Twittering Tales #133 – 23 April 2019

Photo by WikiImages at

Title: Spiders

The fear is very real. When you’re afraid of spiders, space is the best place to live.

After all, no air, no spider. Right?

Anyway, arachnophobia is a serious problem – what’s that on my helmet? Is that – NO! HOW DID THE SPIDER GET IN? NO, HELP! MAYDAY! MAY –

Transmission lost.

(275 characters)

This is the second photo prompt I did for Twittering Tales and I could not help but come up with silly ideas. Exaggerating the phobia of spiders is one of them. If I offend any of you who are really afraid of spiders, do pardon me.

If you are interested, the prompt is linked below.

About the challenge: Each Tuesday I will provide a photo prompt. Your mission, if you choose to accept the challenge, is to tell a story in 280 characters or less. When you write your tale, be sure to let me know in the comments with a link to your tale. If you would prefer to post your tale in the comments (some people have very specific blog themes but still want to participate), I am happy to post a link to your site when I post your tale in the Round Up.

Prompt: Twittering Tales #133 – 23 April 2019


Thursday photo prompt: Beyond #writephoto

Title: Reclamation

Type: Flash Fiction
Genre: Horror / Supernatural

Swish, swish, swish…

He wakes up with a start, his helmet askew. The trees sway gently to the breeze and in the distant, he can hear birds chirping. Something has woken him up. What is he doing, sleeping in the middle of the forest anyway? More importantly, who is he?

His eyelids grow heavy; sleep threatens to claim him before he can claim any answers.

Swish, swish, swish…

He rises and stumbles like a drunken buffalo, grabbing whatever near him for support. Logic dictates that he must be a construction worker; he is wearing a vest and a safety helmet. And observation indicates he is a lumberjack; chainsaws and tree stumps are also around him.

He also notices, in a disinterested and dry manner, saplings are growing from the stumps, with some weird limbs curling protectively around it.

Swish, swish, swish…

He continues to lumber among the trees. He swears a tree shrinks from him when he leans against it for support. Is that normal? He takes another couple of steps and his helmet is suddenly yanked from his head.

“Hey…” he protests weakly as he looks around owlishly.

Shh, shh, shh…

Weariness and delusion occupy the same space in his head. On the tree to his right, his helmet twirls on a branch at least one metre higher than he can reach with his hands. Before he is able to consider the situation, something sharp scratches through his vest, scratches through his clothes. He suspects he is bleeding but he is too tired to check. The branches are now poking and prodding him to the left, away from the helmet.

“But…” he protests weakly again. But why is he so bothered? Is it not natural for things to get caught on branches?

Shh, shh, shh…

He continues shuffling his way. Where is he going? Ah, looking for a tree stump. A recently cleared tree stump will be the best. He would not want to hurt the saplings growing on the other stumps. Trees are important, are they not? He would look for a cleared tree stump and rest, curling on it like a baby. The tree would protect him.

There! he finally finds one.

Sleep, sleep, sleep…

True to his words, he lumbers toward the stump and curls on it. He is a good boy, listening to Mother’s words. Mother knows everything best. He would sleep. Who cares about such a mundane job like logging? Why would anyone even think about cutting trees down? Trees are important to people. Trees are important to Mother.

He sleeps and bleeds on the tree stump.

Sleep, sleep, sleep…

If he sees his fellow lumberjacks, each sleeping on a tree stump in various state of decomposition, he will have left the forest screaming. But Mother knows everything best. Mother knows how to move man around without arousing suspicion. And Mother wants her trees to grow strong and healthy; her garden is dying because of the parasites consuming her trees.

And this logging site is the best place for her to start reclaiming.

Sleep, sleep, sleep…

(512 words)

I will admit, while this photo is great material for melancholic poetry, it is time for me to stay away from that path. At least for a while. So I had to brainstorm a bit.

