Tag Archives: Flash Fiction Friday

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The Downfall of the Big Bad Hamster

There were once three tiny mice. Brothers who wanted to leave their tiny closet in the castle and move into a coveted bedroom. Their other brothers scoffed and their sisters rolled their eyes, but these three had a dream.

The problem was that a mean, peg-legged hamster lived in the bedroom. He was bigger than the mice, and the humans much preferred the hamster to the mice.

“Probably because of his adorable little brown face,” the youngest brother lamented.

“But he has a peg leg! What’s cute about that?” the middle brother asked.

“I think the humans feel sorry for him,” the oldest said.

“What are we going to do about it?”

The oldest and wisest of the brothers spoke. “I have a plan.”

The other two listened and nodded their tiny heads and wiggled their pink noses.

“It might work,” the middle brother said.

“It’s going to work,” the oldest said. “Now let’s get to it.”

The mice spent the rest of the day gathering what they would need. The youngest made the harrowing journey to the kitchen. The middle brother managed to get into the library and the oldest spent the day watching the hamster and selecting the best places for their plan. When the others returned, triumphant from their journeys, the oldest pointed out their targets.

The youngest grinned. “Perfect.”

“This hamster is going down!”

“Remember,” the oldest said, “we have to act afraid.”

His brothers agreed, and that night they began their plan.

By the next morning, the brothers had each moved into a prime crack in the walls of the bedroom.

The youngest had selected a spot near the fireplace so he would always be warm. He had just snuggled down in his bed made out of shredded paper and scraps from the kitchen when he heard the sound.

Slap, slap, slap, thump.

Slap, slap, slap, thump.

A shiver ran down the mouse’s spine, and he began to shake. However, he was determined to stick to the plan, so he stuck his nose out of his hole.

Slap, slap, slap, thump.

The fuzzy brown hamster with his peg leg stood not far away. His big black eyes stared at the mouse, and his nose wiggled as he sniffed.

The mouse smiled. “Hello.”

The hamster frowned. “Tiny mouse, get out of my space.”

The mouse straightened. “This is my house, this is my place.”

“Then I’ll munch and I’ll crunch and I’ll eat it away.”

Before the mouse could talk back, the hamster began nibbling on the mouse’s house. He screeched and ran to his brother’s house.

“Did it work?” the middle brother said.

“Like a charm.”

It didn’t take long before they heard the herald.

Slap, slap, slap, thump.

Slap, slap, slap, thump.

The hamster, now a little more round than before, glared as the two mice cowered. “Tiny mouse, get out of my space.”

The brothers spoke together. “This is our house, this is our place.”

“Then I’ll munch and I’ll crunch and I’ll eat it away.”

The mice could hardly keep from laughing as the hamster ate their home. They scampered to the oldest brother’s abode and reported the events.

“Just as we planned,” the oldest brother said. “We will wait.”

This time took a bit longer.

Slap, slap, slap, thump.

Slap, slap, slap, thump.

“I warned you twice,” the hamster said. “This time I will not be nice.”

The middle brother laughed. “He can hardly walk.”

Which was true, the hamster had eaten so much that his once little belly now scraped along the floor.

“Why are you so mean?” the three mice cried. “Why can’t you share this place?”

“Because it is mine!” the hamster squeaked.

This time they got no warning, the hamster just started eating.

The mice ran back to the closet, and heard the hamster laughing.

“Do you think it will work?” the youngest asked.

The oldest cleaned his whiskers. “By the time he is finished eating all of that he will be so full he won’t be able to walk. Then he’ll lie down and by the time he realizes that we fed him poison it will be too late.”

“It serves him right,” the youngest said. “For being so greedy.”

“True,” the middle agreed. “No one made him eat it.”


I was so tempted to make this whole thing rhyme, but I have a lot to write today!

Character – The Big Bad Hamster

Random Object – Peg Leg

Setting – Castle

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Not every elf can be Orlando Bloom.

The high elf Lysanthir paced back and forth. His blue bathrobe and dreadlocks fluttering in a breeze he created himself. “You been training yer whole life for this.” He stopped and squinted at me. “You ready, Rolim?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Lysanthir’s mismatched eyes narrowed even more. “You got the colander?”

“Yes, sir,” I said again as I held up the once shiny metal bowl with holes punched in it. The light from the bug zapper filtered through the holes creating twisting patterns on the packed dirt at my feet.

“Good. Good.” The high elf waggled a finger with a chipped nail at the end at me. “You know what happens if you fail.”

