Mane frame

photo by Harpal Singh via Unsplash

(3 short stories inspired by Sonya’s Three Line Tales photo prompt)

A cold breeze rustled the tent flaps of the amusement park. A lone flyer lifted in the gust and disappeared into the darkness. Wooden horses glowed grey in the eerie light of the carousel.

They waited…for the people to come and colour them with their laughter.

……

Why do we never go anywhere, asked the peach horse with the gold bridle.

“The people like it that way. The same patterns, the same results…afraid of stepping off. They’ll be back tomorrow…you’ll see,” replied the wise old grey, whose paint had long faded from the scuffing of shoes.

……

“Lights, camera, action”

A ripple of laughter passed through the other horses as they strained against the poles to spot the joker in their midst.

But night had fallen and the caretaker had switched off the power supply.

***

3linetales

A leap of fate

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photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin via Unsplash

 

If she chose to keep walking the grey gravel path, life would go on just the same… no better, never worse.

Endless possibilities lay at the deepest end of the pool if she dived in, but she hesitated, for fear of what lay in between.

She made up her mind, closed her eyes and…

 
A short story for Sonya’s Three Line Tales photo prompt.

3linetales

Two

tltweek122
photo by Fabio Mangione via Unsplash

This short story is for Sonya’s Three Line Tales, based on the photo prompt © Fabio Mangione via Unsplash

 


 

Two countries, two sets of houses, and two rows of boats that never crossed the invisible line in the water.

Two sets of people, who were united in their love of sunsets and the sea.

Two neighbours, who always waved and smiled across the One border they never created.

3LineTales

A lie less ordinary

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photo by Cathal Mac an Bheatha via Unsplash

He could still hear his father’s words: ‘You’ll never be special…just get a job. No son of mine is ever going to be a dancer.’ 

But, every night, after turning off the gaudy neon light at the family store, he would dance away his mundane day; this was his secret.

He smiled as he flowed into a perfect arabesque; there was nothing special about the three-day-old turkey either, but that too was a secret.

Daily Prompt

3line tales

I have no words…

It’s been ages since I blogged, I thought,

I really want to write,

But I’ve stumbled on this writer’s block,

That seems wedged in pretty tight.

I’ll use the Daily Prompt, I said

It’s worked well in the past,

But after just a line or two,

Things fell apart quite fast.

So now I’m lying in the dark,

I’ve just turned off the light,

I’ll accept this post is not to be,

And so I’ll say good night.

Daily Prompt

writersblock2

Lens of life

camera

Photo by Grant McCurdy via Unsplash

It watched quietly as the people smiled, like so many had before them.

The faces would change through the years, and those that remembered them would fade away too.

But, it would carry their memories within itself forever.


Faded yellows and frayed edges.

Fragments of paper that had aged beyond repair.

Showing faces that would be young forever, laughing in colours that only they could see.


3linetales

The Midas Touch?

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Photo by Stephen Wei

The sidewalk was bustling as the mass of humanity surged about its day.

She looked up through the ‘people’ trees to catch a glimpse of the sky.

She heard it had once been blue, and that the stars shone at night; but, mankind had painted it gold with their greed a long, long time ago.

Three Line Tales

Daily Prompt

© Life of Di

Expert, no apologies

Listen well, for this tale I tell is neither legend nor is it lore,

Its moral rings out true today, as it did in days of yore.

The creature that I’ll speak of lurks about and gives opinions,

And no one’s spared its acid tongue from Bombay to Asuncion.

You’ll see them rule the runways in Spring, and in the Fall,

When the truth is that, like you and me, they’re shopping at the mall.

And with one meal, they’ve decided without any hesitation,

If your restaurant will ever get another reservation.

At launches and at premieres, they’ll arrive to express their view,

Will it be a curtain call, or just curtains, for you?

The truth is that most of this breed can’t act, or cook, or sew,

It seem what they really do best is ‘being in the know’.

If having an opinion is their one and only shtick,

Tell me, pray, what is the point of the average critic?

811

In response to the Daily Prompt Expert

The Crossing…

The waiting room was cheerful and noisy with chatter. An elderly man watched one of the two doors in the room expectantly, while a teenager sat in the corner twirling her hair with her fingers, looking bored. A child played with a small dog, and a young woman with dark curls and large brown eyes surveyed the room curiously.

The walls were white, and curtains fluttered at viewless windows where the light filtered through. She knew she had heard things about what this would be like, but she couldn’t remember. She didn’t even remember her own name,  though she knew she had one, but none of that seemed to matter now.

She saw the young man at the desk, who was gesturing to people in the room, and handing them a slip of paper before opening the second door and ushering them  through. She walked over to him and struck up a conversation. She asked his name though she had forgotten her own.

The young man smiled and said, “My friends call me Mort.”

She asked him what it was like to sit at the desk each day, and meet different kinds of people. “Oh, I know very little about them. It doesn’t matter who they are, and where they’re from. I just hand over the slip that appears on my table when it’s their turn and see that they go through the door. Some go through immediately, while others have to wait. The old man has asked to wait for his wife. It’s been two days. She should be here any moment now, and they’ll go through together.

“I do bend the rules sometimes and befriend some of them before they even get here. In fact, it was my friend Terry who gave me the name Mort,” he smiled again for a minute, “but he’s gone through now…”

“So what’s on the other side?” she asked, though she knew she would find out soon enough.

“I’ve always wondered,” said Mort. “I’ve heard the slips come in different colours, but I only see white. I’m not even allowed to ask. I just see that they go through. You see, there are some rules even I, Death, can’t cheat.”

In response to the Daily Prompt Cheat

The joy around us

Against the grey rain
diamond drops dance and gleam
on red hibiscus blooms

——–*———–*————–*———–*

I smile as you sleep
The rise and fall of your chest
My peace and comfort

————–*——————*—————–*

It was obvious that something had changed. The hushed phone calls, the receipt for her favourite lilies that she never got. She even caught him smiling to himself when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Through the week, he seemed to get increasingly distant. His replies were monosyllabic, and he would not look her in the eye.

He was never very good at keeping  a secret, she thought to herself. As she turned the key in the lock that night, she had made up her mind to confront him.

She followed the glow of the candle light to where he was waiting by the table. The air was fragrant with lilies. He had even hired a chef to recreate their dinner from the night he proposed 10 years ago.

“Happy Anniversary,” he said, with smile on his face.

It was obvious from hers that she had forgotten.

—————-*——————–*————————-*———-

Two haiku and a short story inspired by the Daily Prompt Obvious