Avril found the carrier bag of photo negatives in the attic and decided to get them developed. When the photos came back, she saw the faces of relatives and their friends. All those people were gone now, yet here they were now before her, captured forever in print.
(Inspired by; https://katmyrman.com/2019/05/28/twittering-tales-138-28-may-2019/ with thanks).
Perhaps once famous horses had lived in the old stable and maybe a maid had fallen in love with a groom there and they had romanced in the hayloft.
I daydream too much but I really wish to know what had happened in the stables throughout their history. All those stories were lost to time and it’s such a shame.
For years, no horses’ hoofs had echoed the whitewashed walls, no boys had run in and out, nature hadn’t been cut back but this was all about to change. I was bring the stables back to life and soon the walls would have stories to tell once again.
(Inspired by; https://crimsonprose.wordpress.com/2019/05/22/crimsons-creative-challenge-28/ with thanks).
It wasn’t the priest hole in the wall or under the floor the Catholic priest had been expecting. Looking out of the small arched doorway, he could see a neat flagstone path leading to a small hut covered with ivy.
‘The well house,’ one of the maids explained.
‘Oh,’ was all he could reply.
The maid led the way with a quick step and the priest still clutching his bible followed her.
They left the family and other servants in the chapel behind, hurriedly tidying things away. Then everyone scattered as on the other side of the house, the guards and pursuivant entered through the main door and began their search for Catholics.
The maid open the hut’s door and rushed inside. The priest followed, closing the door behind him. He looked around in the gloom and saw the moss clinging to the walls and before him the huge construction of the well. Above ran thick wooden beams and there was a system of pulleys and weights to the left side.
The maid was turning the handle which was causing a long pole to also turn and a thick rope began to twist around the pole as the bucket was drawn up.
‘Where am I to hide? The guards will search in here!’ the priest cried for he could see no where safe.
‘In the well,’ the maid gasped.
‘In there….’ the priest trailed and looked over the edge of the solid wall of the well.
He couldn’t see anything but darkness.
‘They won’t look for you down here,’ the maid added.
The priest looked towards the door, ‘is there no where else in the house?’
‘Not that I know. I was told to bring you here. The bucket is coming up now,’ the maid pointed out.
The priest stood back as the rope came to an end and the bucket full of water appeared.
With some effort, the maid pulled the bucket over and unattached it. Water sloshed on the floor and splashed up her skirts. From the corner, she brought out an empty bucket and attached to to the rope. Then turning to the small window sill, she did something the priest could not see.
‘Here’s a candle,’ the maid said, lighting a thin white candle and handing it to the priest, ‘there’s a ledge down there for you to stand on. When the bucket gets there shout stop and I shall try to do so. Blow the candle out when you can. We shall come and get you when the guards have gone.’
Nodding the priest, helped put the bucket into the well then climbed in. Juggling Bible and candle in one hand, he held the rope with his other then watched the maid lowering him in.
The wet walls of the well rose up above him and the priest watched for any ledges sticking out. The candle flame fluttered and wax droplets burnt his hand. The priest held tightly on, feeling his stomach aching. Then meters down the well, he saw the ledge.
‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’ he screamed upwards.
The bucket jerked and he heard the echoing strains of the maid trying to hold on. The priest scrambled out and found to his shock that the ledge was just enough for him to stand upon. Almost tripping on his robes, he nearly tumbled backwards and the candle fell from his hand.
Hugging the wall, he pressed his face into the cold, wet stone and took a few deep breaths. He shut his eyes and started praying hard as the bucket went down passed him. Further below, he heard it hit the water and then the bucket began to raise up.
The priest stood in the pitch darkness for so long he lost track of the time and his repeated prayers. At one point, he thought he heard voices above and the maid had returned for him but no bucket came down.
God delivery me for this, he thought, bring me peace.
What felt like a long, long time later, the priest heard movement and the creaking of wood. Gently, moving his face from off the wall, the priest looked up but could not see anything for awhile. Then a light, like the Spirit of God, shone down and the priest saw the bucket and a candle inside.
