“Returning” – Friday Fictioneers – Flash Fiction

This story was written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields on her blog, Addicted to Purple.  Check out her blog and click on the blue InLinkz frog below to read other stories and to add your own.

By the way, I have some news: I am honored to be the winner this week of the Three Line Thursday contest!  Check out the link to see the stunning photo prompt and to read my entry along with some other fabulous responses.  This context runs each week, so if you’re not writing three lines already, you could be very soon!

Copyright Douglas MacIlroy

Returning

(100 words)

Struggling to see through the planet’s haze, they almost missed the station.

“Thank God,” Ray said.

“They must be worried,” Maya said.  “So long.  They—“

The station door was ajar.

They clutched their guns, advancing.

The only thing out of place was a large green stone in the center of the empty room.

“Maybe they went to find us?”

“No,” Maya said.  “We’d have seen them.”

She grimaced, aiming her gun at the green rock.  Suddenly, it began to crack and expand.  Unable to move, they watched until it became something with a mouth.  Then, it was too late.

“The Wrath of Olympus” – Friday Fictioneers – Flash Fiction

This story was written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields on her blog, Addicted to Purple.  Check out her blog and click on the blue InLinkz frog below to read other stories and to add your own.

Photo Prompt Copyright Roger Bultot

The Wrath of Olympus

(100 words)

We watched the building burn.

“How did the fire start?”

I saw again that strange, terrible face; the lightning strike, impossibly near.  I looked to our mother, impossibly beautiful, even covered in soot.  She wasn’t supposed to survive.  None of us were, but even gods are fallible.  So our mother taught us.

“I said no,” she said.

The official asked another question, but she beckoned us to her, and even numb with shock, we came.

“We won’t return,” she said.  “Tell the landlord we’re sorry.”

Against his protest, our mother touched all three of us, whispered, and we were gone.

Poem for Grading at the End of the Term

I’ve been neglecting this blog and my writing for the past week and a half or so.  Now, I’m diving back in!

Poem for Grading at the End of the Term

Emails, phone calls,

earnest conversations

after class, after school,

in the hall…

I isolate myself,

surrounded by stacks of essays,

quizzes, and late work.

I fail to remain emotionless,

mourning what might have been,

applauding steps forward,

and documenting,

always documenting.

I see the numbers

(the computer does the math),

and sigh with

relief or frustration.

I might smile or nod,

seeing where students’

paths have led them,

thinking about what to say to them

about moving forward.

At the end of it all, there is a brief respite.

My muscles relax.

I leave the school building, bathed in sun,

looking toward the next term,

but before that,

a break.