Microfiction Challenge: The Red Tree

writingThis is my first time participating in Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge. When I saw the promt picture, by the artist Virginia Frances Sterret, I just had to make a story for it. I love it! 🙂 Just look how pretty it is:

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And now, here’s my story:

The Red Tree

Ayla had the magic beans and a plan.
Yes, she would have to defeat the giant, but she was ready for it. She had several tricks in her sleeve. With a wide smile on her face, she planted a bean in the ground. Ayla could already picture the gold and the jewels. No more hard work, no more rags, no more, no more…
It took just a few seconds for the tree to start growing. Did the ground move, or was it just her legs shaking?  Yes, the tree grew, but something wasn’t right.
A strange plant appeared before Ayla’s eyes, weak and wobbly. Its stalk was a dark, rotten red, all twisted and turned.

“You freed me,” the plant spoke. “So now, I will grant you three wishes.”

“Three wishes?” Ayla was confused. “But you’re supposed to take me up in the clouds, to the treasure.”

“Treasure in the clouds? I’ve never heard of such a thing…”

“Well, not exactly in the clouds… Anyway, I didn’t free you. I planted you,” Ayla was getting a bit annoyed. This was not a part of her plan. “And it’s genies who grant wishes. Or goldfish. Not trees.”

“That’s quite judgemental of you,” the plant sounded offended. “What do you know about trees, anyway?”

“I’m sorry…” Ayla sighed. “I’m just a bit surprised. Three wishes are a great deal!”

“I’m not sure I want to grant them anymore…”

“Oh, please!” Ayla wasn’t ready to give up on her dreams.

“Fine. What’s your first wish?” the plant sounded friendly again.

“Well, I want to be rich!”

“I try not to be prejudiced, but this is such a human thing to wish for. Riches. Always the riches. Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just a tree! Money doesn’t grow on trees!”

“Well, what can you do?”

“I can grow fruit.”

A number of different fruits appeared. Yellow pears, blue grapes, red apples. Ayla sighed. It was obvious now that things don’t always turn out like the stories tell. She picked an apple, sat comfortably underneath the tree and tasted it. It was very good. She might never become rich, but she could at least make the best of what she had.

The Awakening: A Prologue

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He woke up in dark. At first he thought he was blind, but slowly he got used to the darkness and the tiny streak of light which came through the roof was enough for him to see his surroundings. He didn’t recognize anything. And suddenly, he realized he didn’t even know who he was.
He couldn’t remember his name. No memories of the past could be reached, no matter how hard he tried. He breathed in deeply.

Calm down.

He needed to start from smaller things. He got up from the bed. There was almost no furniture beside it, just an empty chair on the other side of the room. Was this how homes were supposed to look? Something told him it wasn’t, though he couldn’t picture any home at all.
The only source of light was coming from the roof. Was this some kind of a basement? The word just came to him, and it almost felt like a vague memory. Was it possible for him to climb up?
The roof wasn’t tall. He could easily reach it with his hands. He came to the source of light, and he realized it was a trapdoor. He pushed it, and it opened easily. So, he wasn’t some kind of a prisoner.
He took the chair, put it underneath the opening, and climbed out. No, he wasn’t a prisoner. He was being kept safe. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he was certain it was true.

Am I really safe?

He was now in another small room, but it wasn’t dark. The sun came in through the windows. He looked outside. He was surrounded by nothing but grass and trees. He was being kept safe. Far from everyone. No one should be able to find him.

But why?

This room was also almost entirely unfurnished. Just an old couch. But there was a door, and it led to the bathroom.

How did he remember that?

Yes, it was a bathroom. Small but clean. Obviously, someone came here. Watched over him. He could almost picture a face, but it was blurry. He looked at himself in the mirror. And then it came to him.
The blurry image was of a woman. He still couldn’t remember her name. But he remembered how he came here. And he knew he had to wait for a few minutes, and the rest will come as well.

He remembered the pain.
He remembered crawling here, and he remembered her, finding him.
He remembered the blue light.
He remembered how peaceful it felt.
And, finally, he remembered who he was.

He was the Lord of the Underground. And he came back to finish what he had once started.


