Snatched Away from Home

Thank you so much, Rochelle, for your Friday Fictioneers!

Photo Credits: Sandra Cook

Snatched Away From Town

The train rushed out of the station, dragging me with it. Hands tied, mouth gagged and eyes burning with tears too stubborn to fall.

Outside of the old window, I see my hometown blurring away. The station where I sold newspapers, the roads where I begged and… the cluster of stones where I had awakened the curse.

Another lashing hit my arm.

“How did you do that, scoundrel?”

Master shouted. I kept mum.

Another lash of whip.

 “When will that creature come alive, you urchin?”

I faintly smiled for I was the answer. A creature snatched from his homeland.


Secret Behind A Timepiece


Welcome to the Friday Foto Flash Fiction Challenge! Each Friday  Donna B McNicol posts a new picture to be used as inspiration for your flash fiction written in 500 words or less. Be sure to include the photo, the source credit, and a link to this post with your story. Entries will close on Thursday at midnight Central Time. 

Once your post is live, add your link to the list below. I hope you will visit the other entries (and check back often for new stories). Remember to leave them a comment in appreciation. Thank you and enjoy! Here’s your photo prompt.

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Secret Behind A Timepiece

Both of us stopped at the dead-end of the road.

“Who’s put up this stupid sign here, eh?” asked Joe.

“End of Century, huh?” I read the odd sign post, “Maybe there’s a time machine behind.”

“You and your stupid sci-fi stuff!” said Joe putting his hands on his hips, “Perhaps a geek like you has set this up!”

“Whatever,” I said, “It’s silly and odd.”

“Geez! Just the thing you’re expecting after a long afternoon walk! Curse that man who has put this up!” Joe spat on the ground and checked his watch, “Goodness! It’s already 4 pm and the movie starts at 6! Now where do we go, eh? Jos? A guess?”

“It’s just 3:46 pm. Your watch’s fast.”

“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Both of you are wrong! It’s 15 hours 46 minutes and 32 seconds now!”

It was a high, wavering shrill voice, much like hitting hammer in a metal can. It came from the signpost.

I and Joe exchanged a glance.

“Somebody has fit some kind of recorder here,” I said, “Maybe a prankster like you, Joe.”

“You really think so?” he said, sounding impressed. “Let’s check it out!”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the backside of the sign post. It was all very ordinary… except a clock sitting right on top with googly eyes.

“What’s that? A silly clock” I asked.

“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!” it started but Joe interrupted.

“You are wrong, Mr. Clock! It should be dong, dong, dong!”

“I am not a clock!” said the clock (or so I think it is), “I am a great marvellous Time-Porter from the 22nd century.”

I let out a small chuckle and said to Joe, “A neat hologram with a perfect sound recorder. Nice work, I say.”

“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!” It shouted again, sounding seemingly angry. “I’ll show you what I can do!”

For a few seconds, there was an eerie, uncanny silence. And then came the ticking of clocks, growing louder and louder every passing moment.

Suddenly came a noise of the blast of glass. Joe’s and my watches had broken. The whole sky echoed of ticking, as if it were thunder. It was all deafeningly loud. We closed our eyes and pressed our ears as hard as we could.

“STOP IT!” Joe yelled at last.

And somebody or something who was in charge of all this drama heard it. All the noises came to an end.

I dropped on my knees… and slowly opened my eyes.

“What… was this?” I stammered, though I doubt anybody would have heard that. Shock had taken my voice away.

In front of me were odd metallic dome shaped buildings with buzzing drones in the air. Not a tree, not a breath of life. Just metal and metal everywhere.

“I’ve moved forward in time,” said the Time-Porter, “We have to the end of the century.”

(482 words)

The Last Show

Thank you, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for opening such a great contest @ Friday Fictioneers for this photo prompt.

Image © Ted Strutz. Used with permission for this Friday Fictioneers challenge only. Any other use of this image requires Ted Strutz’s permission

The Last Show

On a long summer day, I had gone to a long-forgotten alley, in a much-remembered building. Phoenix Theatre.

It wasn’t a place where people went just to entertain themselves. No, it was much more.

It was a monument. A reverend, venerable monument. A legacy of past. Immortal, like its name suggests. And magical.

Inside the hall, curtains were drawn. Lights were off. The movie started… And all the scenes came alive.

I just gasped with shock, a pleasant shock. Until, one movie character came and dragged me inside the screen. Like it did, to every watcher.

(99 words)