Tag Archives: Flash Fiction Friday

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I felt like a little limerick today!

There once was a princess named Crow
And great were the tantrums she’d throw
She snuffed out the candles
And pulled off drawer handles
‘Cause school made her stub her big toe.


I don’t know why, I just felt like making things rhyme. Don’t judge me 😉

Character – Evil Princess

Random Object – A Candle

Setting – Magic School

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Would you rather: face a hoard of enemy soldiers or eat a live octopus?

Prince Damon stared at the writhing, eight-legged creature in horror. The bulbous head lay flat on the wooden deck, and the black eyes stared up at Damon. A gust of wind hit and the sails flapped and the mast groaned as the deck pitched. The little creature started to slither away, but a bare foot kicked it back into the middle of the circle of onlookers.

“Go on,” one of the sailors said.

“Eat it,” another prodded.

Damon swallowed hard, trying to keep from throwing up at the mere thought of those tentacles sliding over his tongue and down his throat. The suction cups holding on to the roof of his mouth in an attempt to live.

Jack, the first mate, nudged Damon with his elbow and spoke softly in his ear. “No one on the crew is going to respect you unless you eat it.”

Damon shouldn’t have to earn the crew’s respect. He was their prince, they all swore allegiance to the crown before the ship left port. One word from him and any man here would be tossed overboard.

Yet he’d heard the sailors whispering when they didn’t think he was around. Whispers of his humiliation in the battle for the Folded Pass. Rumors that he’d run away to save his own skin. Rumors that his father had spent a great deal of time squashing.

Rumors that were true.

Jack sighed. “I’ll show ye.” The grizzled sailor stepped forward and held out his hand. One of the deck boys placed a slender stick about the length of Jack’s forearm in his palm. The first mate reached down and grabbed the octopus by the head and plucked it off the deck. The tentacles tried to coil around Jack’s hand and wrist, but Jack wrapped the head around the stick and then continued to wrap the rest of the body and legs until the creature was bound.

The sailors began to chant. “Eat it, eat it, eat it!”

Jack gave Damon a wink right before he shoved the slimy head of the creature into his mouth.

Damon almost dry heaved.

Jack sucked the rest of the octopus in as if it were noodles. He gave Damon a wink and then swallowed.

A cheer rose from the sailors, and one of them hit the golden gong that hung next to the wheel.

“Ah!” Jack said as he clapped Damon on the back. “Now it’s your turn.”

“You have another?” Damon asked in a weak voice.

“Aye.” The first mate waved a hand and another creature, slightly larger than the first, landed on the wooden deck with a splat. It immediately began to crawl away, but the sailors pushed it back at every turn.

Jack held the stick out for Damon. He leaned close. “Do this and you’ll be one of the crew. Refuse and they’ll believe the tales about Folded Pass.”

Damon’s father said if he didn’t cast off his cowardly ways that he shouldn’t come back. If this crew didn’t trust him, then he’d likely end up at the bottom of the ocean, and while the thought of eating the octopus send waves of prickly disgust and fear through him, the urge to stay alive overpowered it.

Damon grabbed the stick and reached down to grab the octopus. The squishy head retreated from his touch, and the tentacles flailed as he stood. Before he could think too much about it, Damon followed Jack’s example and wrapped the doomed creature around the stick. He took a breath, trying to mask the scent of the creature with the rancid smell of the sailors around him, and opened his lips.

He’d been hoping more for noodles, but the head was large enough that he had to open his mouth like a snake eating a rat. His tongue shied away from the trembling flesh, and one of the tentacles clung to his thumb.

“No chewing. Just swallow,” Jack muttered.

Something between a sob and a laugh escaped, and Damon shoved the living thing into his mouth.

His lips closed around the end of it, and for a moment he imagined eating a piece of fatty meat. Then the meat inside his mouth moved and his stomach heaved again.

The sailors roared.

“Swallow,” Jack said.

Damon nodded. He could feel the octopus moving in his mouth, trying to find an escape. Damon tried to swallow, but nothing happened. He gagged, heard the sailors chanting “Eat it!” and finally forced himself to finish it.

A roar of approval went up from the men on deck.

“Open your mouth!”

Damon did so, still wanting to throw up and imagining the creature trying to hold on as it slid down into his gullet.

Someone hit the gong.

Tears ran down Damon’s face, but no one seemed to notice as the sailors rushed him, patting him on the back and congratulating him.

Damon tried to answer, but could only nod.

He should have stood his ground in Folded Pass. It would have been easier than this.


So I had to Google eating live octopus for this. I’m a pretty adventurous eater, but I am not doing that. No way!

Character – Cowardly Prince

Random Object – Golden Gong of Victory

Setting – A Ship

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A Tidy Ogre vs a Unicorn Horn

Most ogres live in swamps. Or cesspools. Or mud pits. Or in places the locals call “hollers.”

