For a while I have been steering clear of the short stuff, avoiding the slightly addictive ‘quick fix’ of flash fiction. I have been trying to focus on longer pieces, though the temptation nips at my heels. But I have also neglected the flash fiction communities that I love being a small part of.
Take ‘The Fiction Dealer’ Miguel S. for example. He is a constant source of writing prompts and encouragement for words we offer in response to them. While I have been away, Miguel has published a book that celebrates his craft:
This is a celebratory edition of ‘Double Espresso’ to mark the publication of Miguel’s book (not only is it brimful of his flash fiction, but there are blank pages inside to fill with your offerings from the prompts).
Regular readers will know that ‘Double Espresso’ is two for the price of one, a double hit of wordplay, in this case one of 100 words, one of 80.
The first prompt is ‘Lantern’ … and the irresistible lure of the Cornish coast and shades of Daphne du Maurier’s ‘Jamaica Inn’.
If you’re sitting comfortably, let us begin.
Beacon
She licked cracked lips, tasting the salty rage of wind-lashed seas. Wild raven-black hair was tamed momentarily under her grandfather’s frayed fisherman’s cap. Her family harvested the oceans but not like the scavengers gathered down the beach. Their dark intentions pecked at the morals of honest seafaring folk. Lanterns glowed, summoning poor souls to the reef, their ships drawn to the false safety of a flame’s warmth by cold-hearted wreckers. Screams pierced the pitch darkness of a moonless night. She shivered, cold fingers of fear constricting her courage. She watched, hoping the Excise responded to her summons before evil prevailed.
(100 words)
It turns out that a nautical theme is always going to tempt me … so when Miguel offered ‘horizon’ as a prompt, with a word-count of 80, my becalmed brain flashed this little piece up the mizzen mast!
Distant Horizon
There was nothing but the creak of ship’s timbers and whispers from a disaffected crew to break the uncomfortable silence. My three-masted schooner could outrun a Navy cutter but not without wind. Eleven days and nights bereft of breeze, becalmed. At night the crew could not see the island taunting them on the horizon. By dawn, they’d decided to change their luck by offering the Captain to Neptune. Unfortunately, I am that captain and I was never taught to swim.
(80 words)
"Their dark intentions pecked at the morals of honest seafaring folk". Beautiful.
As for "sacrificing the Captain to Neptune" -- shiver me timbers, matey!
A fine return to shorter forms, B. Charlotte's dad was also that captain that could never swim! He couldn't stand the water, but spent most of his lifetime afloat on it!