That summer smelled like burning ants.
“C’mon, give your old man a hug,” he said, struggling to sit up straight amongst white sheets. I could feel his bones when I wrapped my arms around his tired body.
The ants squirmed under my magnifying class, but I was a merciless god.
Regina Solomond is a writer from Wexford, Pennsylvania. She is inspired by the oddities of the world and the strange people living in it.
It was handwritten, the song on her son’s unmade bed. The lyrics flowed. There were verses, a chorus, and guitar chords.
She googled snippets. No matches. She was amazed and impressed. He was only thirteen.
It began with ‘Save me’ and ended – well, it ended.
She was scared, so scared.
Anmari lives in Sydney. She writes more in her head than makes it onto paper. She is scared of what might come out, but is taking small steps and getting braver every day.
The scout was young, only fourteen, and he was one of the best.
Countless times he’d saved his people from both ambush and defeat, but when the arrow took him, their fate, like his own, was sealed.
The enemy scout lowered his bow. He was young, only thirteen, but better.
Chris Redfern is new to the world of flash fiction and enjoying it immensely. Follow his adventures at www.aatwatchtower.com.
In a movie I saw as a boy, there was a mystical cave hidden behind a waterfall. I remember how eagerly I quested that summer, how I found nothing but slippery rock faces.
Lying here, cold and tired, I sometimes wonder… What would I have found behind the next one?
This story was based on the prompt “waterfall” at TypeTrigger.