Yorg was not like other ogres. Yes, he looked like them—tall in stature and plentiful in width with green skin—but that’s as far as it went.

Instead of wearing rags or furs, Yorg preferred to wear fitted jackets with cravats and breeches. Specially cobbled shoes adorned his feet, and while other ogres seeped the stench of outhouse, Yorg smelled of lavender or roses.

Yorg had moved out of the “holler” as soon as he could crawl. He’d made his way up to the top of a mountain and claimed it as his home. A couple of trolls had thought he’d violated their territory, but after a civil conversation involving a sharp rock and some well-placed strikes, the trolls had agreed to move around to the other side of the peak.

A sparkling waterfall ran next to Yorg’s house and filled a small pond nearby. He’d spent years cutting and fitting the stones that now made up his abode. The pieces fit together so nicely that he didn’t need moss or mud to fill the cracks. A long porch ran on the west side of his home, and on it sat a beautifully carved rocking chair and table. Yorg spent many evenings sitting in the chair, watching the sun set on the valley below. He rarely thought about his family or the other ogres as he sipped his hot tea from a porcelain cup.

One day, as the sun’s rays stretched across the valley in a last effort to keep light on the land, Yorg noticed several figures coming up the trail to his house. While it wasn’t unheard of to have visitors, Yorg was not expecting anyone for at least a week.

Perhaps they were travelers. Some braved the trail—along with the promise of a civilized ogre at the end of it—for the privileged of having tea with Yorg and seeing his house. Once a month a merchant came to drop off books and supplies, but he’d been there last week.

Yorg frowned and watched as the shadows grew larger, and took the shape of ogres.

It was more likely for a human to visit than an ogre. Yorg placed his cup on the matching saucer with a little tink, then he reached around the back of his chair to make certain he had his spear handy. While fighting wasn’t his first reaction, or even the second, Yorg could hold his own against any creature.

The ogres arrived just as the sun’s rays slipped past the edge of the horizon, leaving the mountainside in a disconcerting shade of gray. Yorg recognized them at once. The one on the lead—a wide brute wearing nothing but a loincloth and a satchel—was his younger brother, Grak. The other two were Grak’s friends.

Most of Yorg’s family had decided to ignore him, but Grak came up a few times a year. Yorg returned his hand from behind his chair to his side and stood.

“Brother!” Grak waved a meaty arm.

“Grak,” Yorg said. He stepped off the porch and met the ogres in the soft, even grass.

The smell proceeded the trio, and Yorg forced himself not to wrinkle his nose. He held out a hand and Grak took it and squeezed.

Younger brothers. Always trying to impress.

“You so fancy,” Grak said.

Yorg forced a smile. “How have you been?”

“We good.” He nodded. His friends nodded. Most ogres didn’t bother to learn a lot of language skills. Instead they relied on grunts, shrugs and punching things.

Grak usually wanted something. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It took Grak a moment to work the meaning of the words out. Yorg could practically see his brain churning to put it all together.

After a few seconds, he grunted. “Brought you something.”

“You brought me something?” Yorg narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Grak had never done that.

“Found it in the woods.” The two friends nodded. Grak reached into his satchel.

Yorg took a step away and balled his fists.

Then Grak pulled out a long, thin spike the length of Yorg’s forearm. It twisted together from a wider base to a pointed top and glowed in the gray of twilight.

Yorg stared at it, then at his brother. “Where did you get this?”

“Woods.” He shrugged.

His friends shrugged.

Grak held it out. “It fancy. You like fancy.”

“I do like fancy,” Yorg said. “However, this is a unicorn horn. Are you sure you want to give it to me?”

Grak pointed between him and his friends. “We fight over it. You take.”

Yorg then noticed the bruises, scratches and fresh blood on the ogres. “Alright.” He held out his hand, wondering what sort of display he should make for it.

Grak gave Yorg the horn, which felt cool to the touch. Then he waved. “We go.”

“Already?” Yorg asked. Usually Grak would stay for dinner.

“Mom need me.”

“Well, tell her hello.”

Grak waved and led his two friends away.

Yorg watched them go. “How odd,” he said. He took the horn into his house and set it on the table. The faint glow continued. When Yorg shut the door he found that the horn had left a trail of…glitter.

A growl rose up in Yorg’s throat.

“Glitter.” The word dripped with disdain.

Just then he heard howling laughter from Grak and his friends.

He’d done this on purpose.

Yorg would be cleaning up glitter for weeks.

He ground his teeth. He hated ogres.


My hubby always says that glitter is the herpes of crafting. He’s not wrong.

Maybe I should have made this about the Ides of March, but didn’t notice it was the 15th until I’d already written it. Ah well.

Character – A Tidy Ogre

Random Object – A Unicorn Horn

Setting – High on a Mountain

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A Rebellious Giant is…Nice?

“You are in so much trouble,” Botag said in a sing-song voice as I passed her at the frying station.

