Writer's Block Notebook #96His day started well before the sun came up, in the midst of a symphony of sound from the night creatures. He would rise, wash, have a meager meal of porridge, and then walk out the door. His old knees would knock together along the dirt road to the river, but it was a journey made everyday for a lifetime, and he wasn't about to stop now to appease some creaky old joints, no siree bob! By the time the sun tickled the horizon, and the sky was painted a variety of purples and oranges, he would reach the little boat on the river. Leaping aboard with agility that would put a much younger man to shame, he would quickly get his nets and lines in order, before pushing off into the sunrise. Once to the deeper parts, he would cast his lines. All day, not a break to be had, nor a complaint. He simply got on with the work in silence, because it simply needed to get done. And when the sun would start descending again, only then would he straighten up, brinWriter's Block Notebook #967 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Fub Club - AlenA week ago during a school tournament, the third place prize was a trip to either HOTFUB or TOYAAG. A team of nine boys from one of Australia’s more prestigious schools had finished third, and thus, they were on their way to the Sydney headquarters of the famed boy tickling company.The Fub Club - Alen2 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The boys were all in grade two, and as a result, just about all of them were either eight, or turning eight. Now they all stood together, wearing (thanks to their teacher who had accompanied them today) jeans, a different coloured polo shirt and either sandals or shoes and socks.
“Okay boys, are you ready to have some fun?” the host of their little session asked. The boys cheered happily. “That’s great. Well, my name is Gary and I’ll be assisting you all today. My assistant and main tickler here is Jazz,” Gary said, gesturing to the eighteen-year-old brunette on his right. “The way it will work today is that you’ll all get fifteen minutes each in the sto
Vampire Bites - 8Vampire Bites - 83 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Lottie (Part 2)
June 24th, 2004
Rules were meant to be broken. Tristian was thirteen and had already been breaking them for years. It was easy enough to sneak out of the house once you worked out the appropriate route. Which doors his father never used. Which hallways had been all but forgotten.
He'd snuck out today, too.
Beyond the estate houses and their expansive gardens was a long strip of woodland, and at its heart there sat a tree house. It had been there for years and nobody was quite sure who had built it, but Tristian had been sneaking out to it for a long time.
He was grinning from ear to ear as he started up the rickety ladder. In his right hand he clutched a plastic bag that swung from side to side with each rung he climbed. And there, in the house waiting for him, was a girl with long black hair and big blue eyes.
The girl his father had forbidden him from seeing.
"Happy Birthday, Lottie!" He exclaimed as he scrambled inside, sitting down beside her.
Vampire Bites - 7Vampire Bites - 77 hours ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Lottie (Part 1)
September 12th, 2000
There was a moving van in the drive way of the empty estate next door. Nine-year-old Tristian peered around his father's legs, watching as big burly men hauled boxes and furniture from the vehicle and carried them inside. His father did not look happy.
"Fake money", he spat.
"Fake?" Tristian didn't understand.
"They are common blood, wealthy only because of a lucky lottery win", his father explained. "And human to boot. They are a stain upon this neighborhood!"
Tristian examined the family. Their car stood beside the moving van and they were gathered on the drive, watching the men work. A man and a woman and a little girl, perhaps only a year younger than himself, with long black hair and big blue eyes. She was wearing a white and pink dress with a cat on it and seemed very excited.
She didn't look common. And she certainly didn't look like a stain.
Mr. Descartes' hand came down on Tristian's shoulder. He looked up at his father'