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Post by sebnem on Jun 19, 2019 6:01:31 GMT
Hi there Flashers, Welcome to the FFF, WEEK 372!!!
NEWCOMERS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME.
Important announcement – Six of our subscribers to FLASH FICTION have had stories accepted for publication in mainstream competitions and online magazines. Congrats to RAS (Ron), KABIBA (Kate), Singers (Tabatha), Toppykat, Suzycue, and Sebnem. See what a weekly dose of FLASH can do for you? We wonder who’ll be next?
FLASH FICTION – THE PLACE FOR NEW, ORIGINAL WRITING. WHY SHOULD YOU PLAY? WELL, THE MORE YOU WRITE, THE BETTER YOUR WRITING BECOMES. WRITING OUTSIDE YOUR COMFORT ZONE STRENGTHENS YOUR TECHNIQUE, AND WHO KNOWS, MAY BE THE INSPIRATION FOR YOUR NEXT BLOCKBUSTER NOVEL / NOVELLA. WELCOME TO THE ‘ORIGINAL’ FFF THREAD.
This week we have a selection of photo prompts, paintings by Sorolla, Van Gogh, and Hopper depicting the sea and the beach.
NB For anyone who hasn’t taken part before. All you have to do is use the prompt in any way you feel so inclined, using your innate talent, originality and imagination.
ANYBODY CAN VOTE – Allocate 3 for your favourite, then 2, then 1
That’s the challenge in 1,000 words or less. Any genre, any style, any period, any planet or any head.
Rules? - Please respect your fellow writers.
Suggestions - One - If you start reading something and you don’t like it – then move to the next one – Don’t vote but do enjoy the next person’s work and vote accordingly.
Submissions end Wednesday, June 26th at 18:00 hrs GMT when voting commences. *submission deadline will be extended if there are less than 6 entries.
Voting ends at 18:00 hrs GMT Wednesday, July 3rd.
SUBMIT please
JOAQUÍN SOROLLA, CHILDREN IN THE SEA, VALENCIA BEACH, 1908
PS. I will post the other paintings on separate pages in order not to crowd the opening page. Happy Summer Solstice on the 21st!
Your chance to show us a scene, a situation, or a character related to the prompt, something good, or maybe bad, happy or sad, something related to our existence, in any sense of the word, but ALL with a brilliant display of FLASH!
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Post by sebnem on Jun 19, 2019 6:17:08 GMT
Joaquín Sorolla, Fishermen from Valencia, 1895
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Post by sebnem on Jun 19, 2019 6:19:25 GMT
Fishing Boats On The Beach, 1888 by Vincent Van Gogh
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Post by sebnem on Jun 19, 2019 6:39:05 GMT
Edward Hopper “Jo Sketching at Good Harbor Beach” 1923–24
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ras
Deleted Member
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Post by ras on Jun 19, 2019 8:02:11 GMT
Sebnem,
Pleased you have returned and hope you had a great break.
Beautiful pictures, so much life.
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Post by sebnem on Jun 19, 2019 8:44:15 GMT
Sebnem, Pleased you have returned and hope you had a great break. Beautiful pictures, so much life.
I had a great time, Ron. Thank you. Glad you like the pictures. Looking forward to reading your story.
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Post by darius on Jun 19, 2019 10:09:51 GMT
Welcome back, Seb x
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Post by sebnem on Jun 19, 2019 10:39:07 GMT
Thank you very much, Darius!  xxx
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Post by sebnem on Jun 19, 2019 13:34:44 GMT
So who is playing this week? Will we have enough stories after the hiatus?
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ras
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Post by ras on Jun 20, 2019 9:00:35 GMT
The Girl in the Blue Dress.
From the moment she was born, Sarah saw things she never understood. The first time she identified with her premonition happened while at junior school. It started with a headache and then a vision. This time she saw a man attacking a woman. On realising, who it was, she ran out of the class. Minutes later her head cleared and she realised she was still in class.
In her late teens, while in her office, her head started to ache, and a vision began. She saw her partner in her flat with another woman. Fifty minutes later, she opened the front door and strolled into the lounge.
***
With the young girl gone, Dean slumped into his favourite armchair. “One mistake and you turn into a direct descendent of Boadicea. Anything you want to say
Sarah grimaced “You’re an arsehole.”
“Just pack your bags and get out of my life.”
“Don’t fret yourself, I’m out of here. In case you forget this is my flat, and I’ll be putting it up for sale.”
