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February 22: Flash Fiction Challenge
White stretches all the way to nowhere. The apex kisses the horizon in secret and white cannot be separated from white like marble lips locked in eternity. Lady Lake is Michelangelo and sculpts her Superior domain into classical form. This is Keweenaw Bay.
Highway 2 curves around the bay and if I turn and look northeast I can glimpse this endless white where it’s impossible for me to discern the frozen lake from the cloudy sky.
Once beyond the bay, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan emerges a wintery forested wilderness. Lodgepole pines and slender, leafless birch cluster across rolling hills and open up to lakes and streams. The snowpack doesn’t measure up to a third of what the Keweenaw has and yet there’s plenty for snowmobilers.
Small towns come in and out of view as we drive through. We are headed to one of the largest rural VA hospitals in the nation — Oscar G. Johnson Medical Center. Everyone we’ve encountered in the medical system has been top-notch, but chasing down resolutions is like chasing unicorns.
Do the answers really exist?
Today, we had breakthroughs and more tests scheduled. Today, we gained a glimmer of hope.
Look, there she goes — the last unicorn. The maiden’s quest and protector, the unicorn has hidden since the rise of western civilization. Perhaps as women claim their bodies and voices, their lives and livelihoods, the unicorns will return.
But we have our own Carrot Ranch mythology when it comes to unicorns. When the literary community first began to solidify, we discovered that with safe space to explore we turned to dark writing. In retrospect, it signaled that we were willing to risk writing deeper into our truths and imagination. We trusted each other enough to present writing we wouldn’t typically pen or share.
It was a validating moment.
To lighten the mood I joked that we’d take on writing “unicorns and rainbows” next. The official prompt was “mythical creatures,” and it gave way to more dark writing and yet became one of the most profound collections we’ve assembled at Carrot Ranch. It is now Chapter 12 in The Congress of Rough Writers Flash Fiction Anthology Vol. 1. And why we have a unicorn in our book trailer:
Work has begun on Vol. 2. In September, I put out a call for Rough Writers, and we added to the fold. From this group, 30 writers are participating in building a unique anthology that begins with 99 words first crafted here. It’s a process that will see fruition by the end of 2018.
Everyone who writes here has an essential identity from Welcomed Lurker to Constant Ranch-Hands to Ranch Ambassadors to Rough Writers to Friends to Patrons to Readers. We are all part of Buckaroo Nation — a status the community has bestowed upon those who write at Carrot Ranch. Our community is vibrant with creativity and diversity; our mission is simple — make literary art accessible.
To that goal, the Ranch is what you make of it. Bloggers can find their way through Carrot Ranch to a hub of important and exciting blogs. Fictioneers can participate in a prompt and discover other prompts within the greater community. Memoirists can find other like-minded writers. Same goes for most genres. Authors can find a platform that extends their own and newbies can learn from those with more experience.
Flash fiction is both a fun and worthy literary form, as well as a writing tool. You can learn more about my thoughts on the power of flash fiction here. You can also extend your writing reach as a guest essayist or taking on an advanced fiction challenge here. Raw Literature is a series that allows us all to discuss what we write, how, and why. You can join in every Tuesday.
Because the mission of Carrot Ranch Literary Community is accessibility, I want to make sure everyone here has a chance to participate in Vol. 2. I’m opening a section for “Friends” that will include responses to a new prompt. Because this is a published book, I will work with each writer to polish their submissions. You will get a bio along with our Rough Writers. It’s an excellent opportunity to build your writing portfolio.
If you are interested, please respond by March 14, 2018:
February 22, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a unicorn. It can be realistic or fantastical. Go where the prompt leads.
Respond by February 27, 2018, to be included in the compilation (published February 28). Rules are here. All writers are welcome!
***
NOTE: The following is from The Congress of Rough Writers Flash Fiction Anthology Vol. 1.
The Secret Stall by Charli Mills
“I don’t wanna pick blackberries. They got too many thorns.” Libby stuck her throbbing thumb in her mouth.
