Yes, she’s beautiful. Yes, her delicate body sways whenever she moves. Yes, she smells like heaven on earth. Yes, her voice is sweet and delicious like honey on pancakes.
But oh her eyes. The way she looks at you. One glance is all it takes: you’re lost, body and soul. Sucked into all the promises her pupils hold.
Ensnared by a stare.
And then.
And then, consumed by her fire.
***
“It didn’t use to be like this.”
“Oh please.”
“In the old times…”
“In the old times, I hadn’t even been born.”
“As if I didn’t know.”
“Look, mother, it’s bad enough that I have to compete because you still retain the looks of your youth…”
“Of my youth?”
“…but please, let me be. I am who I am. I am the way I am. And I am not like you. Well, not exactly like you.”
“Of my youth?”
“Mother…”
“Ah well. You have never had any respect at all. No manners. Your father’s fault, no doubt.”
“Mother, don’t get father into this.”
“That would be impossible, since he’s nowhere to be seen, eh? Not around any longer. No, all he wanted was… Well, he got it. And you’re the result.”
“Are you… are you…?”
“Weeping? Yes! Because I was young back then! Young of spirit! And he abused me, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot forget that, because I have a constant reminder!”
“Me…?”
“You! Yes, you! And not like you think! Because I love you, and you make me proud, no matter what. And… and you remind me of him. And I… I cannot forgive or forget.”
“Mother…”
“I’m… I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. It’s… it’s not your fault.”
“Mother…”
“It’s alright. It’ll pass. It always does. Funny, eh? Ironic. The seduced and abandoned siren.”
Hello! Here’s the prompt for this week. The photographer is Gaspar Manuel Zaldo.
The rules, the rules… No rules. Get inspired by the image, write your story. Make it as long or as short as you want to. Post it online in your website, or social network you prefer, or not, as you wish. Use the #ImageFlash hashtag if you want to, and give me a shout about it here or on Twitter @VicenteLRuiz. And that’s it.
She went into the kitchen, put water to heat, selected a tea can, poured a cup. She took her tea back into the leaving room, sat down, and stared out the window, thinking.
And still nothing came.
Oh, of course, nothing worth writing. Her mind boiled with everyday little matters. Bills to be paid, errands to be run. That kind of thing.
But fiction? It eluded her this morning. And that was a problem, because she was a fiction writer.
And she had a deadline.
Right. Back to square one, Alex thought. What did she have, aside from that deadline?
Nothing.
Ah, but no, that wasn’t true. She had a character. Without a name. It was a pity, because names helped her fix on her characters. But characters seldom appeared with their names attached.
Hm.
On her couch, her cat, Merry, shifted without waking up.
Alex sipped some tea, picked her notebook and a few pens without looking at their colours, and sat on the floor. She opened the notebook on her coffee table.
“Character Name:” It was a vibrant blue.
She changed pens. In an orangish brown, she started firing words.
Ah, too many. Time to throw in some negative ones. A dark green spat some more words.
Messy Cold Weak Erratic Anxious
Now she had something. A black pen, boring, but anyway. In fact, Alex thought, we could even split these into two characters. Miriam. One was Miriam. And Jermaine. What if they’re together? Yes. Yes, they are. They have been a couple, for some time. We’ll have to decide if they have married or not, and why. Later.
Fiction, fiction. There was something wrong with their relationship. Yes. That happens to couples. But fiction, Alex, fiction, she thought. What’s happened? A maroon pen now? Ah, Jermaine met someone… Where does she work? She’s a yoga instructor, and there was this guy. And something clicked between them. And Jermaine couldn’t understand it, because after all, hey, she had always liked women and she and Miriam were a couple and those things only happened in the novels, right?
A deep blue pen. Hugo… no, Lorenzo. Lorenzo was the guy’s name. Ah, how long until Jermaine discovered his true nature? The fact that he had… this glamour? Yes, it had been used before. Alex could change that later. And Lorenzo… Ah, fantastic, he had shifted realities. He had run from his family and his duties (which duties?), but he had a problem because he had found he couldn’t completely hide his powers while in our world.
Alex changed colours. Leaf green. An attack. Strange wolf-like creatures that attack Jermaine when she was talking to Hugo after a class. Only she hadn’t realized they had come for Lorenzo in the first place.
A fiery orange brought Miriam back. Alex laughed as she wrote: “Miriam is a shapeshifter.” Ha. Where had that come from? “And of course Jermaine didn’t know.”
Right. And now it was time to try and see how all of those clicked together.
Alex walked into the kitchen, her mind racing. She grabbed the pot, and for a second wondered why the water inside was hot. She shrugged and made herself a cup of tea.
She went into the living room, grabbing her pens and notebook and sat by her computer.
Merry shifted again and purred, still asleep.
The first cup of tea lay abandoned on the coffee table by the couch, almost cold now.
If it’s Friday, we have a new Image Flash! The author of this one is Brittany Bendabout.
