Friday, 10 April 2015

Casus Belli


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The Beggar. CC2.0 photo by Foto_Michel

Casus Belli
   
“Come on, move your arse.”
I don’t look up. The tone of voice and shiny boots are enough.
An officious shadow, taller than the man himself, ripples across the cobbles.
“Move or be arrested. It’s invitation only today - unless the President sent you one.” He chuckles.
No ticket, but I’m here for a reason. In this perfect vantage point, where his car will stop, a spot I’ve occupied ever since we discovered his plans.
This meeting’s about justification. Intolerable demands, bellicose provocations will humiliate the guests until they storm out. The President will be triumphant - unless someone can stop him.
I hear the approaching roar of the motorcycle outriders.
I peer around the policeman’s legs, and the sun glistens off an opening window opposite me.
Here we go.
I kick the policeman’s knee.
It snaps back and he crashes to the ground.
I grab at his belt, snatching his radio, rolling to my feet.
“Zulu, Zulu! Upper left, fourth floor!”
The crack of my team’s gunfire echoes around the square.
A body falls from the window.
The cavalcade halts and our smiling, waving leader sweeps into his meeting.
I pour my begging cup’s coins onto the writhing body at my feet.
“Come on, move your arse”. I smile.

210  words

This story was written for Rebekah Postupak's Flash!Friday challenge 3.18

Monday, 23 February 2015

The State of Grace


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Photo Credit
The State of Grace

This is so unfair!
How dare Gabe talk to me like that?
Just because he’s Father’s favourite.
Just because he’s mister whiter-than-white.
I was only doing what he told me to do.
‘Look after Jane’ he said.
‘Keep an eye on her’ he said.
‘Don’t let her get into any trouble’ he said.
Does he think I am stupid?
I have been out in the world before. Just because I had a problem last time...
I went with her to the party.
Wow, was this different. It was like nothing I had ever seen before.  The way these kids carried on, I was shocked, but I remembered the job I had to do.
I kept out of sight, just watched Jane.
It was pretty lame, until Peter and Paul arrived.
I mean, twin brothers, football stars, deep blue eyes - and buff too - well who wouldn’t?
Jane obviously had a thing for Peter, giving him those cow eyes of hers, and tittering and simpering at everything he said.
But she wasn’t going to get anywhere unless someone got him away from Paul.
She asked for my help - silently, of course, but I heard her plea.
So I thought, ‘Guys go to parties with a wing-man, it’s like I’m Jane’s wing-woman - ha!’ So I made sure he could see me.
His eyes nearly popped out of his head, he stood there, tongue covered in cigarette butts where he had been dragging it on the floor.
So anyway, I got him away from his brother. Jane had a clear run.
In the morning, I thought of Jane, doing the walk of shame, while I flew off, unobserved, of course.
I thought I had got away with it, but I reckoned without Father.
Of course I knew he was supposed to see everything, but I figured he couldn’t be watching everything all the time.
Wrong.
The next thing I knew, he had sent Gabe.
‘What was the last thing I told you?’ he said.
‘I was doing what you told me’ I said.
‘No, Grace, this is the end. After that incident with Joan of Arc, and your retraining, you were told that this was your last chance. You are dismissed’.
‘What?’
‘You heard. Dismissed. Leave.’
‘But, you can’t...’
‘It’s too late, Grace. The decision has been made. Father has signed off on it, you’re out’.
‘But what will I do?’
‘The same thing that others before you have done. It’s all downhill for you from here, I’m afraid.’
The smug bastard smiled a dazzling smile at his own joke.
I could have knocked those perfect teeth out, but what’s the point? I knew I couldn’t win. Even Luce had failed. You can never beat this system now, it has been going too long.
Gabe just looked down his long, flawless nose at me and pointed me to the door.
I shuffled over to it, pausing to look out at the fields beyond.
‘Grace’, Gabriel called, using the full power of his voice for the first time. ‘Leave your wings behind please’.
They lifted off my shoulders to flutter disloyally to his outstretched hand.
I stomped out into the real world, marvelling at how weak full sunshine seemed in comparison to the light I’d become used to.
The wet grass was cold on my feet. I lifted the skirts of the shimmering gown, forced to keep it out of the mud - now I could no longer fly.
This sucks!
Fallen angel, indeed!
This is so unfair!

 This story was written for Week 139 of Daily Picspiration - a site where a group of writers create stories from photo prompts. Each day features a different writer with his or her own picspiration. You can visit each day for a new story.

Friday, 6 February 2015

Stairway to Heaven


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Rain (Liberia, Guanacaste, Costa Rica). CC2.0 photo by NannyDaddy.




Stairway to Heaven

The storm was a wild one.
Just as I hoped.
Thunderheads barged across the sky, jostling and bouncing off each other, like gang members steaming a train. Their shouts were the thunder, born of those gale driven collisions, and knives flashed as sudden lightning.
The rain, my constant companion, lashed me with its spiteful force, drenching my clothes and stealing my body heat.
My shoes, leather slick and greasy from their soaking, squelched and slipped with every step on the flooded flags.
I carried the umbrella high, heedless of the miniature torrents streaming from its spikes with every change of angle as I walked.
The umbrella wasn’t for the rain, it was for the lightning.
They say it never strikes twice in the same place. I hoped the old wives tale was not true here.
Reaching the centre of the deserted square, I turned a slow, deliberate circle, peering through sodden, blinking lashes for any trace of others.
No. For the first time, I smiled to be alone.
I was sure, with the unshakeable certainty of a dream, that if I could only be touched once more by the flaming finger of the Gods, I would be transported as she had been.
I would be with my love again.

 209 words
@nickjohns999

This story was written for Rebekah Postupak's Flash! Friday challenge Vol 3 - 9. Read all the other stories written to this prompt here

A Summer Picnic



https://rochellewisofffields.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/garden-maze.jpg
PHOTO CREDIT– Copyright – Melanie Greenwood

A Summer Picnic

Giggles and squeals wake the garden, sparking rays of children’s laughter lighting up its darkest corners.
“Ooh, a maze!”
Tiny feet stampede to the siren call.
An excited murmuration bubbles up as they jostle and squeeze through its inviting entrance.
Voices fade within the entangling puzzle, muffled by writhing, rustling greenery.
Leaves turn to thorns, cries to screams.
Finally, shining sylvan silence once more blankets the beguiling pastoral scene.
One ragged, bramble ripped urchin scrambles from the maze’s exit. He peers towards me then frantically away.
“No, Boy. You’re mine now. I’m Jack.”
I extend a gnarled, knotty, green hand.
 
100 words
@nickjohns999

This story was written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields' Friday Fictioneers Flash Fiction Challenge.
Find all the other stories from this week's prompt here.