“Look, Libby’s a baby.” Her brother Joe pointed, and their cousins laughed. Libby headed to the barn. The cat was nicer than these five boys.
“Here kitty…” She could hear boy-chatter across the yard. It was dark inside. A shuffle sounded from behind the farm tractor. Careful not to trip over tools, Libby made her way to the back where a glow in the stall revealed a shining horn.
It was attached to a unicorn sleeping on a pile of quilts.
###
Darling, I’m Exhausted!
Waves of weariness break us down like a beach, robbing us of of our mental, physical, spiritual and emotional sand.
The following selection of flash fiction rises up to the challenge of showing exhaustion.
Writers crafted everything from the first push of birth to the final days in front of the telly; from job dissatisfaction to grieving a recent passing. Even unicorns get exhausted.
June 11, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about exhaustion. Who is tired and why.
Why They Call It Labor by Paula Moyer
Push. Again. Oh, not done yet?
Jean had pushed for two hours. No baby’s head emerging yet. Her body was coated in a patina of sweat.
Lynn, the nurse-midwife, had suggested pushing on the toilet, and it seemed like a good idea. But nothing.
“Let’s go back to the bed and think this through,” Lynn said.
The bed. Eight feet and a universe away from the bathroom. Baby’s head somewhere in her pelvis.
“I’ll need help,” Jean whispered. Her husband, Lynn, and came together.
She walked. The head pressed.
“Oh, God! This hurts!”
He was born forty-five minutes later.
###
Muddy Ride by Kalpana Solsi
She bent down and with her left hand supporting her hip, winced, continued scrubbing each depression of the tyre with the brush to dislodge the caked mud. She poured water over the scrubbed tyres and continued with cleaning the steel body. Her T-shirt and track pant having been soaked in sweat, she wiped the beads of perspiration to her sleeves, climbed the steps to enter her cottage.
She passed by his room, tiptoed and looked admiringly at sleeping David, smiled and kissed the gleaming trophy at his bedside. He was now a big boy and hated to be kissed.
###
Exhaustion by Irene A. Waters
The barrow slows as though it too is overcome with tiredness. Jack battles the urge to sleep. He has to keep awake. He has to be ready for any chance to escape his captor but the soothing rocking motion of the barrow lulls him gently until his eyelids droop and the flicker of his struggle is no more.
“You said twenty-four hours.You promised.” Spent, she sat.
The police officer glanced at his calendar and sighed. Only four days until retirement and so much still to do. Probable runaway. Most of them were. Why now ? Resignedly he gathered the required forms.
###
What a Day! by Ruchira Khanna
Paula is scrubbing the floor as she adjusts her hair behind her ear with the backside of her hand. She picks up the leftover plates, cups from the corners of the room and neatly tucks the decorations away.
Finally, she plops hard on the couch, and admires her room as she crosses her legs and taps them hard.
“Aha! The house is spick and span” she says in a soft tone.
Gets up to change, takes a detour to her kid’s room, which has toys lying on the floor. As she adjusts his blanket she whispers, “Happy Birthday, Leo”
###
The To-Do List by Amber Prince
I stared down at my to-do list, a lock of hair falling across my sweaty forehead. Only half of my list was completed and my muscles already screamed for me to wave the white flag in defeat. But I must go on, there were only 18 hours left until guests arrived.
If I ate dinner while vacuuming and cleaned the bathroom while I showered and dressed in the morning then that might save time. And energy.
Whose great idea was it to throw this party anyway? Oh right, mine.
I stretched my arms and snapped on my rubber gloves.
###
No Rest for the Wicked by Charli Mills
Sarah rubbed the small of her back with her knuckled fists. Slowly she hung her neck forward, then side to side. Glaring at the cauldron of dirty water, suds and shirts, she lifted the paddle to stir again.
