Gilbert and the grizzly


This is a work of fiction, a short story of 1319 words.

Gilbert St.John-Henderson was a proud hunter. His trophies adorned the walls of the large country house that had been his family home for generations. Framed photographs of him standing triumphantly over his kills were arranged neatly on the grand piano in the music room, all carefully dusted daily by the skittish Mary, one of the housemaids.

His father, Gilbert senior, had taken him hunting almost as soon as he could hold a rifle. Stags in Scotland, Wild Boar in Germany, Alpine Ibex in Switzerland. When the older Gilbert died relatively young, he left his son well provided for financially, along with a collection of weapons that had been the envy of hunters all over the world. Gilbert was unconcerned about the businesses, and left managers to worry about them, as he took ship to India. He was also…

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FFfAW Challenge-Week of June 20, 2017

Hosted by PJ at

A Silver Lining

By Neel Anil Panicker

An exasperated Raghav stomped out of the room, slamming the door shut, striding like a raging bull towards the balcony.

There, as the cold blast of the nightly air blew in from the sea, he arched his head upwards towards the sky.

Something that he always did; the sky being his blanket, his guardian angel, omniscient and ever protective.

He needed its solace, especially now, when his mind was a maze, fast spiralling into the dark dungeons of uncertainty.

His eyes scanned the blue swathe above him.  The cold grey sky seemed un-obliging; a tumultuous, ragged cloud that bellowed and thundered; a precursor to dust storms, lightning and torrential rains.

Unfazed, Raghav kept the faith amidst the howling of the winds, the flashes of forked lightning and the persistent claps of thunder.


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What Happened When Frank Died: Family Reunion

Flash 365


Frank died.

He walked. Well, floated. It wasn’t so much a tunnel as a black bed sheet with a hole punched in it, attempting to smother him. Then, he was through the hole.

There, gathered at the end of a cloud, his parents waited. Their arms were open.

“Oh thank god!” his Mother cried. She put her arms around him. Held him tight. His father stood back, smiling.

“My baby!” his mother began to cry. Frank looked around. There were more people there. Recognizable noses, eyes, chins, receding hairlines. His family.

He stepped back.

“We didn’t know if you’d make it here, because, well.” His mother’s voice trailed off as she placed both hands around his wrists.

“But,” she smiled, “it seems it’s not so big a deal. Come!”

She turned, but Frank didn’t move. He was looking around.

“Where is Sara?” he asked. His mother turned. It was the…

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Day 315-Flash Fiction Friday-A Child’s View

Kimmy's Patio

Cindy Lou woke up, climbed out of bed and after donning a romper, tip-toed out the front door, reveling in the feeling of the soft, cool grass on her bare feet. She had no cares about what might be in the grass, she was just a little kid. Flies and bugs didn’t bother her as she cartwheeled her way across the lawn. Mommy would be out here soon enough, bothering her to put her mosquito spray on, lest she got bites that swelled the size of fifty cent pieces.

Her dream, at the ripe old age of six, was to be in the Olympics as a famous gymnast. Mommy had enrolled her in a summer program where she and her big brother would get to go tumble and jump their days away while Mommy worked at the store. It was so cool, they got to have snacks when they took…

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The Day Before Dotty Died

Flash 365

Монтажная область 1

I get into work. An elderly home; large, sterile, soaked in death. The hall is lined with wheel chairs filled with bones, meat and loose flesh.

A CNA sits nearby, a large Kenyan woman.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” someone calls.

The CNA flips the page on a magazine. “You’ve just been,” she says.

I pass her.

“Morning,” I say. She nods.

I get a few paces past.

“Your turn to take out the smokers.”

I stop. “Yeah, yeah, let me just clock in alright.”

She doesn’t respond.

At the end, Dotty sits, rolled up against the wall, locked. She has two sons, they come on Sundays and take her out to the garden.

“Morning Dotty,” I say.

“Hah!” she squeezes her hands together, turns and twists them.

“What’s wrong Dotty?”

She holds up an old finger, pulls me close. She is missing her two front teeth, the…

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Flash Fiction: Gone

Randoms by a Random


D.S Fenworthy looked at the images rolling on the screen and sure enough, the little girl wearing a pink hoodie was Sarah. Her hair was much darker now but that was definitely her- a girl who had gone missing two months ago at a supermarket whilst her mother was shopping. One minute she was there and the next, gone.

boss! Boss!“, Fenworthy yelled across the office.
D.I Lucy hurried to his cubicle, unhappy to have her lunch break uninterrupted.
This better be worth it..”, she began when Fenworthy interjected by pointing at a screenshot of Sarah.
Isn’t that?”

Fenworthy nodded and D.I Lucy dumped her half eaten sandwich into the trash. He played the tape in slow motion which showed Sarah standing on the platform as the train approached, but the moment it passed, she was gone, again.

We can’t lose her again” Lucy…

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Microfiction #writephoto: A lonely child

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

The child stood on tiptoe to peer through the leaded panes, breathed on a diamond and drew a smiley face in the moisture. It was cold outside, and not much warmer inside. She shivered. The room was high and bare, like most of the castle rooms, but this was even barer than most and tiny, much higher than it was wide. There was nothing in it except a wooden chest pushed against a wall.

Perhaps because it was the only object in the room, perhaps because of some other attraction, the child approached and ran her fingers over the carved flowers and birds.

It’s a girl’s box, she thought, full of some girl’s things.

Pushing with both hands, she raised the lid. Cold air rushed out and around her, lifting the fine locks of hair about her face. With a sharp cry, she let the lid drop and…

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