I nodded.

“We’re trusting you not to screw it up.”

“I won’t.”

He eyed me, then straightened. “Get to it.” He dismissed me with the wave of his hand.

The other elves watched from their ratty camping chairs as I walked by. A few gave me thumbs up. Others shook their heads and sharpened arrowheads.

They thought I would fail.

Well, I wasn’t going to fail. Not at this. I squared my shoulders and turned to walk backward so I could see them all. “I will return!”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my heel hit a root in the dirt road. My arms pinwheeled, the colander went flying and I fell on my butt with a hollow thump.

Shame burned through me as I scrambled to my feet and retrieved the colander. Lucky for me there was no damage to it.

“Why are we sendin’ him?” someone muttered.

“That there idiot is the last member of the moon clan.”

“We’re doomed.”

I decided to ignore them. This time I kept my gaze forward and managed to get through the rest of the woods without incident.

A tingle ran through my body, and I knew that the barrier was close. I slowed and waited until I could see the wall that stood between our world and the mortal world. It shimmered and moved like a smooth lake in the sunshine. Beyond lay a different place.

I’d been to the human world before, so I took a breath and walked through the barrier. It felt like a blast of cold water followed by a hot room.

Summer was almost upon the human world. Moisture hung in the air and the full moon moved slowly across the black sky above.

I glanced around at the park. I stood at the edge of some trees. A meadow of short grass led down to a slab of stone that housed metal tables with umbrellas. A quick inspection assured me that no humans were close by, so I jogged toward the slab.

Just as the high elf had said, the moon was almost in the right place. I got to the slab—a perfectly round stone almost twenty feet across—and started pulling the tables out of the way. Someone had chained them down, and I had to break them free. I grabbed a chain and yanked.


I’d pulled a leg off of one of the tables.

“Sorry,” I muttered as I tossed it all onto the grass.

When that was done, I glanced up at the moon and then went to stand in the center of the slab. As soon as I got there blue light gathered beneath my feet and began to spread out in a pattern of knots, patterns and a language now forgotten. I stayed there until the whole thing pulsed with light.

Almost all of it. I’d neglected to move a chain all the way off. I stepped out of the middle and the light faded. I kicked the chain out of the way and went back. By then the moon hung directly above me. I lifted the colander over my head.

The moonlight concentrated into a single beam which then rained down on the colander. I looked at the ground and found the moonlight shooting through the holes in the colander and onto the ground. It only took me a moment to  align them and the glowing pattern.

A smile spread my lips.

They thought I would fail.

Not going to happen.

I took a breath and muttered the words I’d been practicing for months. They flowed off of my tongue, and I was almost finished when something landed on the colander.

A large black bird sat perched on the edge, which sent the pattern out of balance. The bird cocked it’s head at me.

“Shoo!” I said, shaking the colander.

The bird squawked and opened its wings to steady itself but did not leave.

“Go on, shoo!” I shook harder.

This time it flew away, but came right back.

“Get away.” I waved my hands.

The bird circled me.

“This is important,” I said.

It regarded me, and finally flew toward the trees.

I sighed in relief and then resumed my position. The patterns aligned once again, and I started to say the words.

But instead of fading away, as the light should have, it grew brighter.

“No, no, no.” I said. It was only then that I noticed the extra hole in the colander. Moonlight shot through it and hit a portion of the pattern that wasn’t supposed to get light.

The slab beneath my feet shuddered.

“Oh no,” I said.

A horn sounded from the woods, and I turned in that direction.

The whole of the elf army stood at the edge of the forest, ready for battle.

The stone beneath me bucked, and I tumbled off if it, the colander still in my hand. I hit my head and by the time I shook it off, Lysanthir stood above me, arrayed in all of his battle glory.

“Thank you, Rolim. You have done our realm a great service.”

I shook my head.

Lysanthir waved a hand. “Kill him.”

I think I watched The Umbrella Academy too fast. Now everything is about the apocalypse.

Character – Clumsy Elf

Random Object – Colander

Setting – A City Park

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Girl power isn’t always a good thing.

Long ago, in the kingdom of Bratol, in the province of Vuntis there lived a beautiful girl named Ayesha. Her green eyes sparkled like the sea and her red curls cascaded down her back like a waterfall. Lithe in form and great in spirit, she won many hearts but chose none.