“Called to the bosses office. So busted,” Fokus said as he pounded out meat patties.

“Maybe the boss is going to tell us what a good job we’ve been doing,” I said.

My entire crew let out a scoff.

“Yeah right.”

“When was the last time any of us got a compliment?”

I path the air with my massive hands. “Come on, guys, you are doing a great job.”



I chuckled as I emerged from the smoke-ridden kitchen and into the hallway in the back. I figured I shouldn’t go and see the boss with my greasy apron on, so I dropped it by my locker, smoothed my red shirt and walked to the bosses door.

Black letters on a shiny plaque read, “Manager.” I raised my knuckles and gently knocked.

A voice shot through the door. “My grandmother knocks louder than that!”

That meant enter, so I turned the knob and went inside.

Like all things giant, the space held only the essentials—one chair for the manager and one chair for the employee—both could be jammed under the doorknob to keep invaders out, one desk with a metal top that could deflect crossbow bolts, magic spells and grease fires, a set sharpened weapons along the wall behind the desk, a barred window and a filing cabinet in the corner that probably held extra arrows, rope and a sharpener.

My boss, Kutius, glared at me from under his bushy, red eyebrows. He’d trimmed his beard to accentuate the frown. “Sit!” His voice boomed like a war drum.

I did.

Kutius continued to glower. That’s what giants did. There were levels of glowering and glaring that you learned from infancy. The look my boss was giving me said something akin to, “I will disembowel you.”

I smiled.

This caused the glower to turn into a glare.

“What can I do for you, boss?” I asked.

Smiling at a giant was bad for your health. Some considered it a direct threat—like animals bearing their teeth—while others took it as an insult. If you could smile in their presence they weren’t mean enough.

Kutius made fists with his meaty hands, took a deep breath and then straightened in his chair.

That’s right. My father was the king, and I had a head on my boss. If it came down to a fight, I would win. Not to mention harming me would bring the king’s wrath.

Let’s not forget that my father thinks I’m crazy, but whatever. His problem.

After a dizzying array of frowns and grinding teeth, Kutius grunted. “Your shift has been the most productive this month.”

“That’s great!” Another smile. I pretended that I’d realized I’d done something wrong, and forced my lips down. “I mean, that’s great for business.”

My boss nodded.

I knew this, of course, and I was interested in what Kutius would do about it.

“Good for business, but your workers are…” he eyed me. “Happy.”

“Happy?” I asked with a stupid, confused expression on my face.

My boss leveraged his massive bulk out of his chair. “Yes. I caught two of them talking and smiling yesterday.”

“Did it slow down production?” I asked.

“No.” He came around to stare down at me. A classic giant intimidation trick. Didn’t this guy remember that I grew up with six older brothers, three sisters and the king? Not to mention my mother. “But it concerns me.”

“Good numbers concern you?” I probably shouldn’t have said that.

Kutius’ eyes narrowed, and he came to stand in front of me. He put his hands on the armrests of my chair and leaned down until we were eye to eye. “What have you done to them?”

I blinked. “Done to them?”

“Giants don’t go around smiling. They don’t talk to one another for fun.”

“Huh. I’ve never noticed.”

My boss’ hands tightened on the armrests, and the wood groaned under the stress. “Did you use a spell on them?” His breath smelled like one of our burgers with extra garlic.

“Magic? Me? Of course not. You’ve seen what happens when our family uses magic.”

I had him there. He continued to stare into my eyes hoping to catch me in a lie, but the part about magic was all too real. Let’s just say my brothers and I destroyed a whole wing of the palace with a single fairy spell that was only supposed to give our sisters warts.

“You’re doing something to them.”

I let a grin play on my lips. “Perhaps they like being complimented and told they’re doing a good job.”

“Giants don’t need words of affirmation.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

His voice turned into a growl. “It’s not our way.”

“It seems to be working.”

More glowering. More arm rest groaning. More teeth grinding.

I raised my eyebrows. “If that’s all, the lunch rush is coming. I should get back.”

Kutius leaned closer. “I’ll figure out what you’re doing.”

“Just trying to make you some money.”

Now he really looked like he wanted to punch me, but he stood up and pointed at the door. “Go.”

I did. I even gave him a little wave as I left. My apron was still in my locker. As I pulled it out I caught a silver glimmer tucked in my jacket pocket. I pushed the unicorn horn back in.

No, I wasn’t using a magic spell, but it was amazing what just a few specs of unicorn horn dust would do for a giant’s mood.

“Are you fired?” Fokus asked when I got back to the kitchen.

“Naw.” I shrugged. “The boss just wanted to thank us for doing such a good job.”

My crew snorted, but I caught them exchanging excited glances.


This one cracked me up! I want to write more. 🙂

Character – Gentle Giant

Random Item – Unicorn Horn

Setting – Fast Food Restaurant

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