The Missing Sound

“What has keys but can’t listen to the beauty it unlocks? A piano” – Jarod Kintz

Piano Cover image by Mike Vore

The old piano lay soundless, covered and almost forgotten. I had hated the sight of it after Geoff’s passing, but I could not bear to part with it either. Sometimes as I sat in our little sunroom, I could imagine his fingers dancing merrily along the keys and the soft tune would escape the walls, drifting out to that sunroom entrancing me. It had been his thing. Tinkering away. Capturing his anger or his joy, in simple melodic tunes. I missed those moments. I missed those rhythms. Mostly, I missed Geoff.

My entry to this weeks FFfAW challenge – This week’s photo prompt is provided by Mike Vore. Thank you, Mike, for our photo prompt! 106 Words this week 😀 – the story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words).

Click on the frog to see more flash fiction inspired by this great image 🙂


Related to Royalty

I’m related to royalty you know… well, maybe not royalty but certainly gentry.

My mother told me all about it when I was just a young calf.

I was so excited picturing my gallant grandfather galloping through lands and conquering unknown territory.

As I explore around our lands I think of him, cow-image-by-majesticgoldenrosehe must have been tall and brave.

I keep any wandering peasants off our land – often it only takes a serious stare and they know they shouldn’t be there.

Sometimes a little charge towards them gives them the start they might need.

Sir Loin would be so proud of me.

My tongue-in-cheek entry to this weeks FFfAW challenge – This week’s photo prompt is provided by MajesticGoldenRose. Thank you!

Click on the frog to see more flash fiction inspired by this image 🙂



A Stranger might just change your life – #Writephoto.

I slumped in my chair, the ale in front of me looked less than appetising, but what else could I do. It looked like there was no way into the castle. It was strong and secure, surrounded by ditches and moats and heavily guarded by skilled archers. It was useless. My love had been taken from me and there was no way to retrieve her.

“What’s wrong with your face?” an elderly woman slumped down next to me. I ignored her. “You’ll turn that ale off, face like that.” I pulled my collar hiding my face a little and hopefully providing the hint that I didn’t want company.

“Must be a girl then?” She took a final gargled slurp of her drink. “Although not that many girls around here. Except for that bonnie new girl up at the castle, of course.” I couldn’t help but turn a little back to face her.

“Ah, so I’m right. It is a girl.” She smiled triumphantly. I sighed.

“Well, what of it? It’s no use now, she has been locked away in that fortress. Promised to another.” I took a sip of my drink hoping to disguise my raspy vocals as thirst.

“Love you, does she?”

“Well, she told me she did. I guess I’ll never know now.” The old woman nodded.

“What if I told you there was a way to find out?”

“There is no way, she is locked in that stronghold until she is wed,” I said exasperatedly. Frustratingly the old woman nodded slowly at me again.

“Well, what if I told you there was a way, a secret way, into the castle?” Her eyes shimmered and she licked her lips.


“Most definitely.”

“Where? Tell me where. I need to go at once.” I made to stand but she pulled me back to my seat.

“Hold yourself, young man. Patience is the skill.” She shook her empty glass at me. I understood the meaning. It could be a trap but I had to risk it, I called to the barman and pointed to her empty glass. Within seconds she had her drink. After she took a slow agonising drink of it, she turned to me and licked her lips once more, now satisfied.

“Under the arches of the drawbridge, there is a secret door. You can only get to it when the water lies low. But it has been dry for many weeks so I would think tonight you would make it. It will take you into the very walls of the castle but it would be a way inside no-one would know of. Once inside you will need to use every skill you have. Especially patience and listening. It will be the only way to avoid the guards and find your love.”

I stood up and threw money down on the table. “Thank you. Thank you so kindly.” She nodded her nod once again.

I waited in the woodlands until darkness. Then just as the woman said made my way down to the water. Crossing it carefully I bridge-photo-by-sue-vincentstood underneath the archway. I could not believe my luck. Hidden in the darkness was a doorway, so many would miss it, but there it was, exactly as she had said. I started climbing the steps up to it, preparing myself for the challenge ahead. As I reached the top step behind me I heard the heavens open. I glanced back at the moat, wondering just how long it would take to fill, just how long I would have. It didn’t matter, no matter what I had to try.

