Tag Archives: VisDare

Bottling It Up

This is the photo prompt for this week’s VisDare challenge…

Genie in a poison bottle

“I can grant you three wishes”, the genie had said.

”That must be so cool,” Grace had said. “I wish I was you.”

Which is why she now finds herself in a bottle marked “Poison” and an unflattering outfit, while the genie has taken her job.

She has thought of rocking the jar to try to escape, but that would mean shattering the glass, and she fears that the experience may scar her for life, in every meaning of that phrase.

So she waits, hoping that someone notices her on the shelf, decides to ignore her sour expression (you try living in a poison bottle, see what it does to yours) and take a chance.

She needn’t worry. The genie is on her way back to release her, and to wish that she could understand Excel, hide holiday web-pages when her boss passes and be able to un-jam a photocopier.

Time Travelling

This is the photo prompt for this week’s VisDare Challenge ….

Stefan's Clocks

Go into a hotel lobby at noon in New York and an array of clocks will tell you that it is nine am in Los Angeles, five pm in Paris and tomorrow in Auckland. It’s apparently important to know this.

Stefan had spotted a gap in the market. If you weren’t in a hotel you had no idea, at that moment, of the time in Cork, or Kuala Lumpur, so Stefan decided to provide a mobile service to walkers of the streets – hobos, tourists and streetwalkers. It was a plan without a flaw.

It was a plan with a flaw. While he may well have been earning the gratitude of passers-by, and this in itself is doubtful, it didn’t earn him any money.

He was really hungry. He could do with a good lunch.

Or dinner, had he lived in London.

Where The Sun Don’t Shine

You’ll all be thrilled to learn that I’ve found another flash fiction challenge. This one is called VisDare, and we’d to write 150 words to the challenge (from this source) below…

 On a chain around her neck Ythyl Mermaid carried the key to Davy Jones’ locker, which had sunk gently to land outside her cave after Davy had discovered by the empirical method that a pirate hat provides surprisingly little protection against a cannonball. In it she kept shampoos, conditioners and even a GHD hair-straightener, which admittedly might have worked better had she had anywhere to plug it in.

Still her hair looked like the bush that other people sometimes look as if they’ve been dragged through.

Her skin was cracked – seriously cracked. And anyone who’s ever looked at their fingertips after a long bath will not be surprised to learn that her face was as wrinkled as a concertina that’s spent two years trapped down the back of a sofa.

Yet she was not short of suitors. The aquaphibians from Stingray reckoned that she was a bit of a looker.