“Need a back rub?” Bill Hickok swung a long leg up over the top railing of the horse pen and perched like a blonde crow. Even his buckskin pants and fringed shirt shimmered golden.
“No. Just taking a breather.”
“I hear Mary McCandless is working the spunk out of you. Come on, Sarah, take a break. Even idle hands get rest.”
###
Vampire on the Job by Sarah Brentyn
Cynthia stepped out the door with a smile. She skipped to her car. For once, she wasn’t dreading work.
Slipping on strappy pink sandals, she threw her sneakers on the seat and walked into the office.
“Good morning,” she beamed. “What a beau…”
Then she saw Amber.
Cynthia deflated. “I thought you were out today.”
“Nope!” Amber attacked Cynthia with anecdotes and questions. Another date, another mess. Paperwork problems. Computer issues. A date for tonight. How to work the coffee machine.
Cynthia dragged herself through the door. She plopped down with a pint of ice cream and a beer.
###
Sleep Deprived Flash Fiction by Susan Zutautas
As Joe was driving home in the wee hours of the morning, totally exhausted from working the past three weeks straight without a day of rest, he could not believe what he saw on the side of the road.
Was he hallucinating or was his mind playing tricks? He’d not had much sleep for the past week, and rubbing his eyes to try to get a clearer view wasn’t helping. Slowing his truck down, veering onto the shoulder to get a better look Joe could not believe it. Quickly he grabbed his rifle bringing his truck to a stop.
###
William of Charleston by Larry LaForge
William has had it. His dream job has gone sour. Getting through each day is pure drudgery.
He’s always taken pride in pulling his load at work, but now there’s no joy.
The historical port city has lost its charm. Quaint cobblestone streets, once a thing of beauty to him, are now just another occupational hazard.
Tour guides are more annoying than ever. William cringes when they misinform, but is not in a position to correct their embellished stories.
William fears he’s trapped in this dead end job. You see, he has no formal education.
Few carriage horses do.
(A 100-word version of this story is posted at Flash Fiction Magazine’s site for LarryLaForge100words.)
###
A Unicorn at School by Norah Colvin
‘Miss. Marnie has a toy in her bag.’
‘Uh-uh,’ I responded.
‘You’re not allowed to have toys at school,’ he insisted.
‘Uh-uh.’
Trust him! Always dobbing.
‘Miss,’ he persisted, tugging my sleeve.
‘What is it?’ I sighed, dragging myself out of the confusion of marks and percentages that now seemed more important to telling a child’s story than their own words and actions.
I looked at the little fellow pleading for my attention. They were all so needy; so demanding; but time . . .
‘It’s a unicorn, Miss.’
‘Unicorn! Let’s see!’ I was back. A child in need!
###
Trials of a Unicorn, Part 2 by Anne Goodwin
He was hungry, thirsty and the pain spiked in his knees with every footfall, but he dared not stop. Nor would he look back to the place he’d thought was home. He pressed forward through the alien landscape: the grey rocks shaped like goblins; the pale vegetation that knifed his lips when he bent to eat.
When he saw the shimmering water, he thought his brain was playing tricks with him. But he couldn’t deny the graceful creatures lowering their heads to drink. Would they make space for him among them? Would they shun him and his single horn?
###
The Tears of Gods by Geoff Le Pard
Mary rubbed her back. Packing her father’s belongings took forever.
‘Are you tired, Mum?’
Mary forced a smile. ‘Exhausted.’
‘Dad said you need rest.’
‘Maybe a walk. Later. When the rain stops.’
‘Does it rain in heaven, Mum?’
‘I don’t know.’ Was there heaven? She hoped so.
‘Will Grandpa Peter get wet?’
‘He wouldn’t mind.’
‘Why?’
‘He’d use it to get out of chores and go fishing.’ She glanced up at the hunkering clouds. ‘Eh, Dad?’
Peter looked down and nodded. Too right. ‘Milton. There.’
The dog-cum-unicorn leapt in the water, horn to the fore, and speared the salmon.