Sarah’s mind returned to why today she left work early. She picked up her bulging suitcases and left. With each stride, her mind cleared, more resolute. She closed her eyes and breathed. With each step, she felt in command of her own mind, body and soul. Her plan, jump on a train, the destination did not matter. For no reason she chose Penzance.
The train was almost empty when she boarded. A judder signalled movement, and the train picked up speed. From a dull sky, heavy rain cloaked the countryside. Exhaust smoke streamed black lines across the windows. The incessant rain made the journey appear endless.
Four hours elapsed before the train stopped at Chyandour. Why she jumped out, she did not know. She grabbed her cases and alighted. At the far end of the platform, a man in uniform nodded as he pulled a loaded barrow across the tracks. From hanging baskets colour cascaded. The rain stopped, and the sun attempted to break through a cloud-filled sky.
At the stations newsagent, she stopped and bought the local paper. The front page featured a young girl wearing a blue dress found dead on the beach. She shuddered as dark clouds covered the watery sun. The back pages contained the ‘Rooms to Let’ section. She strolled along the road, but due to the weather, the town appeared empty.
Two hours later, in a bedsit overlooking Castle beach, she unpacked and sat on the single chair. For the first time in a long while, she felt content. The deluge began, large drops whipped by the wind struck the window. This frightened her as a child and still did. She forced it from her mind.
That night strange thoughts disturbed her sleep. Her mind roamed the past, and she awoke early. She rolled out of bed and sat on its edge. Her mood changed when she saw the sun glistening on a calm sea.
After showering, she dressed in a fitted fitting denim skirt. A white blouse and tan sandals completed her outfit. Once combed, her straight long blonde hair nestled on her shoulders.
Today’s priority was to find a job. Breakfast on the sea front seemed a good idea. In the blue wave cafe, Sarah ate a hot meal with plenty of toast and tea. With limited funds, this had to last until the evening. If her calculations were correct, she had enough money for three months.
The morning the sun warmed her face. All along the sandy strip, children were running and screaming. Used to the commotion their parents relaxed in deckchairs.
She noticed him as she walked towards the harbour. He possessed that indefinable something. He was young, with close-cropped hair, casually dressed and walked with a military stride. He looked back as she followed, smiled as if he knew her but then vanished. She continued her stroll to the Job Centre.
The single member of staff apologised. He explained that temporary secretarial positions were few. Downhearted she left, wondering what she could do.
Where a moment before there was no one, now stood a girl wearing a red dress. She pointed towards the beach. Sarah went to say something, but she vanished. Trying to make sense of what she had seen, she wandered to the beach. The sun sparkled on the sea as if it contained a million crystals. As she sauntered towards the edge of the water, the sand crunched under her feet. A young boy and girl both with dark hair raced into the water. Their screams filled the air as its coldness wrapped around them. She chuckled to herself as a memory of her childhood came to mind.
With her sandals removed, she let the cold water cool her feet. She breathed in the fresh cold, salty air and stared at the horizon. Far out, two boats, one red and the other blue appeared to drift across the seascape. Her right foot trod on something, and she bent to retrieve it from the sand. A cream and brown coloured shell. She rinsed it free of debris and decided to keep it.
Further, along the beach, she found a rocky area. Too much sun, she thought as her head ached. She sat on a large flat rock and noticed the young man with close-cropped hair not far away.
As if on a mission, he dug into the sand. Next to him sat a girl wearing a blue dress. He turned his head, smiled, and mouthed, hi babe see you soon.
The vision faded as waves crashed onto the beach. She bit her lip to stifle a scream. Now she understood why Chyandour.
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Post by sebnem on Jun 20, 2019 9:40:10 GMT
@ras
Thank you very much for posting the first story, Ron. What can I offer you from the bar? A cool summer drink or something warm?
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ras
Deleted Member
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Post by ras on Jun 20, 2019 15:16:18 GMT
@ras Thank you very much for posting the first story, Ron. What can I offer you from the bar? A cool summer drink or something warm? As the sun is well over the yardarm I'll have a Gin and Tonic. Thank you. 
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Post by sebnem on Jun 20, 2019 19:22:05 GMT
@ras Enjoy, Ron!
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Post by sebnem on Jun 21, 2019 5:58:46 GMT
Penelope
Penelope sat on the pebble beach in Ithaca and combed her hair. The sea was calm, the air refreshing. A sailboat glided into the harbour. She squinted to see the flag on the mast, but she could not read the emblem. Was that him, finally back home after twenty long years? She could not tell. Penelope had fantasized about many such boats before, yet none of them had brought her long gone husband home. Telemachus was only a baby when he left, now a twenty-year-old young man, ready to rule his father’s kingdom.