He grabbed the bucket, pulling on the rope to signal he had it. Taking the candle out, the priest climbed inside and tugged on the rope again. The bucket swung then he as lifted up and up till at last he could see the lips of the well.
He reached the top and all put fell out of the bucket as two male servants tried to help him.
The priest rested against wall, sipping wine that someone had pressed into his hand and shaking his head whilst repeatedly saying, ‘never again, never again.’
(Inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2019/05/23/thursday-photo-prompt-transition-writephoto/ with thanks).
The waters of the Ganges lapped at the edge of Varanasi city’s western bank. Fires rose on the burnt ground, the flames reflected in the river like the rays of the setting sun. The smell of burnt flesh, cloth and wood chocked the air making the mixed spice fragrances of the markets seem lost in the past.
From the distant boat, I watch men bring my relative’s body down to wash in the river. I wasn’t allowed to go because it was believed women make the event more sorrowful but I had want to see this ancient tradition. Â
(Inspired by; https://whatpegmansaw.com/2019/05/25/varanasi-india/ with thanks).
The wooden ship creaked as the ice finally broke away. The crew hung over the sides, eagerly watching the results. They had been trapped in the iceberg for three months now, surviving on half rations and whatever fish and birds they could catch.
The ship seemed to sink a little into the water and the first tiny waves lapped around the bow.
‘Shall we unfurl the sails, Captain?’ the first mate asked.
The Captain, who hadn’t been keen on this exploration trip to the Arctic, nodded.
The crew set to work quickly, finally feeling like they had been saved.
(Inspired by; https://carrotranch.com/2019/05/23/may-23-flash-fiction-challenge/ with thanks).
As a child, Mary’s favourite toys had been a china faced doll and a wooden spinning top. Her brothers had also received the spinning tops that same Christmas and they had hours of fun racing against it each other.
Spinning tops were out of fashion, children were all about technology and complicated toys now.
When the school children arrived at the museum, Mary showed them and let them play with replica toys which they seemed to really enjoy. So perhaps, there was still life left for spinning tops after all?
(Inspired by; https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2019/05/25/weekend-writing-prompt-107-spin/ with thanks).
Alone at last, he embraced the sky.
Darla held her breathe, watching the new cat sniffing around her living room. Darla had never had a pet before, being highly allergic to animals but now she took strong antihistamines. For the past few years, she had done lots of research into getting the right cat and had even spent time being around lots of different breeds.
Darla had finally chosen to get a Sphynx, well known for being a hairless cat. Some people say they are ugly but watching the sliver-grey coated and pale green eyed cat, Darla was all ready in love.
She called the cat over with a ch-ch sound and the cat came. Rubbing it’s head against her hand. Darla picked up the cat gingerly and placed it into her lap. The cat looked at her, mewed and rubbed her hand again, wanting more strokes.
‘I thought of a good name for you,’ Darla spoke as she run a hand down the back of the cat, ‘Cleopatra. Cleo for short. Because you are a Sphynx cat and in Egypt they have statues of Sphinxes. They also worshipped cats like Gods. Cleopatra was a female pharaoh and she’s real famous. What do you think?’
Cleo mewed and Darla took that for a yes.
Connie tapped the pen against the notepad she was writing the list on. This was the first time she was trying to organise her daughter’s birthday party for a school class.
‘Do kids still enjoy playing party games like pin the tail on the donkey?’ she asked aloud.
Nobody answered her; Connie’s husband had taken their daughter to the park.
‘I use to hate that one. Everyone would laugh at each other for getting the tail in the wrong place.’
Connie signed, looked at the list and began writing again.
‘Let’s just stick with the pinata, pass the parcel and musical chairs.’
(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2019/05/22/24-may-2019/ with thanks).
The clock always fascinated her. The background was blue and green enamel whilst the numbers, hands, animals and figures were gold. As well as telling the time, the clock told the passed of months and years but she never realise that.
(Inspired by; https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2019/05/18/weekend-writing-prompt-106-zodiac/ with thanks).
Fighting Bowel Diseases One Day At A Time
Micro fiction contest
Daggers up!
The Story Files 