Star sparkles on his paws and a rakishly torn left ear, Mr Spiffy – for that had been his name always – gazed back at earth.
 
Stowed away on an intergalactic schooner, each day at 10.33 internal spiffy-time, he would press his front paws against a portal window and flash the receding earth. 
 
Back on earth, the feline world wondered at Spiffy in the sky, while the human population conjured old prophecies and lies.
 
When he could see his home planet no more, he flashed at his appointed time out of contrariness.   Sadness overcame him, he yowled to the darkness.
 
“What have we here?” Mr Spiffy turned and glared; the human had found him. 
 
The human’s mission was a long and solo one, destination unclear.  Hurtling through the cosmos, he began to unravel.  Lamented his past, cried for his children, he settled into telling old tales, over and over to his captive audience of one.
 
As the twinkle star crossed the path of the Zeeper, an alignment was made, casting a spell borne of the deepest wishes of both parties; the silent and the dravelling.
 
“Curioser and curioser,” Mr Spiffy’s voice rang out, deep and rich.  He had had it with the human’s tales, his dreams had been haunted by giant white rabbits and spiteful old clocks.
 
“You can talk!”
 
“Indeed I can.  Off with your head.”
 
As they journeyed through the out there beyond, they became fast friends, talking of dreams and daemons, of longings and friends.
 
If you can guess spiffy-time, perhaps you might see, Mr Spiffy twinkling.

​*

I wrote this piece, in response to the prompts given in this past week's Flash! Friday online contest - and was delighted to receive an Honourable Mention.  You can read the judges' comments here.

The ravages could be shored up no more.  Soft light and distance failed to conceal what she had fretted and fought against for decades.
 
She screamed for the alchemist, the surgeon, thrusting plastic and promises.   On a desperate quest she sent them:  the colostrum of the great white beast, heart of a unicorn, eye of a condor. 
 
A year and a day they were away, adventuring far.
 
While she cowered in her ivory tower, alone in shame, shielded from the world and its fearsome sun.  Starving for the past.
 
They returned to find her desiccated corpse.  Light as a butterfly.
 
Many had thought she had passed long since.  They covered her face in the coffin, talked of the beauty of her youth.
​*

Really chuffed to receive an honorable mention for this flash story - which was my response to Flash! Friday's Vol 3 - 45 challenge - you can read the judges' comments and about the other winners here.  This is particularly lovely for me as this is the first time I have had any rating in this weekly contest.

How lovely to be included in this anthology alongside so many wonderful writers and artists.

Three Line Thursday is an open,  weekly online writing contest, conceived and run by Grace Black, who is herself an inspired writer.  As its title suggests - every Thursday, we are given an image as a prompt and asked to submit 3 lines of writing from that cue.  Sometimes there are special challenges, sometimes there are prizes, the entries are judged and results are published on a Monday.  Recently the winning special challenge entry has been published in Flash Fiction Magazine.

I would recommend any interested writers to come and have a go at writing on a Thursday.

Light Lines is an anthology of winner's words, prompt images and lines about light - all from the writers who come and write for Three Line Thursday.  The cover image is by Matt Adamik.  Light Lines is available via Amazon - the UK site here, US here.

I am delighted to have one of my paintings, which was used as a prompt, and two of my own 3 line poems included in this anthology.

I wrote these three lines in response to the stunning image above, from Matt Adamik.  His photo was the prompt in this week's 3LineThursday writing contest.  I was delighted to be given an Honourable Mention - you can read the judge's comment and the rest of the winners' pieces here.

I remember sitting on the bus, looking through the drips and licks of water running down through the condensation.  Rain driech day.  On the cold side of the road.  Mould and fallen leaves.  Damp creeping.  Ivy.  Childminders with prams bump and jostle.  “Are we there yet?”  CCTV cameras, Wi-Fi, unwired electro charged.  Greyness.

I remember the lick of salt on my skin.  Lemon poppy-seed cake.  A clear, clean, endless beach.  Cold sparkling.

I remember the dark coming down and the mist gathering on the hill as we walked.  Too far to turn back.  Not far enough to be there yet.

I remember the song he sang as he sat on his own at the back of the bus.

I remember the coconut scented gorse and the larks in the impossible blue.

I remember the slide down, skewwhiff and juddering.  No end in sight.  Into the black.

I remember the quiet place.  I wish for it now.  Some carry theirs with them.  Too heavy for me to manage with all I have with me.  Carry it through, set it down lightly, there on the sideboard in the front room.  Too fragile to look at.  If you drop it you’re done for.

I remember, I forgot something important.  Scry and scrape, but it’s illusive and gone.  Will you help me find it?
*

This is a piece of free writing I did at a workshop I attended yesterday.  We were tremendously lucky to have the poet and author Alan Spence lead the workshop - which was inspiring and thought provoking.

Excited to take part in this month's Visual Verse writing, and see my story up there next to so many pieces of fabulous work - all inspired by the same photo prompt.  

Visual Verse is an online 'Anthology of Art and Words' - you can read my story 'Unheard Frequencies' here.

Thunder tears of the giant lizard rumbled all around the kingdom.

“Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

The villagers stayed indoors, covering their ears when they ventured out. Zilla searched all day for the gnomes: their grotto, fairy house, cake shop, the potting shed, even the pub, but could not find his tubby friends anywhere.

“Waaaahhhhhhrrrrghhhhhhhh,” he wept.

The gnomes had gone. There were no signs or clues; vanished into thin air. The villagers whispered about witches, spells and doomsday prophecies.

Zilla sat in his flat and wept, where were they? What would he do without them? Who would make his tea?

Gnome juggling, gnome throwing, gnome bouncing – so many games they had played, such fun they had. Zilla guzzled candies, drank coffee, paced.

Finally, at 5.46am he drowsed into a snot filled slumber, the villagers had sighed and slept too.

The jaunty knock of the mail-badger woke Zilla a few hours later. He lumbered to the door to find a single card lying on his doormat. Scrabbling for his bifocals, Zilla examined the postcard.

A glossy bright picture of people supping cocktails in the sun. Addressed to ‘That Darned Lizard, Back of Beyond’ it carried the message:

‘Gnomes on Tour – Dear Lizard – we has gone hollydaze. Wish you woz here. The Gnomes. XOXO.’

“Noooooooooooarrrrghhhhhh,” Zilla roared, lumbering as fast as he could to the police station. Zilla knew the gnomes would never call him a LIZARD, never. As he explained to the constables, this could only mean one thing – his gnome friends had met with foul play.

No one believed him.

Days and weeks passed, more postcards arrived, Peru, the Moon, Las Vegas, Atlantis.

Until one unexceptional day Zilla arrived home to find the gnomes had returned. They acted as if they had never been away, but they seemed different.

Zilla’s gnomes were gone.
*

I wrote this piece in response to ZEROFLASH's September competition - delighted it came 2nd.  The prompt for the competition was the photo above in the genre of sci-fi or fantasy.  I had some fun writing this piece of nonsense.  You can see the full results here.