Remember “the rules”: get inspired by the image and write. That’s it. Make it log or short. Do it on your webspace of choice. All is up to you. If you want me to take a look, use the #ImageFlash hashtag on Twitter and I’ll try to drop by. In short, I just offer this writing propmt and you do what you want with it.
I’ll have my own story up here when I can, and besides that, see you next week with a new prompt.
Nathaniel decided to rest for a moment. He tenderly slapped the spine of the last cow before walking to the water pump. He refreshed himself and stared at the mountains in the distance. They still looked craggy and blue in the haze, but they no longer frightened him.
“Nathaniel!”
“Coming Gramps!”
When Nathaniel had first arrived at Gramps’, he was but a kid. A freed slave, with all the fear and shame that title carried back then. The mountains had scared him. He had never seen peaks that high, and they made him nervous somehow. It was silly, but a kid cannot control his worries, can he?
Of course, now he knew he was one of the few who had had all kinds of luck to reach freedom. Luck, and the blood of companions, and family. His grandfather, Samuel, had not been idly waiting for him to arrive, he had found out much later.
But that was behind him now. The man that Nathaniel had grown into could smell his lunch and feel his stomach growl. With a smile, he entered the house using the kitchen door.
***
The Dream came that night.
How did he know it was the Dream? He just knew. Gramps had told him it would come, many times. Nathaniel had got used to smiling and nodding.
“When it comes, I’ll tell you, Gramps.”
Nathaniel walked in the forest, far from the prairie Gramps’ house was in. A raccoon and a fox and a stag appeared and they all talked to him, in his head.
This had to be the Dream, for sure.
There were no words, yet the meaning was clear.
“The moment has come. The world needs you.”
“Will there be perils ahead?”
“You know there will.”
Images whirled around him. A black rider on a black horse, braving rain, hail and snow, and the scorching sun. Wading dangerous rivers. Crossing mountain passes. Defying the looks from others as the silver star shone in his lapel.
Battling abominations. A revolver that shone green and banished monsters. The gift of the Vision bestowed upon him. Communion with native wise men.
And there was more. Carnage, blood, damnation, loss. A small girl that came from it all. A changeling. And then another. His children. His children.
And a name.
***
Nathaniel woke bathed in sweat, the sun beams already filtering through the curtains in his window.
“Gramps. You knew. You always knew.”
He dressed up, empty gun belt and all, thinking that he’d have to acquire black clothes. Luckily Cloud, regardless of his name, was already a black horse. Nathaniel kneeled and felt for the case under his bed. He cleaned the revolver he kept in there one more time, and then put it in its place.
All those hours Gramps had had him practicing would come in handy now.
Nathaniel grabbed his hat and put it on.
***
“Gramps?”
“Ah! So it’s happened!”
“Yes. The Dream has come.”
“Indeed.”
“The Joneses won’t understand why I leave, but they will not reject our cows, don’t you think?”
“Good choice.”
“The time has come and I’m afraid, Gramps.”
“I know. I was, too.”
“Any advice?”
“I’ve taught you all I knew, including my advice. But here’s this: never stop learning. There’s more out there in the world than you can think of.”
“It’s good advice.”
“I think so. You should be going.”
“I know. But…”
“The time has come.”
“I know.”
“Hm. You know, Samuel is not my real Name.”
“Yes.”
“My Name remained back home, one ocean over. Where I protected my people from the dangers of the world. It’s time you do that, here in this new world of us. Have you Seen your Name?”“I have.” “And what is your Name?”
“My Name is Crow.”
“Begone now, Crow. Farewell.”
And Crow rested a hand on his grandfather’s tombstone, the one behind his old house, and sighed as he felt the soul of the old warrior finally leave him.
“Farewell.”
Well, here’s my first short story of the year. When I saw the image I had this idea of recycling an old character of mine, Crow. This is how his journey begins. I never expected to enjoy writing Weird West stories, but it turns out I do.
In time, I plan to have all my stories moved (or copied) here, so you can also enjoy them directly. But for now I’ll add links to them as soon as I can.
Welcome to my web space. This site has been in my mind for quite some time, and after the… weird 2020, I’ve finally decided to give it a try. And what best than to start it on the first day of 2021?
And I wanted to begin with a weekly writing prompt that, thanks to the input of some online writing friends, I’m going to call Image Flash. Here’s how it works: each week I’ll pick a random image from the beautiful website Unsplash, and that will be the prompt. I’ll have a week to write a story, and I’ll post it here (and possibly elsewhere). No more rules. No fixed length, no nothing. I do have a preference for flash fiction, though, hence the name of this writing game.
If you want to join in, please feel free to do so. Just use the prompt as inspiration and write your story, be it a long one in your own web space or a short tweet-long one, or anything in-between. I’ll try to acknowledge you, unless this explodes (I don’t think so).
That’s all. Have fun!
Note: Images at Unsplash can be used freely, but I like to give attribution. I’ll choose the weekly prompt using Unsplash’s random image generator tool. I’ll keep the first random image unless I cannot find the author, or it’s too similar to a previously used one.
