Friday Flash Fiction

Another Friday, another round of flash fiction from the Alinar authors.

This week's theme was suggested by Pat, who commented on last week's post. If you would like to suggest a theme/item, we're always looking for new prompts! Just leave us a note in the comments.


This week's theme: Castle

The Princess and the Tower by Candy/Alexandra
(427 words)

“Rapunzel! Rapunzel, you in there?”

“No. I’ve gone out dancing. Where do you think I am?”

“Aww, come on Rap, don’t be like that. How about you let down that legendary hair of yours?”

“You want to shout a bit louder, maybe? I don’t think they heard you over in the seventh kingdom. Tone it down, will you, you know what will happen if mom hears you? Frog, much? Why can’t any of you just bring a ladder for once instead of this all this let down your hair stuff?”

“And why can’t you just live in a normal house, instead of this stupid phallic-symbol-shaped dwelling. I mean, way to go to make a man feel inadequate.”

“It’s a tower, my prince. As in part of a castle. Yes, it’s long and cylindrical, sticks up in the air and is rather impressive, but locking me in here is just mother’s way of saying she loves me. Now, you coming up or are you just going to stand there and sulk?

“Okay, since I don’t have a ladder with me, let down the hair.”

“No need to sound so enthusiastic.”

“Well, it’s this bloody tower. The shape kind of puts a man off, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. What is it with you men? This tower is in no way meant to represent any part of the male anatomy. Neither is it supposed to make you feel a failure for not living up to some mythical expectations of size, shape and performance. Now, start climbing.”

“You sure about that?”

“Well, maybe it was designed to slightly intimidate. Mom is overly concerned with protecting my virtue. But that’s all. Don’t let it worry you.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“I’m naked up here.”

“Really?”

“Better believe it. That’s got your airship steaming, yes?”

“Umm…”

“My prince?”

“Look, Rap, this has never happened to me before, I swear…”

“Would it help if I leaned out the window? Waggled something suggestively?”

“It’s no good. Every time I look up, all I see is this damned tower. Look, I’m not feeling it. Sorry about that, had a long ride and Champion here, needs some hay and a stable for the night. How about we take a rain check?”

“You’re going to her, aren’t you! Little miss Sleeping Beauty, who lives in a normal shaped castle that isn’t anything like a giant male appendage reaching eagerly skyward, and specifically designed to stop me ever losing this stupid virginity. My prince, don't go... Come back…”

Sound of dainty foot stamping.

“Oh…damn, damn, damn!”








~*~



Home by Kallysten
featuring the characters from CheckMate
600 words

When Vincent came home that afternoon, Lilia wasn’t unpacking as she had said she would. He felt a pang of annoyance when he found her in the living room, sitting on the edge of the sofa, the remote in hand, her whole body leaning toward the television. She didn’t even notice him approaching.

He had been working a lot lately and hadn’t been able to help much with the unpacking. Lilia didn’t really have better things to do with her days and could have finished already, but she was taking her time. He knew what it was about, of course. She always gave him the cold shoulder when he worked a lot - too much, as she said. It wasn’t worth arguing about.

“The cable guy showed up, then?” he said coolly.

She didn’t move, didn’t reply, didn’t even look at him.

“Lilia?”

She blinked and finally glanced to him. Her eyes and cheeks were gleaming with tears. She turned back to the television at once.

Every last bit of frustration Vincent felt disappeared. Lilia crying felt so unnatural that his throat closed. Leaving his jacket on a half-unpacked box, he went to the sofa, sat next to her and wrapped his arms around her.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured.

She shook her head. “Rien.”

Vincent had taken three years of French in high school; he didn’t remember enough of it to sustain a conversation, but a few words remained in his memory.

“Yes, something is wrong,” he insisted quietly. “You’re crying. And speaking French.”

She jerked a little in his arms. “Je ne pleure…”

Her hand rose to her face almost absently. She looked at her wet fingers, frowned, but her gaze soon returned to the screen.

“I’m fine. Something in my eye.”

She was a terrible liar.