Many suitors came from far and wide hoping to win her hand in marriage. For not only was she beautiful, but she was very rich. Her father had died a few years before, leaving her the sole heir to his great fortune and expansive lands.

She gladly welcomed all of the suitors to her estate, and dined and talked to them as if they were all old friends. Yet, after a few days, each man would leave without a obtaining her heart or a promise of marriage. They would speak to no one to give an explanation.

Charlotte, a maid at the estate, did her best to stay out of Ayesha’s way. Still, when the sixth suitor left without anything more than a wave from her mistress, Charlotte began to get curious.

She dared not approach Ayesha, but instead observed from afar. She would sit in a nook in the hall as Ayesha walked her suitors into the manor. Charlotte begged cook to allow her to bring them dinner. She hid behind a plant in the drawing room, where Ayesha and her suitors would go after dinner.

Their conversation consisted of mundane things like the weather, the state of the empire and the wealth of the suitors. They never inquired after her wealth, after all, that was why they were here.

Most of the suitors were handsome. Some were as handsome as they were rich, but money made up the difference in the other cases.

Still, after suitor number eleven, Charlotte wondered if there was something more going on. Her curiosity got the better of her—again—and one night she crept into the room next to Ayesha’s. Charlotte kept a candle burning very low, and had almost fallen asleep on the dusty floor, when she heard a strange noise, like that of the milstones being ground.

Charlotte shot to her feet and ran to the wall to listen.

She heard nothing.

After a few minutes of this, Charlotte drew her courage and went into the hall and knocked lightly on Ayesha’s door.

No one answered.

Charlotte pushed the door open and found the room empty, save for a secret door in the wall that had been left open. Heart pounding she took her candle and crept down the stairs beyond. A faint murmur filled the cool air. Charlotte followed it to a partially closed door.

Heart pounding, Charlotte peered inside.

Ayesha stood over the suitor, who lay unconscious or dead on a stone slab. Charlotte pressed her hand to her lips to keep from screaming. She wanted to run, but her feet had become rooted in place by fear.

Charlotte watched as Ayesha chanted words in a language she didn’t understand. Ayesha then pulled a thick, red ribbon from her bodice and tied it around the man’s stomach. A faint red glow began around the end of the ribbon that then sunk into his body.

The man arched his back and his mouth spread in a silent plea for relief from the pain.

The red light reappeared, like a piece of wood that had been cast into the water and then resurfaced. It ran up the ribbon, then Ayesha’s arm and into her body. She convulsed and slumped over the man, who appeared to be sleeping again.

“Thank you,” Ayesha said. “You’ll never miss that piece of your soul.”

His soul? Charlotte backed away and ran. She ran so fast that her candle went out, but she didn’t care. She made it back to the stairs, through Ayesha’s room and to her own.

A soul eater. Her mistress was a soul eater? They were legends. Myths. Not real things!

Charlotte could hardly think past the pounding of her heart. With shaking hands she packed a bag and silently slipped out of the estate.

She had to find the sisterhood.

It took her a whole day to get into town, and each time she heard horses on the road behind her, Charlotte dove into the bushes and waited for them to pass. By the time she got into the town, the sun was already down. She stumbled to the house of the sisterhood and banged on the door.

No one answered except for a man across the street who told her to be quiet.

Charlotte tried again with the same result. So she pushed open the door and went inside. It was dark, and smelled of rot. When her eyes adjusted, she found a candle and lit it.

The sisterhood should have been six women who worshiped here. Instead, all she found was six skeletons dressed in the sisterhoods ceremonial robes around an alter.

They were dead. Charlotte shook her head. It couldn’t be true.

Then she saw the burn on the altar. Ayesha’s crest.

Ayesha had done this. To keep herself safe.

A loud clatter sounded from outside. Charlotte began filling her bag with things. The weapons on the corpses. The magic books under the altar. Anything she could find. If the sisterhood couldn’t save them, then Charlotte would assemble a group of all women and they would trap the soul eater and put her on the Isle of the Damned.

There was no other way.


I wanted to get farther and show the soul eater (who is a witch) get tossed on the desert island (Isle of the Damned), but there are only 1,000 words in a Flash Fiction Friday!

Charter – A Beautiful Witch

Object – Ribbon

Setting – Desert Island

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A dented helmet and getting things off of tall shelves

Lightning flashed. Rain lashed at Thezak’s face and ran down his chainmail.

“Confounded weather,” Bukhel yelled. “Why did we leave our caves again?”

