Welcome to a regular contributor, Jan Strickland, with her entry for this month’s micro fiction competition – 50 words (or under) on the theme of magic and mystery. I’m told this is a true story, in which case it’s a bit spooky!
By Jan Strickland
My husband was snoring. My sister, dead nine years, stood at the bottom of my bed, dressed as I had last seen her.
“Are you alright Violet?”
“Yes Rose, I am. And so will you be!” Then she was gone.
The war raged on; but we would survive
Welcome back to Tom F and Kate Loveton for their take on this month’s micro fiction competition – 50 words (or under) on the theme of magic and mystery. Thanks for joining in again and good luck to you both.
There are still a couple of days left if you would like to take part this month – you can do so by clicking on the September Monthly Mini Competition page of this blog and posting an entry in the ‘Leave A Reply’ box at the bottom of the page.
By Kate Loveton – ‘That Old Black Magic’
Hi Elizabeth, here’s my entry: ‘That Old Black Magic’
By Tom F
It was 3 am, I was asleep when he called my name. “Write it, now!” I found my pen and pad, and began to write. His story. But he had died nine months earlier…. Four hours later I woke again, pen in hand, shocked by the scrawl I had written…..
Apologies for the late post (I have been battling the cold and feeling a bit sorry for myself), but I am now very pleased to bring you the first 4 entries for this month’s micro fiction competition – 50 words (or under) on the theme of magic and mystery. It is also lovely to see some new participants – welcome to you and thank you for taking part.
Don’t forget that if you would like to give it a go, you can do so simply by clicking on the September Monthly Mini Competition page of my blog and posting an entry in the ‘Leave A Reply’ box at the bottom of the page.
By Jane Dougherty
The dark sky sank into the sea. The drifting raft clung to the sliver of moon just above the horizon. His legs barely moved as he swam, slowly, at snail speed. The woman on the raft stretched to the gloomy sky. “Return to me,” he could almost hear her command.
By Joanna Fay
He cradled the rose in his hands, and whispered the command. Spells shimmered in its petals, suspending its life. This one wouldn’t die. If he could hold them all, his world might be saved. Another bloom wilted on the bush. He cupped his palm around it. This time, he shouted.
By A C Elliot