###
Time Enough by Lisa Reiter
Looking into the slightly desperate amber eyes, she did her best to swallow some porridge.
“Is it ok, Grandma?”
“It’s delicious, love. I’ve just had enough.”
“Can I get you anything? Are you comfortable?”
“I’m fine” She sighed, “Just pop the telly on before you leave.”
“I thought I might stay with you today.”
“Oh, Alice, there’s really no need. I shan’t get up to much!”
“I know, I just feel.. I’m worried about you. Should I call Dr.Graham?”
“No! Whatever for? There’s nothing wrong.”
At 96, she was just tired, tired of living and she’d had enough.
###
New challenge posted every Wednesday on Carrot Ranch Communications. All writers welcome!
The Fantastical
We found out that unicorns and rainbows aren’t always lollipops and sunshine. Darkness encroaches, mysteries unfold and heroes face challenges. Writers rework old mythologies into new ones. The fantastical becomes believable with concrete and sensual details, and real stories borrow from fantastical elements.
June 4, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a fantastical element or creature.
Rainbows and Unicorns Delivered by Sarah Brentyn
Aww… How Sweet!
Sunlight filled the field of flowers. Light purple stalks of lavender stretched out as far as I could see, enveloping me in an intoxicating earthy-floral scent.
I stretched out my hand and gently ran my fingers through the unicorn’s silky mane. In the distance, luminescent rainbows filled the sky. Fairies flitted around the standing stones, darting around mounds of mushrooms—red and white polka dotted toadstools. The dragons soared much higher in the air, their iridescent scales shimmering in the sun.
I took a deep breath, plopping down in a soft patch of moss, and plucked a lollipop flower.
###
Conservation by Lisa Reiter
It was hot but the door was closed. She snuck up to peak through a gap. She’d not been allowed to the barn since the birth, but Mother was distracted with Tommy.
She’d heard the grinder going. The horses were stamping and whinnying just like when there was a fire in the hayloft. Her father and the men were holding the newborn while the blacksmith seemed to be branding its bleeding head.
A shout – she’d been seen! Father rushed to get her. Gently he said:
“You mustn’t tell anyone – there are bad people trying to wipe out the unicorns.”
###
The Scaly Curse by Amber Prince
The wind whipped her face as they soared across the night sky. She leaned forward, resting her face against the worn scales that made up his body. Their time together was coming to an end, they could both feel the changes in the air.
They were only given one night a year, as this was their curse. He wasn’t even granted his old human form to be able to hold her tight. This is how they would share their love until one died or one forgot the other.
But she didn’t care. The dragon was her father after all.
###
Dog Days and Phoenix Nights by Geoff Le Pard
It was morphogenesis; Milton was in flames but not in pain. Peter smiled. What next for the Staffie?
‘He’s smiling, Mum.’
‘It’s the sun. When they turn Grandpa to the window, it looks like he’s smiling.’ Mary slipped past the bleeping machines. ‘Here, I’ll move this.’
A horn grew from Milton’s head; Peter knew now. A unicorn. The flames engulfed the dog, leaving the horn pointing skywards. Peter felt happy at last.
‘There.’ Mary pulled the drip stand from the window so its shadow cut across Peter’s face. ‘I wish, he’d give us a sign.’
‘He’s peaceful, Mum.’
###
The Patrick Cat by Jeanne Belisle Lombardo
The rain stopped. She stepped through to the patio, drank in the scent of quenched earth and creosote, then moved to the Palo Verde tree.
Her hand on the smooth, green bark, she looked east. A rainbow crowned Fire Rock Mountain.
The she noticed it, the chain, hanging free from a bough. The terracotta winged cat that Patrick had given her was gone.
She toed the earth. “Where are you Patrick?” she whispered. “Don’t die on me again.”
A rustle near the rosemary. A cat the color of clay pawed the air. “Meer,” it said. And took flight.