My response to Sue’s wonderful photo prompt. A bit of an adventure this week. 🙂

If you want to give the prompt a go too, head over to Sue’s Page Thursday Photo Prompt – Bridge #writephoto and join in the prompt.KL ❤

On The Move…

The packing began again.

I knew what that meant; new house, new town, new school.

It hadn’t been a problem when I was younger but now things weren’t as easy.

Making friends became harder and harder.

Being the new kid, the stranger in a class that had been together since primary was like being a cat in a room full of dogs.

Still, I loved my dad and this was the life he chose, the army was all he knew.

When I’m older I think I’ll do the same.

He says in the army you make friends for life.

Originally written in response to Carrot Ranch migration-image-carrotranch99 word challenge with the theme of Migrate.
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a migration story. It can imagine the dusty or arctic trails of the frontiers past or look to the travel across the galaxy. What issue about modern migration bans might influence an artistic expression in a flash? Migrate where the prompt leads you.

The Storm

The storm had grounded all planes.


People stood muttering to one another, some yelled angrily at the flight teams, some napped uncomfortably on the harsh metal chairs. It was during the chaos that Alfie escaped. Making his way down the restricted corridors, he couldn’t help his excitement. He had always been curious by airports, now he had a chance to explore. When the tannoy went off calling his name he ignored it. Eventually, he made his way to a doorway where an air hostess was announcing they had been cleared for flight – slipping his way past the queuing muttering people he moved down a long gangway. He stood with a large family, smiling at a boy about his age. The air hostess moved out the way to allow them all past and he found he was on an aeroplane, time to find a new hiding place. He fell asleep beneath a large holdall, waking some time later. He was excited to tell his family of his great adventure. He just needed to get home now.

Short fiction piece of 175 words for FFfAW challenge – This week’s photo prompt is provided by Dawn Miller. Thank you Dawn!

Click on the frog to see more flash fiction inspired by this image 🙂


One Day

The babysitter was asleep on the sofa, mouth hanging bikers-in-city-image-by-sunayaopen, a slight dribble making a break down her chin. I crept quietly behind it then made my dash for the window, dropping to the floor then hid my tiny form behind the curtains. I stole a glance back to the sitter, she hadn’t moved. Taking it as a sign I raised myself a little higher until I could see out. My eyes soaked in all the flurry and excitement on the streets below, shimmering streetlight displays, late-night food sellers, market stall holders even a gang of bikers had joined in what seemed to be the after-dark party of my neighbourhood. How I longed to be part of the commotion. One day, when I am just a little bit bigger, no-one will be telling me bedtime.

Short fiction piece of 136 words for FFfAW challenge – This week’s photo prompt is provided by Sunayana with MoiPensieve. Thank you Su!

Click on the frog to see more flash fiction inspired by this image 🙂


The Passage of Kings – #Writephoto

The walls wavered and wobbled before him.

His chest grew tight as his knees grew weak.

His legs felt heavy with each step he took like wading through the bogs of his childhood. His childhood.

Could he really say that when he was just 14 now?


Passage image courtesy of Sue Vincent


Yet, it seemed a world away.

He had had a family, a brother, a father, it was all gone now. Now he was a pawn. A chess piece in the most powerful game. The ruling of England.

He was never supposed to be part of this game.

His father should have ruled for many more years.

His brother should never have died.

He should not be king.

Yet, he was all that was left.

Men surrounded him. The most powerful men in the country. They urged him towards the steps.

The very thought made his stomach churn and gurgle.

Once he stepped through there was no going back. Once he stepped through, the coronation would begin.

He’d officially become the king of England.

Originally written in response to Sue Vincents #writephoto – Passage. I hope you enjoy anyway.
Use the image to create a post on your own blog… poetry, prose, humour… by noon (GMT) Wednesday and link back to Sue’s post with a pingback. KL❤

Another Way

Yan cut through the tiny alleyway.

He knew it was a risk, if the market stall holder caught him here he would be trapped and they would beat him, but if he could just make it to the end he knew he could make his way down several other snickets and away to safety.

He had never wanted this life, never wanted to steal from innocent workers.

Fate had other plans and with a small child to feed he had no choice, but as he ran for his life, he couldn’t help think there had to be another way.


Alleyway photo by Jan Morrill

Alleyway photo by Jan Morrill



Originally written in response to Friday Fictioneers challenge. Using the above image create a short story in 100 words or less.