Penelope had heard news of the war, and how people perished to take the city of Troy. That was many years ago, in fact, more than a decade ago. Where was he now, now that the conflict was over, and the city conquered? Had he gone on another mission or indulged in adventures, forgetting his family at home? How long could she keep the 108 suitors away, knitting and unknitting Leartes’ shroud each night? Athena insisted and Penelope lied, but recently her secret was exposed. She had to see the suitors and hated the consequences.
Next morning, Eurycleia, Ulysses' nurse, rushed to her bedroom, fussing around her. “A young sailor has asked to see you. He says he has tidings of the King.”
Penelope’s heart leapt. “Tell him to come right away. I wish this torture to be over.”
Clad in a white robe and turquoise beads around her slender neck, she sat in a chair as the sailor spoke. He looked so much like Ulysses when she fell in love with him. Eyes the colour of the sea, dark hair, and a muscular body washed with the gold of the sun. Penelope watched him as his lips moved. She did not hear the words, but was transported to a moment in the past. He was too young, she was now aging. She gulped and concentrated. “Sea… storm…the cyclopes, the sirens…” she had heard all that before, but there was something about a herd of sheep, and she listened. “Cattle of Helios, my lady, his men did not heed his orders and brought the rage of Helios and Zeus upon them. Some say he is dead, his ship destroyed. Some say he has swum to the island of Calypso. I believe the latter. Please do not fret, my Queen. The King is not one to give up.”
Penelope stared at the sailor. “I have matters to attend to.”
“I know, my lady. It is my duty to tell you the truth.”
Penelope did not leave her chambers that day, contemplating on how to cope with the dilemma. As the orange sun sank into the horizon, she had an idea. She called Eurycleia, and said, “Whoever can string Odysseus's rigid bow and shoot an arrow through twelve axe heads may have my hand."
Penelope slept soundly that night, confident there was only one person who could pass this test.
∞∞∞
Penelope sat on the sand and gazed into the sea. Behind her, the beach house stood proud, surrounded by a lush garden, like a photo from the pages of the Architectural Digest. She had everything, but nothing. A husband who was away most of the time, grown up children at the university, no longer in need of her attention or seeking her love, and her company in interior decoration had ceased to fulfil her creative talent. People wanted practical, functional homes rather than artistic features and unique touches that triggered her imagination.
As the crimson sun sank into the ocean, Penelope returned to the house, and settled in a deck chair on the terrace with a glass of champagne. She watched the silhouettes of passers-by moving against the sunset colours, gradually fading to indigo. It was the night of the full moon, and she felt less lonely outside. The empty rooms, chairs and sofas in the house aggravated her solitary state which she tried to fill with music. Under the moonlight, a man walked his dog along the sea. Perhaps she should have an affair. Was her husband having an affair, or was he simply a workaholic, making more money than he could spend in a lifetime?
Maybe she should simply walk out, go away, disappear. Hop into the car and drive into the unknown, like Kerouac, on the road. The best plan is not to have a plan. She could travel across the country, coast to coast, from north to south, all directions on the compass at her disposal- or drop the car somewhere and fly out, perhaps, go to Europe and revisit the places she loved or discover new ones. Open an antique shop or an art gallery somewhere when she wished to settle. With her management team, her company would run itself, without her, once she decided what to do with it. At least, she had the funds to support herself and manage things remotely.
Penelope rose with the first sunlight, excited about her plan to escape. She packed a medium sized suitcase, and dropped a battered copy of On the Road into a holdall, together with her personal items.
A short note placed on the dining table, she secured it with a small golden Buddha statue she had bought in Thailand. My loves, I will be gone for a while. Take care, Penelope. No electronic messages, she’d decided. This would allow her time to go as far as possible before her family discovered her absence, and to answer their calls, at her leisure.
Penelope wheeled the luggage to the car and closed the boot, before setting the alarm and locking the front door. She would call the gardener later to tell him she'd be away. As the garden gates closed behind her, Penelope set off on her own Odyssey, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel to Christopher Cross’ Ride Like The Wind.
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Post by sebnem on Jun 21, 2019 7:42:09 GMT
Happy Summer Solstice!
Alphonse Mucha - Summer (1896)
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