Flash Fiction: A Rabbit, Sea Monsters, and Christmas

Last week was a good writing week all around. My preparation for NaNoWriMo is coming along nicely and I managed to write for Flash! Friday’s Warmup Wednesday (100 words) and the Friday competition (max 125 words), for Three Line Thursday (max 30 words), and for Cracked Flash Fiction (max 300 words).

Here’s the stories of the week – just enough to read in a tea break!

The White Rabbit

The white rabbit had slipped from the house again. This time it was at the bottom of the garden, staring at the trees beyond the river and twitching its fabric ears. Today the shallow water flowed slowly while willows still wept on the banks, trailing their brown fingers in the water. I stood beside the abandoned toy rabbit and looked down at it. Of course it would not look up at me now. Would not speak in that silent voice that used to whisper in my ear in the days before she walked into the woods and did not return.

Entry for Three Line Thursday

Iridescent nimbus

Eternity’s god gazing

Darkness dying                 gloaming             eternal Light

After the Sea Monsters

White sand littered with the night’s detritus of shells and seaweed was crushed by the captain’s wooden leg as he walked. Anchored within sight was Drakeklou; the last ship that he would be the captain of. Beside him his elderly dragon hobbled over the sand and smelled the air, her warm breath a swirling mist. She, too, yearned for open air, endless waters, and the thrill of fighting the sea monsters that would otherwise drag the tall ships to the crushing depths.

“One last trip, hey old girl,” he said softly, leaning against her to rest his injured leg. “One last adventure before all three of us retire.”

She lowered her head, her imagination letting her soar over the waters just like every other morning.

Western Cape Garden Route 2012

Just Another Christmas

“I can do it, but I’ll need a jackhammer and all the peppermint you got,” he giggled.

“Don’t be an ass. Mint sauce goes with lamb, anyway.” Maria poked the half frozen turkey again. The clock in the hall struck twelve just to rub it in that the turkey would not be ready on time. She threw caution to the wind. “It’s your mother’s recipe, after all. I said let’s do a braai, the southern hemisphere’s no place for the whole traditional turkey spread. But nooooo, we had to do your mother’s recipe.”

“And how’s the food coming along?”

“The turkey’s still half frozen, mom.”

Maria felt like she could shove him into the oven. But it was a day of peace, after all. Her mother in-law poked at the bird.

“I don’t know why we all didn’t just have a nice braai,” the mom said. “You know women these days aren’t really taught the ins and outs of housekeeping, son.”

Maria stared at the turkey and took a deep breath. If she had heat vision the turkey would have been done in seconds. She opened the oven and shoved the couple kilograms of meat back inside as tears burned the backs of her eyes. Then she grinned.

“Won’t you put on the kettle for us, honey,” she asked before poking her head around the corner into the living room.

“Grandma, why don’t you tell us a story and I’ll make us some nice tea?” she asked her husband’s grandmother.

“Oooh, I’ll tell you about that one time when my daughter over there had just gotten married and decided that she would cook us all Christmas lunch! What a disaster that was, let me tell you!”

Maria’s smile was innocence itself when she caught her husband’s eye.

photo-1432821596592-e2c18b78144fcropped 2

By Carin Marais

Bibliophile, writer of speculative fiction, non-fiction, and maybe-fiction, language practitioner, doer of stuff.

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