Pride and Prejudice

three line tales week 116: an astronaut doing space repairs

“Of all days, today I dreamt that she was an astronaut; out in space installing whatever-it-is on a spacecraft, making us proud” Rita sobbed into her handkerchief. “What a tragedy!”
“It’s ok dear, not everything is in our control….” trailed off Edgar, looking utterly devastated.
Holding hands tightly they watched their ecstatic daughter say “I do” to her artist husband.

Photo credit: photo by NASA (yes, THAT NASA – which is why you want to click through to the full-size picture for the full effect) via Unsplash


Flash fiction in response to Three Line Tales hosted by Sonya.

PS: I hope you can forgive my transgression with the title. It was simply too tempting! 🙂

A job for an artist

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

“It was a beautiful day – almost perfect in its serenity. It demanded to be remembered, memorized. I set down my easel on the bank of the river, near the bend, at sunset. Glorious orange hues bounced and reflected off innumerable surfaces.

I never realized that one of those surfaces was the knife; never knew I had been present at the time of the murder. I realized it only the next day while watching the news.”

“Oh! What did you do then?”

“I went to the police station immediately. They now say it takes an artist’s observations to catch criminals!”

Flash fiction in response to Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff.


The masterpiece

“Come on Lily! Let’s get out of this dump. It’s been forever since you spent any time with me.”

“Not today Jane. Please.”

“You tell this EVERY time. I am not taking no for an answer. Not this time. COME ON!!!”

On their way to the restaurant in Columbus Circle, Jane pointed out to the latest art installation, supposedly a masterpiece.


“Weird isn’t it? Do you get it?”

Lily gasped looking at it. She recovered quickly though. “Yeah. It IS weird…. Jane. Why don’t you go on ahead and get a table? I will meet you in 5 mins?”


Lily stared fixedly at the masterpiece – the two arrows sticking out of the blood stained body of a circular human. How could it be? He had turned her sketch into this? His masterpiece stolen from her sketch? No wonder he had broken up with her. And to think she had wasted time moping after him for so long…. Not anymore she decided. She would take back what was hers – her life, her identity.

Flash fiction in response to FFfAW hosted by Priceless Joy.

The empty canvas


He wondered. Art begins with an empty canvas. But can an empty canvas itself be art? When people can see cats and dogs in clouds; the rainbow in oil; what would they see in an empty canvas?

Some saw his audacity, some his foolishness. Some though seemed to find meaning.

Word count: 50

Microfiction in response to Weekend Writing Prompt hosted by Sammi Cox.

Prose Challenge – Write a 50 word story inspired by the image above.  What is it? A blank screen edged in static? A chalkboard with no writing on it?  The strange view out of a window, perhaps from a spaceship?  You tell us.

Bonus point for including any of the following words: emptiness, void, or abyss.

The recluse



Laden with an assortment of items – paints, jars, crystals, marbles, buttons, she slipped unnoticed through the market, making her way back home. On reaching, she closed the door of her small one room home and smiled with relief. The ordeal was over.

She carefully arranged everything, reserving special tenderness for the lone window. She viewed it from the chair in front of her easel, admiring the golden streaks painted by the sun falling on the jar. Later, light would shine through the crystals in the candle stand to make a remarkable collage. She sighed contentedly and picked her brush.

Word count: 100

Flash fiction in response to Friday Fictioneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff.

The lady in the story might be a recluse who shies away from people and finds everyday activities tedious. However, she is an artist and finds joy in the colors and shapes of nature and works of art. She is content, happy and at peace, in the little abode, she calls home. I am quite taken by her I must admit. 🙂