Daydreams. 55 Fiction.

Blue sky

She dreamed of a kiss, too good to be true.  Her fingers gripped the lapels of his jersey.

“Wake up.”

She moaned.


More moans… falling.


Her eyes flew open, a delicious blush spread across her cheeks as she hit the ground.  He was looking at her.  The man of her dreams.  How embarrassing.

55 Fiction, A Story About.


The act of writing a story, 55 words long, creating a character and a setting, three lines wide.  It’s a story about love, hate, murder, mystery, with “I” or “Me” or “You” or “they”, it’s a moment of inspiration, a moment of vividness.  It’s a 55 word story, fresh, brief, capturing.  Be enticed by it.


Through the Summer Rain, I Finally See You.


I feel the summer rain, cascading all around me.  The steam rises from the concrete, sizzling, dehydrating, rehydrating, existing as a wall between you and I.  I see you for the first time.  You are standing, watching, waiting for me, hand forward longingly.  We are worlds apart, separated, until I too leave the rain behind.


Queen of the World.


She stands straight, above the crowd, the gown weighing her down.  She’s tired, worn, but she’s smiling.  She’s genuinely happy, seeing all those below her waving at her.  Slowly, slowly, she raises her hand, and the smile, transformed into a beam, is shining down on those watching her.  She is the Queen of the World.


With Love.

They tell me to pen the name,

On the gilt edged paper,

And send it to the one entitled.

They didn’t tell me what it was,

Or what should have been.

When I penned that name,

I felt my heart leap with infatuation.

If I knew what it contained,

My heart would have broken earlier.

The Belly Dancer’s Ring.


She danced in her metal and silk adorned body.  She weaves her way around the floor, sinking low, spinning round, dancing energetically and beautifully.  She is charming, seducing her audience.  The metal glints in the dimness of the restaurant.  Everyone is entranced.  But everyone sees the ring on her finger, it shines brightest of all.


Flag Of Honour.


He raised the flag and with his other hand, he lifted his sword.   The men roared and raised their swords in turn.  There was nothing but fury, nothing but determination.  It was a sea of blades waiting to cut the first blood.  They were the King’s pride and joy.  For honour, they would be mercenaries.