Deluge – Five Sentence Fiction

July 20, 2014freyathewriter 12 Comments

The raindrops pelt my hair, my face, my arms, my hands until I am drenched.

I stand in the empty street, arms outstretched, palms turned upwards, embracing the clouds above.

I know eyes are watching me from behind nets, behind doors held slightly ajar and deep in the shadows just out of reach of the streetlight’s glare.

I know they are whispering behind hands and underneath raised eyebrows – to them I am the woman who has lost her mind with grief, for nobody sane stands in the street, in the rain, in her nightgown.

But I do – it is a relief to feel something other than the weight of profound loss – it is a relief to feel so refreshed.

Cinders – VisDare 70

July 20, 2014July 20, 2014freyathewriter 4 Comments

“It’s simply not fair, Mother. She looks so elegant in that stupid, simple dress. I must have one exactly like it, made out of silk, rather than cotton.”

“Philomena, you will not ask Madame Reynaud for another dress. That poor woman has worked her fingers to the bone as it is.”

Philomena threw her fine lace shawl to the floor in disgust. “Only because you allowed her to make an outfit for that tramp as well!”

Lady Fawcett grasped her daughter firmly by the shoulder angrily. “You need to learn that graciousness and manners are what makes Eloise beautiful, not her dress. I am sad to say that you could wear her clothes all day long and you would never look as radiant as your step-sister.”

Blunt words they may have been, but Lady Fawcett feared that they had fallen on deaf ears. Her daughter was already too far gone.

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Here’s my latest entry into VisDare this week, the prompt run by the lovely Angela. I saw an element of competiton in this photo, with each of the ladies trying to float higher than the others! Please do pop over to her blog and read the other submissions – no two will be alike!

Fallen Angel – VisDare 69

July 13, 2014freyathewriter 4 Comments

Samuel had been hiding since last Sunday.

He had decided he was sick and tired of flying around serenely. He was bored of ice white, apple white, glacier white, white-on-white. He needed a bit of colour in his life. And he was totally fed up of all the sweet, choral singing in the background. He needed noise, raised voices, arguments, drunken laughter and passion.

Of course, once he had slipped out the back door, he realised his mistake. It was cold down here, people couldn’t help pointing and laughing at him, one boy even called him a nutter and he had forgotten that down here, if he wanted to eat, he needed money, or to steal.

So, here he was, hiding behind a vast pillar in a spacious courtyard. And none of the angels here wanted to talk to him, nor did they move a muscle.

He wanted to go home.

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Here’s my latest entry into VisDare this week, the prompt run by the lovely Angela. A bit cheeky, but why not?