(100-word flash fiction)

Grandma turned blind the day Grandpa died. It was a big mystery considering her vision used to be quite good.

She had been alone with him that day.

When we got there, Grandpa was gone and she was sitting beside him, her face bathed in beatific light, her vision completely gone. As though she had been given sight just to watch him live.

On her death-bed, she told us the secret.

“As Grandpa lay dying, he began to burst with the light of a thousand suns. He turned into an angel.  From then on, that’s all I needed to see.”


Had a shot at magic realism. Marquez happens to be one of my favourite authors. Thanks Rochelle for your wonderful captaincy of the Friday Fictioneers ship ♥


Photo prompt –

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

The house that Jane built

(100-word poem)

I smile and laugh and pretend
I am a welcoming house but lest
you knock be warned, the door
is tightly shut. The windows too are

barred, the fence extra-high. I believe
the curtains keep the light safely
outside. Where the world shimmers
and flashes in and out of chimeras,

a charming but false lover. At least the
darkness inside is unwavering,
a companion constant. Where truths
emerge and shine. A steadfast lover,

just like the razor, always beckoning,
flashing at me the allure, tantalising,
of the release to be found in steel cutting
through skin and vein and sinew.

I am one of the lucky ones to have escaped depression but people in my family do suffer and every once in a while, I try to get into their heads. Overall, it has been a hard week, with NZ back to having Covid cases and I guess we are all getting a bit tired of struggling with the news. So, thank you Rochelle for this lovely interlude of Friday Fictioneering. It does bring a lot of cheer. 🙂

Photo prompt –



The link

(100-word flash fiction)

“I suppose the link between the spirit world and the human world would be memory.”

Bella says softly, sitting at her mother’s bedside, gazing at her father’s framed photo.

“You know, I never grieved Dad’s passing. His memories are so fresh and always gently loving.”

Bella feels she has to keep talking to her comatose and dying mother, as though the steady march of words would keep that faint pulse going.

“No! it’s not!”

Startled out of reverie, she looks at her mother with sudden hope.

Eyes clear, face radiant, with sudden strength, she utters her last words, “it’s love.”

For some reason, I am remembering my father a lot today.  The first thought that came to mind when I saw the prompt was his hand linked with mine, I in the human carriage and he in the spirit carriage. I never really grieved his passing. To me, he’s with me always, his silent presence a gentle benediction. It must be Friday Fictioneering for my father was an aspiring writer. I guess I’m keeping his little dream alive. Thanks Rochelle for the platform.


PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast