Tag Archives: Fiction Friday

Fiction Friday – The Red Rose

Today is Fiction Friday over at Write Anything I’ve not taken part in a few weeks, however, I could not resist today’s prompt which is as follows:

Fiction] Friday Challenge #200 for April 8th, 2011

Use this phrase “Looks can be deceiving” as your prompt of theme.

Short but sweet,  something inspired from my novel and one of my favourite images from the graphic novel The Crow that I saw today. Those on my Facebook page will know what I am referring to. May I say, roses also play a part in my own novel, and have had great meaning in my own life. It seems at times, my life is one strange surreal novel, but I digress…here’s the story, hope you enjoy it:

The Red Rose

Looks can be deceiving, I scribbled that on my notebook, frowned and put a line through it right away, it was a rubbish line. I put the notebook away and sipped my wine instead.
‘You’re right, looks can be deceiving…’ said a man sitting in a darkened corner of the pub, only the reddish glow of his cigarette was visible.
‘I beg your pardon?’ I said turning towards him.
‘You heard…’ his chair scraped the floor as he stood up.
‘No, I just…wondered how you…’ I watched him walk towards me, he wore black, head to toe. His Cuban heels clicked on the wooden floor. Who wears boots in summer?
‘Hello Agatha.’ he pulled up a chair, turned it around and sat down resting his elbows on the back of it.  A playful smile on his lips.
‘How do you know my name?’
He reached inside his leather jacket and placed a small card on the table.
‘That’s my business card….how?’ I said, my hands trembling as I read my own name on it.
‘You left it for me, don’t you remember?’
‘When?’ I said staring at him, something about those blue eyes of his.
‘Something about my eyes?’
‘How…do you..do that…’
‘You’re dribbling…’ he said grabbing the wine glass from my hand and placing it on the table.
‘Oh…’ I said seeing several drops of red wine over my white summer dress. I could not help but think they looked like drops of blood…
‘Remember…’ he said, reaching out to grab hold of my head with both of his hands. I gasped, feeling a shock, like static electricity course through me.  He stared at me through his tousled fringe, the blue of his eyes appearing to darken.
‘Good night Agatha, the headache will pass, and you’ll remember…’
I watched him walk away, cigarette smoke hung in front of him like a mist as he made his way towards the front door and then he was gone.
My head was thumping, I grabbed my handbag and stood up to go when I saw what he’d left for me.  There, on the table was a single red rose…

Fiction Friday – The Warrior

It’s been a while since I’ve taken part in Write Anything’s Fiction Friday but today’s tagline was too good to pass up. I do admit, I didn’t quite stick to the rules of it, instead, I used the idea of the Wild West for inspiration…

[Fiction] Friday Challenge #198 for March 11th, 2011
Set your story in the 1880s, in a mid west, tumbleweed town. The doors of the bar open, the piano stops playing and all eyes are drawn to the figure in the doorway…… Now keep going..!

A different take on the stranger with no name. Featuring, a special stranger very close to my heart…

The Warrior

The town came alive after dark, perhaps it was because the temperature descended from a stifling 104°F degrees, to a more civilised 75°F. Not that it mattered to him, who had been never seen the sun. Desert, tumbleweeds, and fast women. Nothing like his beloved London, but the Americans were friendly and curious. The men, would squint, eyeing him up and down, their hands on the holster of their guns as they spoke, prepared to draw at any second. Not that he gave them a reason to do so.  He loved to see the fear in their eyes, it fed him, giving him strength, but it was the women he loved the most.

Soft and warm, with curves he could melt into as they cried out in ecstasy, digging their nails into his back. How they loved him. The stranger with no name. The foreigner with the warm blue eyes and chiselled good looks. He fed on their desire for him, loving them like no other.  None hesitated, when he asked them for the one gift only they could give. Life. His blood mixed with theirs. Life eternal and everlasting.

By the time the women gave birth, he would be long gone, but they would love and care for his children, with their alabaster skin and gentle blue eyes, so much like his. The women would know what to do. He had whispered things in their ear as they slept, telling them the men’s blood would feed their babies, and how they would be able to leave town and find refuge in the nearby underground caves, where the local indians would allow them safe passage.

The Indians had seen him walk through the desert, his boots dusty with desert sand on a night when the full moon had been bright in the sky. A horrible night when white men had come to slay them, their women and children. The stranger had killed the men, leaving their bodies drained of blood, but with offerings, the men’s scalps…

‘From one warrior to another…’  he said, watching them come close, their warm bronzed skin so unlike his, their dark almond-shaped eyes gazed into his as they questioned him, touching him with no fear. ‘Keltoi’ he said, telling them about his own land, and how it had also been invaded and lost centuries ago, like theirs.

Will they help the women and their babies? Yes, they nodded. He told them the babies would grow fast, and strong but that the rays of the sun, would burn them. They nodded in understanding pointing at the full moon. He smiled and thanked them wishing he could remain with them, but this new country was vast, there were other towns to visit, other tribes to help, so many, but it was the least he could do. A warrior helps another. He, who no longer had a tribe…

Fiction Friday – Twas the night before Christmas – The Visitors

It’s been a while since I’ve participated in Write Anything’s Fiction Friday but today’s prompt inspired me. The challenge for the 24th December is:

“Twas the night before Christmas …..Nothing was stirring not even a mouse..” Take the point of view from a non human participant in the scene (eg, mouse, chair, Christmas tree, door, chimney..) and write about the event.

The prompt inspired the following flash fiction story, whilst it may appear as I haven’t stuck to the deal, I can assure you, the participants described below are certainly not quite human…

Image by Marcus74id

The Visitors

Twas the night before Christmas, nothing was stirring not even a mouse.  A soft rustling of fabric was heard as he walked towards the children’s beds. He smiled watching them sleep and leaned over, his long white beard almost touching their sleeping faces as he whispered ancient incantations in their ears.

Tonight, they would have no vision of sugar-plums in their heads, instead they would dream of their ancestor’s past, of vast forests and sacred streams and men in white robes cutting away mistletoe with their golden sickles from an ancient oak. They would learn the true meaning of Yuletide.

In the corner, a baby cried as creeping shadows hovered over it.  Come away, O human child….they whispered. From the folds of his white robe, Myrddin took out a sprig of mistletoe and placed it over the cradle.  A changeling could never take its place now. The fearful ones slunk away, back to their hollow hills with a warning not to venture there upon Yuletide.

Outside, she watched them depart. Her long black hair blowing in the freezing wind. Pale alabaster hands with a bluish tint gripped a wooden staff as she made her way across a field, with each tap of her staff, the ground froze. A wolf and a deer followed her closely behind. Cailleach Bheur smiled.


A few things inspired that, amongst them, the beautiful poetry of WB Yeats. I quote one line from his The Stolen Child poem. Also, Bauhaus wrote a chilling song called Hollow Hills. If you’re curious about the hollow hills, you can read about them here.

Lastly, if you wonder who the mysterious woman is. She is Cailleach Bheur, the ancient queen of Winter. What about the man? He is Merlin, also known as Myrddin. Many believe he was a Druid.  You can read about Yule and mistletoe here.

If you study history, you will know the true origins of Christmas are buried deep in the past, way before Christianity. Whatever you celebrate, I wish you Seasons Greetings.  To my pagan friends Blessed Be.