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#AtoZchallenge #flashfiction: Z for Zebra crossings must’ve been designed by a psychopath


The A to Z Challenge is now coming to an end. Through the month of April I posted a story a day based on photographs by Joseph W. Richardson and prompts given to me by blog-friends.
Today I bring you the last of the 26 stories, and I thank each and every one of you who’s commented on the 25 stories so far. I came to know some of you during the challenge, and some of my much loved readers are from before. I hope to visit your blogs often in the coming months. I’m not a demonstrative person, be it online life or offline, but I do hope to return the support you’ve given me in what has been a difficult month!

#AtoZchallenge #flashfiction: Y is for Yes is such an easy word to say when


As part of the A to Z Challenge, through the month of April I’ll be posting a story a day based on photographs by Joseph W. Richardson and prompts given to me by blog-friends.
Writing prompt: Yes is such an easy word to say when

Provided by: Csenge VirĂ¡g Zalka, friend, fellow writer, storyteller, and one of the magnificent Seven of #TeamDamyanti

#AtoZchallenge #flashfiction: V for Vagrancy had always been his calling…


As part of the A to Z Challenge, through the month of April I’ll be posting a story a day based on photographs by Joseph T. Richardson and prompts given to me by blog-friends.

Writing prompt: Vagrancy had always been his calling…

Provided by: Mary Wallace, friend, fellow blogger, and one of the Magnificient Seven of #TeamDamyanti

#AtoZchallenge #flashfiction: T for The bridge connecting the old part of town


A broken neck one night, nothing much, just a small boy fallen down the stairs. A man shot in the basement dressing room, by his girlfriend’s irate father. The girlfriend in question, she hung herself using sheets next morning, from the balcony. They opened just the same, that evening, having wiped the mess from the front door. And the men and women, they kept on coming.

We heard stories each snow-covered morning, of the goings-on at night. Of the drunkenness and laughter, of soft arms about necks, of legs wrapped around thighs, of shrieks, the music and often, past midnight, the banshees of delight.

#AtoZchallenge #flashfiction: R for Rather than give in to temptation


Mum says it is evil to steal.

Sure, the first time you try it, you go Gawd I can’t do this, but then you’ve picked it up and chucked it in your handbag, your fingers shoved into your pockets to keep them from trembling, blood singing in your ears as you wait for the alarms to squeal on you, and then you’re out, striding out into the daylight, and they tell you they’d cut the tags out for you and ask you how you feel, and you tell them you’re doing great, just awesome. You want to do it again.

#AtoZchallenge #flashfiction: P for Postponement is not an option


I sit on me front porch, thinkin’ Sunday morning thoughts, when they drive up, the two fat coppers.

Where’s Moses?, the taller of the two hook his finger on his belt, and don’t waste our time.

Only Moses I know, I tell them, parted the Red Sea.

No punchin’ the toadstool around me. Moses he turn me ‘to a fairy if I squeal. Better put out for coppers than Moses.

My nose bust next second, one long whine in me ears, blood on me mouth, warm ‘n icky. Usual stuff.

#AtoZchallenge #flashfiction: O for Only once did she stop and think..


She woke up to his pictures on Facebook. Not on her timeline, you understand, but a stranger’s, a woman she’d met at a party the night before, her latest Facebook friend.

He’d put on weight. Flecks of grey and white had touched his hair. His smile, though. His smile looked the same. Or did it?

Her fingers traced the screen. If only she could enter it, stand beside him, hold his arm as he smiled at the camera, lay her head on the suit that hugged his shoulders.

Could she once again be the reason he smiled, just like she once was on that spring morning when his fingers had combed her curls, played with her dinner clothes, taken them off, letting his fingers and hands and the sun warm her? They had danced and sung and chugged down wine all night. What day was that, the day after a friend’s wedding, or Fourth of July? That day when all seemed hazy, only them, their bodies, had a certain ripe solidity– too full, with too much of life. She could not remember.