Tag: Flash Fiction

The Prodigal Fleece- An Ad

Photo by Michael Waddle on Pexels.com

No one asks for woolens anymore. No bags full for BaaBaa’s master or his dame, especially none for the trekkers freezing in Nepal waiting to climb to the top of some freaking mountain. Which one? BaaBaa can’t remember, but he knows exactly when wool tanked and fleece took off.

Warm, washable, even woolly if you get the right stuff. And BaaBaa makes the right stuff. He has a reputation to live down as the black sheep of the family- a misspent childhood, years in Nepal’s wild, sacred heights. He’s redeemed himself.

This bad boy kicks the competition. Woolmark, eat your heart out.

Pro Bono Magic

Photo by Anna Tukhfatullina Food Photographer/Stylist on Pexels.com

A dusty sign in a hidden alley advertised, “Magic Wand: Party needs instantly.” A bell tinkled; Cinderella opened the door.

A wizened woman with a sharp face greeted her.

“You take charity cases,” Cinderella asked.

“We’re swamped. Can it wait?”

“The ball, isn’t it. Everyone’s been invited. But I can’t go like this.” Cinderella pointed to her rags.

“No family support?” The woman waved a hand over a crystal ball. “Guess not. A rat to drive the coach. Mice, lizards, transformed to assist. Glass slippers and a diaphanous gown.”

“A rat?” 

“They never get lost. Get you back on time.”

The Customer is Wildly Wrong

Photo by M. Sovran Wolfe on Pexels.com

The boat salesman overheard three men planning a rafting trip. When they approached the register, he estimated their combined weight at six hundred pounds and knew that the tub they’d picked would not make it through the calms, let alone the rapids.

“This one’s rated at two hundred fifty pounds. Two small women. Three children at most.”

He didn’t add that even one of these gentlemen would be enough to sink it.

“Well now, I reckon we can read,” said the ginger-haired man.

The mutton-chopped guy put down a credit card. “Customer’s always right.”

The salesman thought, Not this time.

Spinning the Proposal

Photo by KoolShooters on Pexels.com

“The spinning wheel’s two hundred. The spell’s another five hundred.”

“That’s outrageous,” the queen said pulling the hood of her cape to cover her widow’s peak. She took a card from her purse. “You do take Visa.”

He did. “How about a CosPlay evil fairy for the christening.”

“CosPlay? I want a professional.”

“Who’s gonna know?”

“You horrible dwarf. You have no idea. It’s hard to marry off a princess. You start as soon as they’re born. Then there’s preschool, private school, etiquette… They need skilled help and compelling stories to get to a happily-ever-after.”

“Like spinning straw into gold?”

Mirror Magic

Photo by Aidan Roof on Pexels.com

It was only a matter of time before she broke me. That’s an occupational hazard of delivering bad news to an evil queen when you feel bound not to sugarcoat it.

I did warn her. After two unsuccessful assassination attempts, I ventured an opinion that Snow White had her own magic. Not appreciated. Evil zapped me, electric charge flowing from her fingers until the glass fought back. Magic glass does that. It exploded leaving her a bloody mess and me a disembodied spirit. Now that I’m free, I’ll find a way to dislodge the poison apple from Snow White’s throat.

Beyond the Looking Glass

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Cleaning the many mirrors in the castle was a full time job. The blind lass, hired by the queen, felt her way up and down the craggy stones of the winding staircases. Doors opened into lighter shades of gray filled with solid shadows. She found her way through every room but one. That door was always locked. The mirror inside was magical.

Dreaming, she turned a key and entered the forbidden room. Blindsight rendered the planes of the walls a darker gray. The mirror, the room’s only tangible shape, beckoned. A grayscale world of touch emerged from behind the glass.

From the Immortal Poets, Guaire the Generous

Photo by Askar Abayev on Pexels.com

It was a fine table Guaire set for the poets who stayed in his castle. But Seanchan, the most renowned, was displeased. “What victuals these? Better suited to cats than to learned men.” And by cats he meant the nobles filling their faces down the table. “So fat these cats, the mice run wild in the kitchen.”

When Irusan, King of the Cats, heard this insult, he came to kill Seanchan. Loading the bard on his back, he ran like the wind until they encountered St. Kieran who ran a hot poker through Irusan, saving Seanchan to reconcile with Guaire.

Retold from Ancient Legends of Ireland by Lady Wilde.

Looking for the Light

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com

“Why do you fear the dark?”

“It’s too quiet. It blocks my sight.” Dagny’s bright yellow hair contrasted with Lilith’s dark curls.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

He did. Reluctantly.

“What do you see?” Lilith moved a hand across his shuttered gaze.

“A flash, dark, flash.”

She dropped her hand to her lap. “Then gather the light that is left behind your lids and see my form in your mind’s eye.”

To begin, Lilith was a shadow. Her hair was the first to differentiate itself. Then her lips and her eyes, and once her face appeared, Dagny had no fear.

Inspired by Jane Yolen’s The Moon Child.

Let Down Your Hair

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

A desperate hag stood on the step.

As Hezbella opened the door, children spilled outside in a game of chase. “Can I help you?” Hezbella, a generous person, really meant this.

“Take her back. Please.”

“Do I know you?” Tugging at Hezbella’s skirts, a small child made a hiding place.

“I have your first born.”

Hezbella tried hard to remember, but so much had happened. “That was ages ago. Something about arugula?”

“I can’t keep up with her.”

“Teenagers can be tough. But you have so many advantages, being a witch and all.”

“Wicked young crushes wicked old every time.”