“To find fame and fortune,” Thezak said. He squinted as another round of lightning split the sky. Over Bukhel’s head and through the trees he finally spotted what they’d been looking for. He grabbed his brother by the shoulder. “This way.”

Dwarves lived in mines. They knew what mud was, but Thezak had never dealt with anything like this. The thick, viscous, substance tried to hold them fast. It pulled at their boots, as if hungry to eat them.

He’d also been out in rainstorms before, but not when the sky itself seemed to open and pour down every bit of sorrow for the world at once.

“Where are we going?” Bukhel asked.

“I saw a cabin.”

“Made of stone?”

“I don’t know.” Thezak dragged Bukhel to the edge of the woods. Another flash of light hit the edges of the cabin. A cabin with a fence around it, a well out front and a barn to the right.

“Wood?” A hint of panic filled his brother’s voice. “Wood is never going to hold up in this.”

“I’m sure this place has been here for many seasons,” Thezak said. “Come.”

Before Bukhel could object, Thezak pulled him forward. They ran across the muddy clearing, through the opening in the fence and onto the covered front porch. Bukhel pounded hard on the front door.

“Brother!” Thezak said. “It sounds like you want to tear the place apart.”


Thezak sighed and moved close to the door. Rain still ran down his face, dripping off of his nose and chin. “Hello?” he asked in the human tongue. “Is anyone there? We’re seeking shelter.”

Bukhel snorted.

Thezak waved him back. “We can pay.”

“That might not be the best way to approach it,” Bukhel said.

“We should start with that before threatening them.”

Bukhel glared up at his brother.

Both of them jumped when the door opened a crack. Light spilled out onto the porch and caught the onslaught of rain beyond as it continued to descend.

“Who are you?” a female voice asked. “I’m armed.”

Thezak raised his arms and moved in front of the light. “My name is Thezak and this is my brother, Bukhel.” He pointed. “We got caught in the storm and  were hoping to find shelter here for the night.”

“Are you dwarves?”


The door opened a little further. A pair of fierce, green eyes gazed out at him. “Aren’t you a little tall for a dwarf?”

Thezak sighed. “I am the tallest in my family.” Not to mention the village. “We have a few coins. We can pay you for your hospitality.”

The eyes narrowed. “What’s to say you won’t rob me?”

Bukhel snorted. “We have piles of gems in our home. What could this place possibly have that would tempt us?”

The eyes continued to narrow.

Thezak pat the air with his hands. “If not in your home, could we perhaps shelter in your barn?”

The woman didn’t answer for a long while. Long enough that Thezak wondered if she’d heard.

“Or we can stay here on the porch.”

Bukhel let out a strangled cry.

“No,” the woman said. “You’ll be paying in coins. Come in.”

“Thank you,” Bukhel said.

The door swung open to reveal a tall—for dwarf standards—woman with long brown hair, a thin waist and a sour expression on her face. She held a cross bolt in one hand and kept it aimed at them.

Thezak held his hands up. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

“Take your things off right there,” she said. “I don’t need water all over my house.”

Thezak expected an argument from his brother, but instead found him staring at the human with awe. With more than awe, with admiration. “My lady, thank you for your help. I am Bukhel and this is my brother Thezak.”

Thezak inwardly rolled his eyes. A pretty face changed everything?

The woman kept her expression guarded. “I’m Cyndol.”

“You have a lovely home.”

She looked Bukhel up and down. Thezak sighed. Bukhel always got the girls. Then her eye moved to Thezak, and she finally cracked a smile. Her gaze lingered on him. “Get out of those wet clothes. I’ll put a kettle on the fire.”

Thezak hadn’t even noticed the warmth until that moment. He and Bukhel got out of their wet gear, leaving just a layer of breeches and a shirt.

“Cyndol,” Bukhel said. “What can we help with?”

Once again, her eyes slid from Bukhel to Thezak. “I could use your help.”

“For what?”

She smiled again and pointed at the top of a shelf laden with pots and pans and a random assortment of armor, including a dented black helmet. “Will you get the big kettle there? I can’t reach it.”

For the first time in his life, Thezak puffed up his chest at the mention of his height. He walked across the room and lifted the black kettle down.

Cyndol came to him, touching his fingers as she took it from him. “Thank you.”

Thezak grinned. “You are welcome.”


I kind of wanted this to be more cute, but ran out of words. Hopefully the gist got through.

Character – Tall Dwarf

Random Item – Dented Black Knight Helmet

Setting – An Old House

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