Do you remember those East and West stories of mine? Well, they never left my mind completely. I’m changing the concept and making them into a novel. Maybe… Anyway, this is where it all starts. 😉

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

Miracle Challenge: Legs and Tails

#MiracleChallenge : Week – 6

Challenge No : 5

Write a Tiny Tale /Poem/ Haiku using below prompt image in 5 or less sentences(for tale) and 5 or less lines(for poem)

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Mermaids wish for legs, girls wish for tails. Everybody wants what they cannot have. But sometimes, just sometimes, the unthinkable comes true.

Sadly, truth is not a fairy tale, others don’t live their lives as it seems. Mermaids learn soon that princes can be mean, and girls drown, grasping for air, realizing it’s too hard to always swim, and swim.


So, this is my first time participating in the #MiracleChallenge, and I hope I did it right. XD It was certainly fun, loved the prompt image. 🙂

Puss in Boots

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No one takes notice
Of one little kitty
Easy to trick you
Oh, what a pitty!

I do what I want
I never obey
I can walk upright
Now what do you say?

The littlest things
Have the power of will
I don’t play with yarn
I dress to kill.

In boots I walk
To make you see
That you should never
Make fun of me.


A silly little poem today, it was so fun to write. XD 

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

The Ice Queen

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I have nothing against princesses,
I like the sound of crackling fire,
and I’m very fond of cats,
but it doesn’t mean I don’t see
when injustice is being served.

Why are wolves always hunted
yet you forgive your cats
for killing birds and little mice
and bringing them as gifts?
Why is ice considered cruel
when fire can hurt as well?
Why are queens always evil
and princesses you root for?

I write my own fairy tale,
and I create a powerful queen
a woman needs not be weak
nor act sweet and for rescue wait
if she wants to be a heroine.

So I bestow on her a gift of ice,
ice-cold eyes, a power to create,
she will freeze you if you dare
in a tower lock her up,
she will make you disappear
before your wicked curse is uttered.

A magic mirror in her possession,
but who’s the fairest she doesn’t ask,
she uses it to uncover lies,
to see where’s a need to fight,
defend herself and all she loves,
a crown of ice on head held high.

She runs in the company of wolves,
with them she is always free,
she howls proudly at the moon
and hunts those who deserve it;
little girls that carry baskets
are not always what they seem,
sometimes a poisoned apple
and hidden thorns lie therein.

A queen, not a princess,
powerful and not naïve,
clever and not benign,
her touch so cold that it burns,
but that doesn’t mean she’s cruel.


Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

It Would Come at Night…

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It would come at night and steal children. It would sneak into our village and into our homes, no matter what we did to prevent it. Somehow, it would always find a way. We sent people to the woods, on a hunt, almost every night. Nothing was ever caught or even seen.

But in the end, every it turns out to be a human.

They dragged our neighbour, Mr Hal, out into the street. He was on the ground, on his knees, making a manic laughing noise. My parents didn’t want to tell me what had happened, but I knew what all the blood meant. His hands were dark red, and they dripped on his clothes. His mouth was red, too. He was it. They caught him. They didn’t let us children enter his home, but I was disgusted nonetheless. I couldn’t help but imagine it all, his teeth tearing apart the body of Mrs Alanna’s baby, and many babies before. A cannibal among us. A baby-eater.

“Where are the bodies of other children?” a man screamed at Mr Hal.

“How did you get into our homes?” another shouted.

They wanted answers. Without them, they felt even more wounded, helpless. Could one of us really be the monster we feared?  Everyone was too disturbed to pay attention to me, so I managed to get closer. Mr Hal laughed at the questions, his eyes darkened by a glow of insanity. How was he able to trick us all, to hide his true face?

“Where are the remains of our children?” a woman cried.

For a moment, Mr Hal’s eyes cleared, his face turned pale.

“I don’t know,” he growled. “I only killed one!”

“You’re lying!” a man kicked him hard and Mr Hal fell to the ground.

The village justice was quick. One of the women who lost a child was the first to throw a stone. Another followed. Mr Hal laughed and laughed, until he stopped – forever.

The night came and we all went to our homes in silence. Nobody wanted to speak about what had happened. The monster was gone but we knew would not be able to sleep. I went to my room, got into the bed, but kept looking through the window. A dark feeling pressed my chest and didn’t let me fall asleep. I looked at the small hills through my window, at the trees and the woods. I looked until it seemed to me that I saw something there…

On top of a little hill, two creatures sat. The larger one smiled, and said:
“And that, my darling daughter, is how they stop hunting you.”