Vincent looked at the television, and at first he couldn’t understand what might be so upsetting. There was no sound, but it seemed she was watching some kind of documentary. The camera explored carefully maintained gardens; someone on screen talked while gesturing at a rose bush, then the same person was in front of a fireplace, indicating the ten-foot long white marble mantelpiece.

Frowning lightly, Vincent glanced at the fireplace on their right. The details on the mantelpiece were different, and the size was much less imposing, but the resemblance was unmistakable. When he looked back at the television, the view had shifted again, and now showed the exterior of a castle; at the bottom of the screen, a banner labeled it ‘Château Saint-Simon.’ The connection flashed in Vincent’s mind, bright enough to be blinding.

“Did you ever go back?” he asked, holding Lilia a little closer.

“Why would I?” She almost choked on the words. “It hasn’t been my home for a long time.”

Vincent didn’t push, or point out that, if she hadn’t felt attached to that castle anymore, if she hadn’t thought of it as ‘home’, she wouldn’t have been crying. He simply held her, watched with her, and tried to imagine a young woman named Hélène in those perfect gardens and elegant rooms.

As soon as the credits rolled, Lilia turned off the television and pulled out of Vincent’s arms. For a few seconds, as she stood with her back to him and wiped her cheeks, Vincent’s stomach twisted. He wished she could have accepted comfort from him.

But soon, she turned back and held her hand out. Vincent took it and squeezed gently.

“Help me unpack?” she asked, her voice still a little croaky. “We’ve still got a lot to do before this can be our castle.”

~*~

My Laird, My Love? by Lily Graison

(525 words) original character

She was finally here!

Simone turned her head so the others in the tour wouldn’t see her grinning like an idiot. Every since she’d read her first Highlander romance novel, she’d dreamed of visiting Scotland and touring the castles.

How many times had she fantasized about falling through some crack in time, landing in Scotland, and being swept off her feet by some handsome man in a kilt?

She was still hopeful as she strolled the halls of the old keep. There were plenty of creepy old nooks and crannies to fall into. Of course, ending up in the eighteenth century was doubtful but one could never give up hope.

The tour guide directed them to another room. Simone followed along, imagining what it would have been like three hundred years ago, living in this monstrous home. The laird of the keep issuing orders while the clan ran to do his bidding.

He’d be tall and handsome, have great legs peeking out from under his kilt and his massive bare chest gleaming with sweat.

She smiled.

The booming voice of a man with a strong Scottish burr came from behind her. Her heart raced at the sound. She closed her eyes, imaging him as the hero she’d been dreaming of. He’d look just as she pictured. Strong, dashing… heroic.

She turned to look, her heart soaring in anticipation of seeing him.

Simone gasped at the sight.

He was wearing a kilt but that was about all she could say for him. Belly fat was hanging over his sporran and he wasn’t handsome in the least. On future inspection, she noticed his legs were hairy…as was the rest of him. So much covered his face he looked more beast than anything. He smelled funny, too, and when he smiled at her, she shuddered. Half his teeth were missing.

“There you are, lass!”

Simone sighed. So much for her fantasy. She’d finally arrived at the castle of her dreams and found a hairy, fat, loud Laird.

She turned back to the group and froze. They were gone. A look at her surroundings showed them changed. The sounds coming from inside the castle were louder, the smells stronger. Fear crawled up her spine.

Turning back to the man, her eyes widened. He was still there. Still staring at her.

“Come, we’ll be late for the wedding.” He held out his hand for her.

Wedding? Simone was ushered through the castle and it didn’t take but a moment to realize her wish had been granted! She had traveled back through time. Excitement bubbled as she wondered where her hero was.

When she stepped into the church and saw everyone looking at her, she glanced to the man beside her. The big, hairy, smelly one. Surely this wasn’t the Laird.

As they reached the front of the building and he stopped beside of her, she realized he was. A wide-eyed look at him, and having him smile that toothless grin at her was all it took. She clicked her heels together three times and screamed, ‘There’s no place like home! There’s no place like home! There’s no place like home!”