speculation.
Some say the devil possessed his body and mind and he stabbed himself to death in a fit of rage. Others say he was murdered in his sleep by his treacherous family, in order to steal his large inheritance.
They say that some nights, especially when the moon is full, you can see the ghost of Old Man Kendall, wandering aimlessly through the graveyard, his arms held out in front of him, caressing each gravestone with his bony fingers, searching….
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Here is this week’s photo prompt:
Photo by Marie Gail Stratford
At One with Nature
At midnight I ran through the forest, wild and free. My teeth, tearing at juicy flesh as I feasted on defenceless animals, stifling hunger pains and rejuvenating weary limbs.
Now, I lie on the cold, hard ground, trapped. My naked body bruised and bleeding. The razor-sharp barbed wire swallowing my arms and legs.
Destined to perish, I close my eyes, waiting for the harsh elements to seize my body, transforming me to dust, at one with nature eternally.
If only the silo’s thick iron door had been strong enough to protect my brutal inner-self from the full moon’s mystical powers.
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Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is back again thanks to Priceless Joy. Here’s the picture prompt:
Thanks Vanessa for the photo!
End of the Line
Millbrae Station runs only when needed. Due to possible lengthy wait times between trains, passengers must be ready to board as soon as their train arrives. Nobody knows what happens if you miss your train, but there’s sure to be dire consequences.
In the dead of night a large crowd begins to congregate at the station. Bare feet shuffle along the platform and loved ones whisper their final goodbyes. They can barely be heard among the whistling breeze and the haunting screech-owls hooting back and forth.
Some passengers, eager to be first, push their way through to the yellow line. They lean over the tracks, craning their necks, curious to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
The train arrives, screeching to a halt and all is silent and still.
“All aboard!” calls the conductor, and the passengers take their allocated seats.
Tears flow and family and friends blow kisses as the train gathers speed, transporting the restless souls from this world into the afterlife.
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