The Shrine #writephoto

The bard looked at his people bustling around the campsite and then glanced back towards the shrine. It was a small gesture, not like the great shrines they made in their villages, but it would have to do. They had been lucky to find this abandoned place. Residents must have scarpered many years before when the English had started commanding lands. The Welsh were ready to fight, ready to reclaim what the English had taken from them. He hoped the shrine would bring them the luck they needed.

The bards gathered on the hillside, below they could see the Welsh and English armies preparing for battle. The bards raised their arms and began to chant. The clouds moved across the sky and storms began to gather above the English army, the bard look at his men, nodded once then continued to chant louder and louder. Tonight they would be victorious.


Pale Bones photo by Sue Vincent

Pale Bones photo courtesy of Sue Vincent


Originally written in Response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto challenge – Pale. Check it out for a wide variety of interesting writing.

Who is the family skeleton? Grandma knows best

“No!” Jacob stomped his foot. “It was Uncle Ray that was the skeleton in the family closet. He was the one who stole all that money from the people that lived in the big old house. Everyone thought he was a hero until they found out how he stole it.”

“Well, how did he steal it?” John said.

“He dressed up as a housemaid and worked in the house for a month. Then he stole all the money and silver one night while the family was sleeping. The police were looking for a middle-aged housemaid for months.” John couldn’t help but laugh.

“I still think you are wrong. The skeleton in the family closet was Aunt Martha.” John said and gave a firm nodded. Being the oldest he was used to being listened too.

“Who was she?” Jacob was interested now.

“She was the one that married the richest man in the village. When she found out he’d spent all his money on dog racing, she turned him into dog food and fed him to the dogs. She then re-married the racetrack owner. She only got caught after the dogs kept digging up the bones of the first husband.” John held a truly smug grin on his face he knew his story was better.

“That’s not true! Grandma who is the skeleton in our family closet?” Grandma looked up from her paper. She couldn’t help but listen to the boys dispute and had struggled to keep out of it. Now she could see the two round faces beaming up at her with morbid curiosity.

“Well boys, I don’t think I should tell you. I’m probably not allowed.” The boys glanced at each other excitement showing wildly in their eyes.

“Please grandma, please. We won’t tell anyone you told us.” Desperation fluttered across their little faces. They were always trying to out-scare one another, she knew the game well.

“Okay then, promise you won’t tell?”Skeletons in the closet

“Promise”, they chimed together and both crossed their legs at her feet to listen intently.

“Well boys, a little way up the family tree you have an Uncle called Jack. He was strong, really strong, but mostly he was remembered for having a big deep voice. Jack was a grumpy man. He had two sons that never went to sleep when they were told. One night fed up of the two little boys not going to sleep when they were told, he snuck in their room and chopped off all their toes. When the boys told someone what he did he was arrested and never seen again. But every few years someone in our family wakes up without his toes.”

“Oh what a load of rubbish Grandma.” The boys scoffed at her nonsense. Soon it was forgotten until the boys were getting ready for bed.

“Remember no nonsense, go straight to sleep or Jack will get you?” The boys rolled their eyes. “Okay, I’ll send Granddad in to say goodnight to you. Goodnight boys, Goodnight Jack.” Grandma chuckled as she abandoned the boys to their own imaginations. She heard the boys yelp with fear as a voice from under their bed said “Goodnight Jean” back in a big deep voice.

As she went into her own bedroom she could see granddad trying not to giggle, the boys walkie-talkie held in his hand.

“That was a great idea”, she said giving him a kiss. “Remember to take your slippers off when you go say goodnight. Your wound from the war is just the ticket for us to get a good night’s sleep.”

Granddad opened the door and walked to the bed the boys were to sleep in. He could see the game console was down. The pj’s were on and only the lamp remained. Climbing onto the bed beside them he crossed his leg so that his foot with the missing toe was over his knee. Both boys stared at it agog.

“Granddad, you did lose that in the war didn’t you?” John asked his voice wavering.

“Believe me, lads, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’ll wait until you are a bit bigger. For the moment the only person that knows the truth is Grandma.” With that, he stood and left the room holding his giggles until he got to the bedroom.

Written in Response to todays #Maydays Maydays logoPrompt – Skeleton in the closet.

To take part simply write a memory, short flash fiction, poetry or whatever may take your fancy and pingback to the prompt found here:


KL ❤