While I would not say I am an environmental activist, I am a nature lover and I would not stand for harming the environment in a thoughtless manner. Naturally, I understand the need for logging but at the same time, I just feel sad that it is happening at an alarming rate and everyone seems to care more about money. And the trees are just defenceless against such attacks.

But I started thinking, must trees be passive during deforestation? I’m in somewhat of a Stephen King reading spree and when I decided to breathe some life into trees, I also decided it to be a horror/supernatural story.

Of course, when left to my own devices, this is how verbose I can get. But the setting also seems important too and for that, I need words. I certainly hope the horror element comes through.

If you are interested, the prompt is linked below.

Prompt: Thursday photo prompt: Beyond #writephoto

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge: The Basketball


Image by zgmorris13 from Pixabay

Title: The Basketball

Type: Flash Fiction
Genre: Realistic

She was puzzled when her seven-year-old girl left the counter empty-handed. “Where’s the basketball?” she asked.

“The man at the counter said I should play with dolls instead,” her little girl replied. “It’s ok, Mama. I don’t like the ball anyway.”

Furious, she grabbed her daughter’s hand and marched straight to the counter, pausing long enough only to get the basketball on the way.

“Here, we’re getting this basketball. For my girl! And don’t you dare tell her what she can and can’t play.”

Both the man at the counter and her daughter learnt a valuable lesson that day.

(99 words)

This prompt is a difficult one, due to the large amount of discussion which could arise from this. Writing a 99-word story that portrays the layered complexities of the self and others in the society we lived in really pushed me out of my comfort zone. But I am still quite happy with what I came up with though.

If you are interested, the prompt is linked below.

Prompt: Carrot Ranch April 18 Flash Fiction Challenge

Weekend Writing Prompt #102 – Impress

baby in white onesie

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on

Title: Baby Steps

Type: Flash fiction
Genre: Realistic

“What do you mean he climbed over the gate and out into the yard to play? He’s only eight months old!”

“Maybe we just need to get a taller baby safety gate,” Benedict smiled sheepishly.

“Or maybe we don’t have to if someone keeps an eye on the baby like he was supposed to!” his wife glowered at him.

“Don’t say it.”

“You have one job!”

“Well, at least he didn’t hurt himself when he climbed over to the other side!” Benedict replied defensively.

The pause was just long enough for Benedict to realise he was in trouble.

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

(104 words)

This story was rather unintentional, when I saw a child playing by himself and his parents were paying minimal attention at a local shopping mall. Let my imagination run wild a little and this is the product. I rather quite like the nonsensical and silly nature of this writing.

If you are interested, the prompted is linked below.

Prompt: Weekend Writing Prompt #102 – Impress

Three Line Tales, Week 168

three line tales, week 168

photo by Melody Jacob via Unsplash

Title: The Rebel

Type: Flash Fiction
Genre: Realistic

“Never wear the three primary colours together!” her self-proclaimed fashion guru friends told her.

The very next day, she dyed her hair blue, bought a bright yellow dress complete with a pair of sunglasses, as well as a pair of blood red heels.

Ain’t nobody gonna tell her what to do or what not to do.

(3 lines)

I saw the photo and boom! this came out. I always enjoy adding a little chaos to those people who refer to the rules to get me to behave. That ain’t happening!

If you are interested, the prompt is linked below.

Prompt: Three Line Tales, Week 168

Am I Human?

Illustration by Michal Dziekan

I am cheerful.
I am jocular.
Only when I am
with people.

But on paper,
I don’t know
how not to be sad
how to show happiness

My previous happy event
seemed surreal,
my next happy event
is nowhere in sight.

I am simply
an empty vessel
with heavy heart.

And worse of all?
I don’t know
how to function
like a normal person.

But I know
how to curl up
like a baby,
or how familiar
that sinking feeling is
in my chest cavity.

So don’t talk to me,
don’t console me,
just walk along
to see what I see.

That’s all I ask for.