###
The Secret Stall by Charli Mills
“I don’t wanna pick blackberries. Too many thorns. ” Libby stuck her throbbing thumb in her mouth.
“Look, Libby’s a baby.” Her brother Joe pointed and their cousins laughed. Libby headed to the barn. The cat was nicer than these five boys.
“Here kitty…” She could hear boy-chatter across the yard. It was dark inside. A shuffle sounded from behind the farm tractor. Careful not to trip over tools, Libby made her way to the back where a glow in the stall revealed a shining horn.
It was attached to a unicorn sleeping on a pile of quilts.
###
Heaven-Sent by Paula Moyer
Jean and Stan raced from their trailer-on-a-lake. The new puppy snoozed in the crate in back.
What a week. They had flown back from Harry’s funeral in New Brunswick to pick up the puppy, spent a few days on the lake with her. Now they were on their way to their vet appointment.
Stan drove. Jean drifted into a nap, but fought off fear. She had not had a dog for 40 years. Were they crazy?
Next to the puppy was an angel – with wings!
“Harry sends his blessings.”
Jean woke. The angel was gone.
So was the fear.
###
The Unicorn by Irene A.Waters
Jack hurt. Crammed in the barrow like a foetus in the womb he screamed but his taped mouth ensured silence and made breathing difficult. His ears hurt from the high-pitched squeak of the wheel barrow. A new sound, barely audible at first, came softly, a tinkling of tiny bells blown in the breeze. His breathing slowed as the chimes calmed him. He felt he was no longer alone with the barrow man but dismissed the occasional glimpses of the white, one-horned horse as pure fantasy. He had lost track of time. He no longer knew in what realm he travelled.
###
Unicorn Knights by Norah Colvin
She sat on the bed and looked around. Funny how some things don’t change.
They had left it untouched for all those years since her escape, waiting for her return. But she never did. Never could. Until now.
“You should,” she was told. “Make peace.” “Let it go.”
It didn’t look so scary now. They were both gone. She was grown.
Sunlight glinted on the unicorn. It had faded but waited still, on the night-table, for their nocturnal escapades away from cruel reality.
She fingered it for a moment, remembering. Then dumped it in the wastebasket.
“Sell!” she said.
###
OhNoYouDon’tMAN by Larry Laforge
A perpetrator entered the school, guns packed, ready to strike. In an instant he was frozen, locked in place by some unknown force. Baffled authorities apprehended the still figure.
The oddly named superhero, holding inexplicable powers and firm resolve, scans his worldwide monitors.
Within seconds robbers are stopped in their tracks in London. Terrorists in Prague can’t move. Kidnappers in Atlanta are immobilized. All are frozen still just before the dirty deed.
OhNoYouDon’tMAN suddenly bolts for his Brazilian monitor, where he abruptly thwarts a header.
There’s no way his favorite team is going to lose in the World Cup.
###
A Knight in Plastic Armor by Pete
Dylan trudged home, his sword clicking on the sidewalk behind his steps. Sir Galahad followed obediently, his dented cardboard horn still affixed to his head.
Dylan knew naught that a unicorn would incite such howls of laughter from the knights of the picnic table—a most shameful lot indeed, he thought piteously. Therewith Galahad barked and Dylan spun around to find Amelia, Sir Derrick’s older sister.
“Dylan.” She approached, shining with…well she was on the phone. “Here, you forgot your cake.” Galahad nosed the chocolate frosted offering.
“Thank you me lady, thou –“
“Come on Dylan, don’t push it.”
###
Flash Fiction by Anne Goodwin
He woke with the sun and staggered to his feet. He felt clumsy, heavy head and throbbing forehead echoing the antics of the night before. The music. The dancing. The drugs.
He tried to join his siblings, but they showed him their backs. He trotted towards his mother, but his aunts barred his way.
Thirst raging in his throat, he cantered to the pool. Bending to drink, he caught his reflection: hooves; fetlocks; knees; chest; muzzle. Yet no longer a horse: projecting from his forehead, a huge horn spiralled to a point. He’d be living as a unicorn now.
