Category Creative Writing

The Feasting – Magpie Tales

freyathewriter 26 Comments

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He stalked the land.

Times such as these were glorious for him. Borders meant nothing, language was no barrier, he fed where he saw fit, feasting on awkward limbs of souls reduced to a parody of their former spirit.

He rejoiced in the ease of it all, striding along the metal tracks that had been so kindly, so helpfully laid out for him. A ragged column of smoke and cinders rising high towards the clouds, a solid brick archway, wrought iron gates and the legend ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ told him that he had arrived at his dining place once more.

His only regret, if it could be called that, was that his earth-bound compatriots were so very efficient at their own method of destruction. It robbed him of even more gluttony, if truth be told. Still, one had to be satisfied with what one received.

And anyway, time was on his side. He could wait for them to destroy themselves with their own greed.

It had happened before, aeons ago. It would happen again.

Hoist by their own petard.

History repeating itself.

His lips salivated at the thought.

—–

Here’s this week’s entry into Magpie Tales. Yes, it’s morbid, I know. If you’re a long-time reader (thank you!) of mine, you’ll not be surprised. By way of background, I am Jewish, and the train tracks that lead into Auschwitz sprung to mind as soon as I saw the image above, hauntingly irresistible. Industrialised death is, unfortunately, no longer a shock to us, although it should be.

Please visit here for more creativity, and why not take part, if you feel the urge!

The Bootlegger – Five Sentence Fiction

freyathewriter 16 Comments

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He stole me.

He reached inside, breached the battlements, and stole me.

Took my heart, my body, my soul and stole me away.

Stole me away from here, from there, from then, from now.

I am his contraband.

—–

Here is my latest entry – in poetic form – into the lovely Lillie’s Five Sentence Fiction, where she has provided this photo for our inspiration. Please do visit here to read the entries from other writers who love to keep it short too.

Porpoise – Magpie Tales

freyathewriter 33 Comments

Tooker Bathers-George-Tooker-1950

Cassie hated the changing rooms and the feeling of being sized up, assessed, compared and found wanting by the other women. With their sleek limbs, muscles rippling under their skin, and flat stomachs, oh yes, she could imagine their thoughts as their eyes travelled up and down her own mis-shapen, lumpy body in revulsion.

She wished she could wear a sign hanging from her neck, explaining to people who she was, what she had been through, how much it took out of her to come here every week, how the memories assaulted her every time she passed through the doors and the chlorine tickled the back of her throat. But that just wasn’t the done thing. And she didn’t want pity, just recognition.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, aren’t you..?” a teenaged girl was swiping her index finger furiously over her phone, looking first at Cassie, then down again.

“Oh, I can swim, even though it looks impossible. Well, kind of, anyway,” Cassie plastered a smile on her face, practised but not yet used to the sharp stab of pain in her heart. ‘Not the pity, not the pity,’ she thought.

“No! No! It’s not that! You’re Cassie Anderlecht, aren’t you? The Olympic swimmer..?”

“I was the Olympic swimmer, once, yes,” Cassie sighed. “Not any more, as you can see.”

The girl looked Cassie full in the face, ignoring the crutches, the ill-fitting swimsuit, the twisted legs, the scars that bore witness to the story of her past.

“But you’re still Cassie Anderlechts. I’m so very pleased to meet you.”

—–

Here’s this week’s entry into Magpie Tales. Please visit here for more creativity, and why not take part, if you feel the urge!