Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘Books’

The regular

bookies

The piece I’ve written based on the photo prompt for ‘Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers‘, a new writing challenge in it’s debut week. Join in if you like.

The Regular.

Susan fled to quiet of Café Moca, relaxed by the musty scent of books. Coffee, books, company; the perfect retreat from stress. Aiden, the barrister, waved as he spotted her. “Hey, Suz!”

“Hey, Sugar. You still working?”

“Aw, nice to see you too!” He replied, flashing a cheeky grin as he worked.

“You know you’re the highlight of my day,” Susan replied, leaning onto the counter. Aiden already had her double-strength latte, with home-made Victoria sponge, coming. Tuesday – sponge day, she smiled. “That’s the coffee,” Aiden replied.

“Absolutely! Aiden… When was the last day you had off?” She worried.

“Eh? Aah… The last part-timer quit last week. I’m holding out till Mick can hire someone.”

“No wonder you look wrecked. I’ll send Clara over; she needs a job.”

“Suzzie, you’re a lifesaver. I could finally see Mick! The cake’s on the house.” Sweet! She could kiss Aiden. But, she mused, Mick would be pissed.

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First rule of apocalyptic fiction.

bookstorewolfI’ve tied this one into two different sets of prompts again today.  The Quote and the pretty wolfy are from Monday’s finish the story.  The bookstore is from Sunday Photo Fiction.

First rule of apocalyptic fiction.

“She was unaware that she was being watched.”

Eve hunkered down in a musty, used book store; it was one of the few buildings that was still intact after the violent riots. She shoved the smashed remains of shelving into her meagre fire; wondering how long it would be until she was forced to burn the books. The silence mocked Eve as she stared at the flickering flames; her sense of isolation now competing with her sense of desolation. A quick meal of tinned tuna later and Eve allowed sleep to claim her, curled up next to the fire; burying herself in memories of loved ones who she hoped were still alive. Unfortunately, Eve had made one fatal mistake: she forgot to bar the door. The wolf who crept in had a pampered look, but it had missed one too many meals in quick succession. There was no pleasure in this hunt. There was simply-

The writer hit delete. Her protagonist needed to survive past chapter one.

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