Spirit of Ice – Flash Fiction

PHOTO PROMPT© Jennifer Pendergast

I awoke in the night. Drawn by a strange song. It bubbled and splashed. Groaned and cracked. I found myself walking towards the fjord. Cold snow under bare feet made me realise I was in thrall. Stuck in a walking dream. Led by some evil Fay. My body felt sleep heavy. My mind treacle slow.

I managed to throw myself into a snowdrift. The cold woke me fully. Just feets from the water’s edge.

I’m my mind I heard a rumbling laugh. “I’ll get you yet, lass. There’s still time before the spring thaw. Your blood will make me stronger.”

© RedCat


Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Click on the frog to read and participate.


Click here to read other stories by me.


Train Ride – Flash Fiction

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

The train rattles and shakes. Waking me from my slumber. Outside the window an abandoned industrial site flashes by. Then it’s all trees again. I look at my wristwatch. Shouldn’t we be passing hamlets by now? Outliers to the great city.

I get up to stretch my legs. Maybe a coffee in the restaurant cart will clear the cobwebs in my mind.

I realize all the compartments are empty. Where is everyone? The train wasn’t empty when leaving the last station.

No passengers. No conductor. No one at all. Just me on a train going deeper into the dark woods.

© RedCat


Derek Story on Unsplash.

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.


Click here to read other stories by me.


Click the frog to participate or read more stories inspired by this image.


Where did the trip go wrong? – A Puente Story

PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer

It had been a colourful hippie bus, proclaiming love and peace.
Vibrant, buzzing with hope and life.
Wheels turning for untold miles, on roads and in minds.
Traveling all over the country spreading the word.
Encouraging the travelers to go further, look beyond.
Envision a world where everyone belongs.

~ Where did the trip go wrong? ~

When did we lose it’s soulful songs?
Forget that a new era never dawned.
Today its message a lost echo, barely heard.
Such sentiments much harder to find.
The world full of nature’s destruction, division and strife.
A faded, bleached out memory overgrown with weeds.

© RedCat

Vasilios Muselimis on Unsplash

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.

This is my third Puente poem, the others are, Another Piece of the Puzzle and Sounds in the wind which is a story inspired by art.


Click here to read more Friday Fictioneers or participate.

Click here to read other stories by me.


Forbidden Cave – A Story Poem

Raychan on Unsplash

She knew the cave was for acolytes forbidden.
It was said it could render a person utterly mad.
But if it was truly dangerous, wouldn’t it be better hidden?
Her curiosity evaporated any hesitation she might have had.

The stone carvings were massive, reaching beyond the light of her torch.
It fluttered, spluttered and gasped in the airless cave.
With a quick spell she summoned light from her sorceress brooch.
Took a breath from the air-sack that would her life save.

With a frown she studied the carvings, so intricate and complex.
Surely they belonged to the ancient astrology.
Or they meant nothing, only carved to vex and perplex.
Born out of a mad woman’s deranged fantasy.

She sat down to meditate, seeing if she could find any meaning at all.
With a burst of insight the meaning to her occurred.
The truth nearly obliterated her mind, made her skin crawl.
They were incantations meant to summon eldritch horrors from another world.

© RedCat

Diana Parkhouse on Unsplash

Written for Wordle #247 at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.

Obliterated
Astrology
Forbidden
Render
Airless
Frown
Hesitation
Quick
Stone Carvings
Massive
Burst
Perplex


Click here to read other stories by me.


Chestnut Trees – Flash Fiction

PHOTO PROMPT © Brenda Cox

” – It’s nothing to worry about, just a little wind. “

Little did he know it was a storm sent by vindictive spirits. Upset by the way he’d ignored the law of the land.

He’d come back from studying abroad, saying we needed to do things like modern folks did. Taming nature to our ends, not relying on her blessings. So he dammed the rivers and chopped down the woods to make workhouses spewing smoke day and night. When the wise ones cautioned him, he called them silly old soothsayers.

In the morning. Not one of his prized chestnut trees still stood.

© RedCat


Georg Eiermann on Unsplash

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.

Click here to participate or read more stories.

The Cafe – Flash Fiction


The cafe began to feel like her only real home. A place that with or without known people made her feel less alone. A place where no one objected if her curious, quirky, whip-smart personality shone. She spent whole days sitting at a table. For the first time feeling she might be able to have friendships and camaraderie. At night she dreamt she’d stumble into a fable.

So what did the story teach? That her agile, perspicacious mind made her prone to the Jante law breach. That her fiery passion would make her for the unconventional way reach. 
She spent her days in her home away from home. Writing stories with elfs, fairies, unicorns and gnomes. Composing poetry that made her heart and soul the universe roam.

© RedCat


Wanted to write but lacked inspiration, so went on an internet trawl. Found this prompt to inspire me. The line given in this week’s First Line Friday at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.

The line being:

The cafe began to feel like her only real home.

Including I word I learned today, perspicacity /ˌpəːspɪˈkasɪti/ meaning the quality of having a ready insight into things; shrewdness.


Click here to read other stories by me.


Black Ironhorse – Red Door


The silence of the eerie foggy night,
broken by the huff-puff-chug,
the big black ironhorse emerging.
Like a fire breathing demon in the dark night.

In one black carriage, a blood red door,
without a handle, closed smug,
through it’s window lurid light surging.
Drawing the watcher’s eyes to the menacing door.

As the mechanical beast comes to a screeching, wailing stop,
the waiting travellers shiver and hug,
longing for their warm firesides reemerging.
One girl bursts into tears, unable to stop.

The blood red door swings open on silent hinges,
a dark wizard appears looking smug,
crooked finger pointing in the crying girl unerring.
Now their fate on the courage of a girl hinges.

–  Scoundrel! she says starting her marvellous electric torch light,
your magic is only smoke and mirrors humbug,
you rule by fear and folklore merging.
You keep to the dark because your power can’t stand the test of wit or harsh daylight.

©RedCat

Written for Poetics – Exploring the realm of Minimalist Photography at dVerse, where Saana asks us to choose one of twelve photos with accompanied poetic prose line and write a poem.

I chose the ninth picture which comes with this line;

 The Red Door:

“The imposing red door towered above me, and it had no handle, opening only from the inside.”

The source of both photo and line is Glenn at SOUTH SOUND MINIMALIST PHOTOS, a site I enjoy immensely and which have made me look differently on things, realising even small details can make a thought evoking scene.

This poem went a totally different direction than I first thought, ending up another story in poem form. But I’ve learned to follow where the muse takes me. :-)

The rhyme scheme is AbcA, DbcD, EbcE, FbcF, GbcG, where the capital letters indicate the same word repeating.


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