###
Rainbows and Unicorns by Georgia Bell
The woman smiled, faint lines around her eyes crinkling as she shook her head. “God, was I ever that young?”
The girl stepped back into the shadows, unsure and uncertain. “Who are you?”
The woman extended her hand. “Come with me,” she said. “There’s not much time.”
“For what?” The girl moved into the sun again, drawn towards this woman whose hair sparkled with the same golden sheen as hers.
“To make things different,” she said. “To make things right.”
“How do you know which is which?” the girl asked.
“You don’t,” the woman said. “That’s why I’m here.”
###
Splashes of Sadness by Sarah Brentyn
It had been three years since his sister drowned.
He sat in the gritty, damp sand near the edge of the ocean, to prove he wasn’t afraid. No one was at the beach. Not in November. He didn’t hear babies squealing or kids splashing. He didn’t smell coconut-scented sunscreen or baking bodies.
But he did smell seaweed. He did hear sirens. He remembered that day three years, five months, and seventeen days ago.
He was not alone.
Salt water splashed near him as the sirens sounded once more. Calling him like his sister. This time, he would join them.
###
Innocence Declared by Charli Mills
Sarah stood outside the log cabin, arms folded, watching a blackbird perch on a cattail. Inside Cobb argued with Mary. His wife. Was the man foolish enough to declare his relationship with Sarah was “nothing”?
The word stung. Silence consumed the cabin. Then Mary stepped outside, following Sarah’s regard of the marsh.
“What are you looking at, Girl?”
“A unicorn.”
“Where?”
“There, bedded in the reeds. She’s the color of sunlight with a golden horn.” Sarah pointed at the blackbird.
“I don’t see it.”
Sarah glanced at Mary. “I forgot. Only maidens can see.”
“Are you innocent?” Mary asked.
###
New challenge posted every Wednesday on Carrot Ranch Communications. All writers welcome!
June 4: Flash Fiction Challenge
A milestone post–#100 for Carrot Ranch. And this is the 14th flash fiction challenge. Thank you for reading and participating!
Last week netted another compilation of stories as flashy and minute as minnows in a stream. Each week I feel child-like in the wonderment of how stories can burst to life and be told in 99 words. Practicing weekly flash within a dynamic literary tribe certainly charges my batteries.
Literature has three sides. Like an equilateral triangle, each side is valuable: reading, writing and discoursing. When we come together in a literary community we get to participate in all three sides.
And when we practice all three, our production grows stronger. We learn and experiment with new processes; we gain insights from different perspectives; and we discuss ideas that bubble up. It also “fills the well” as Julia Cameron, author of “The Artist’s Way,” would say. It means that we fill the well of inspiration as we empty ourselves onto the page.
Each story, comment and blog reflection sparks my creative side and challenges me to think beyond opinion, pop culture and what is. I can unleash my mind to consider what is possible. Which leads us to imagination.
Albert Einstein is quoted as saying,
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.”
Imagination powers the gears in a writer’s mind. Even the memoirist must imagine how memories transform into moments with meaning. Creative non-fiction writers must imagine what the mundane holds. Think of Annie Dillard in “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” who once described her tom cat with such imagination that she turned grisly reality into an act of beauty:
“I used to have a cat, an old fighting tom, who would jump through the open window by my bed in the middle of the night and land on my chest. I’d half-awaken. He’d stick his skull under my nose and purr, stinking of urine and blood. Some nights he kneaded my bare chest with his front paws, powerfully, arching his back, as if sharpening his claws, or pummeling a mother for milk. And some mornings I’d wake in daylight to find my body covered with paw prints in blood; I looked as though I’d been painted with roses.”
Often I try to think of the most outlandish thing to describe the most simple. It taps into my imagination, cracking open cliches to reveal our own unique voice. Imagination lets me become something else, lets me see something strange in something common. It pushes my voice to speak creatively as I did in a piece called “Carnival Clouds”:
The thunderheads are rimmed in pink like airy cotton-candy. To the west the sky lightens and to the east the clouds look back-lit like garish signs for carnival rides. I want to ride the clouds like the birds do, to soar on thermals and dip fast toward the pond and pull up again, roller coaster-style.
Writer, Sarah Brentyn, reminded me of the power of imagination in writing in a comment she made: “maybe our next prompt should be unicorns and rainbows.” It was ironic, too because the day she left that comment I had doctored a photo of one of the Elmira Pond horses:
So if you are following me, let’s go over the rainbow this week! Let’s snap the halters off our inner unicorns and let them romp through our writing. Feel free as a phoenix in flames to write fantastically, yet also think of how you can use the fantastical to enrich realities.
It can work both ways–the best fantasy stories (like “The Hobbit” or “The Dragon Reborn” series) are grounded in concrete details. Think of it this way–what sound would a unicorn make as it trotted past traffic on a busy city street? What real place might an unreal creature show up?
Or, how can you use the idea of a unicorn in a non-fantasy story? What symbolism does it have? Can it be funny, tragic or ironic? This week, inspired by a burst of creativity, I’ve crafted two stories, one fantastical and one a continuation of historical fiction (about Sarah and Cobb). And both stories include a unicorn.
June 4, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a fantastical element or creature. The element can include a memory, describe something common as outlandish, or it can be pure, unfiltered fantasy. I can’t wait to see what emerges from your imagination. Respond by noon (PST) Tuesday, June 10 to be included in the compilation.
The Secret Stall by Charli Mills
“I don’t wanna pick blackberries. Too many thorns. ” Libby stuck her throbbing thumb in her mouth.
“Look, Libby’s a baby.” Her brother Joe pointed and their cousins laughed. Libby headed to the barn. The cat was nicer than these five boys.
“Here kitty…” She could hear boy-chatter across the yard. It was dark inside. A shuffle sounded from behind the farm tractor. Careful not to trip over tools, Libby made her way to the back where a glow in the stall revealed a shining horn.
It was attached to a unicorn sleeping on a pile of quilts.
###
Innocence Declared by Charli Mills
Sarah stood outside the log cabin, arms folded, watching a blackbird perch on a cattail. Inside Cobb argued with Mary. His wife. Was the man foolish enough to declare his relationship with Sarah was “nothing”?
The word stung. Silence consumed the cabin. Then Mary stepped outside, following Sarah’s regard of the marsh.
“What are you looking at, Girl?”
“A unicorn.”
“Where?”
“There, bedded in the reeds. She’s the color of sunlight with a golden horn.” Sarah pointed at the blackbird.
“I don’t see it.”
Sarah glanced at Mary. “I forgot. Only maidens can see.”
“Are you innocent?” Mary asked.
###
Rules of Play:
- New Flash Fiction challenge issued at Carrot Ranch each Wednesday by noon (PST).
- Response is to be 99 words. Exactly. No more. No less.
- Response is to include the challenge prompt of the week.
- Post your response on your blog before the following Tuesday by noon (PST) and share your link in the comments section of the challenge that you are responding to.
- If you don’t have a blog or you don’t want to post your flash fiction response on your blog, you may post your response in the comments of the current challenge post.
- Keep it is business-rated if you do post it here, meaning don’t post anything directly on my blog that you wouldn’t want your boss to read.
- Create community among writers: read and comment as your time permits, keeping it fun-spirited.
- Each Tuesday I will post a compilation of the responses for readers.
- You can also follow on Carrot Ranch Communications by “liking” the Facebook page.
- First-time comments are filtered by Word Press and not posted immediately. I’ll find it (it goes to my email) and make sure it gets posted! After you have commented once, the filter will recognize you for future commenting. Sorry for that inconvenience, but I do get frequent and strange SPAM comments, thus I filter.