Flash Fiction: The End

Write a story with a theme of “The End.”

I walk out the gate, looking around at the drought stricken grass. The sun is hot, and makes my skin feel like it is sizzling. Well… this is it. There is not a person in sight, I must be early. Not long until The End. My time is up, I must go on the next leg of my journey.

My backpack is slipping, I tighten the straps.

This bag holds the knowledge that has gotten me through. My final test has ended; the real test begins.

Soon the flood of people will begin.

This is The End; Goodbye High School.

Gaijin: Daily Prompt

I’ve just arrived and I’m lost. Great. On top of that, I’m running out of gas.

I’m in Japan and I am driving the empty streets of a small country town. Why can’t I find my hotel? All the houses and streets look the same and there are no signs out the front of the stores.

I don’t even know why I came here. Sure I won a competition with a small airline company. Sure I jumped at the chance for a free holiday. But I didn’t want it to be like this.

I stop my car to ask for directions. I walk to the nearest house and knock on the door. An old man opens the door. I rake my brains for any of the little Japanese I know.

I bow. “sumimasen” (I’m sorry) The man looks at me and shakes his head saying “Gaijin”. (outsider)

Dear God, I hope someone here speaks English….

“Eigo wo hanashimasuka?” I mutter. Do you speak English?

The man shakes his head, “Eigo no…. Eigo no” I can tell he’s trying to speak as much English as he can. Even if the only word he knows seems to be ‘no’.

He gestures behind him. “Wife… English… speaks…” and he shuffles of.

THANK YOU GOD!!

I wait at the door and an elderly woman comes down the hall a few minutes later. “Hello, I don’t know good English, but I try. You lost?”

“Yes,” I answer, “I’m trying to find the Sakura Hotel”

I get back into the car. I have the directions written on my cell exactly how she said them:

One road on left turn. Five road on left turn. Two road on right turn. Count to 30 and then turn left. Find green gate on left. That is hotel.

Great… This is going to take a while…

In Transit: Daily Prompt

train station

I don’t know if I’m ready, but I have no other choice.  I have to catch that train.

After I was hit by the car; the world went black. I was crossing the road and a car came speeding around the corner. I had not time to act, and my body was smashed across the bonnet. I heard smashing, screaming, and other associated sounds of horror.

Then nothing. I woke to find myself, intact, alright; but still aching from the crash. I am at a train station. Lying next to me is a small suitcase, and in my pocket is a ticket. I look at the destination, but there is none. How is there a train going nowhere? I ask myself. There are people wandering all around me. All holding a suitcase like mine, and looking as dazed as I feel. Are they in the same position as me?

I hear a train horn in the distance. The ground starts to shake, and I step away from the tracks. I look around the station. Elegantly designed in marble, with a high roof and gold lamps lighting the space. It’s beautiful, but I cannot see a door out of this place anywhere. I have to catch that train. It’s my only way out.

The shaking becomes stronger, as a train pulls in. It’s an old fashioned steam train, but it’s white with gold trimming. It’s lovely, and it matches the station perfectly, but I have never seen a white train. I didn’t even know they existed.

A man with a grey moustache steps out calling for passengers. I step forward. “Where are we going?” I ask the man, giving him my ticket.

He smiles at me kindly, “To The Afterlife, my dear.” And he guides me into the train.

I sit down, on the already fast filling seats. The Afterlife? I died? I am so confused, it makes sense, but I didn’t think the passage to heaven would be quite like this. Wait, am I going to heaven? This could be a journey to hell after all. Or heaven and hell may not even exist and I would just become a soul, and… float around?

The doors close and the train starts moving. The train leaves the station, out into the blinding light. Everything goes white, I wait for my eyes to adjust to the light, but they don’t.

Suddenly, a new feeling enters my body. I feel light and floaty, like I’ve become a feather. And I feel… surprisingly, happy. In fact, all of my worries are gone. They’ve just drifted away like a cloud in a clear sky.

Everything is going to be all right.

Short Story: The New Girl

I walk in. It’s my first day in a new school. It’s my first lesson: English. Good, English is what I’m best at; I must make a good impression.
I was previously at an all-girls school and I didn’t seem to fit in well there. Instead, my parents decided to send me to Brookwood High school. It’s a co-ed school, so I’m pretty excited about the fact that there are boys here. Maybe I might finally get my first boyfriend.
I sit down at a table near the back. I’ll play it cool, and then I’ll blow everyone away. Everyone files in, take their seats and a tall, lean man walks in. He looks pretty young, fresh out of teacher’s college I presume. He has a unique style about him. He’s probably a hipster. I reckon he’s got a blog, and he drinks strong coffee from some hipster café called, ‘The Grass Café’ or something.
He smiles to the class and takes up a tablet to make the roll. He calls the names out, each following by an answering ‘Yo’ or ‘Hey’. “Maria Key” He looks up at me.
I smile and call out “Hello”, in my most confident voice.
The teacher smiles and says warmly, “Welcome Maria, I’m Mr Wood. Currently we’re studying free-verse poetry. Hopefully you will pick it up quickly,” he smiles and I thank him.
He continues on with the roll and I look around everyone has stopped staring and whispering about ‘the new girl’ by now, and they are all looking intently at Mr Wood. He seems nice enough; Kind of cool actually.
Although there is someone looking at me. A boy, who answered to the name ‘Dylan’, is staring at me. He’s looking at me with his bright, curious, green eyes; his shaggy brown hair, hanging in front of his eyes. He is pretty cute.
We start by thinking of ideas for our poems. Mr Wood sets the task of writing down as many ideas in half an hour. Dylan, who is two seats away, looks over at me and smiles. I blush, and I look away quickly. For the next half hour, this continues every five minutes.
After we had started writing our poems, Dylan passes a note down:
Hey, I have something to tell you. 🙂
I blush, and look at him. He’s scribbling down a message on a fresh scrap of paper and leans over to pass it to me. But a slender hand flies between us and slips the paper out of his hands before he has the chance to give it to me. Mr Wood reads it silently.
He walks to the front of the class, “It seems that Dylan has something to tell Maria. I was going to read it out, but, the content of this note may cause embarrassment for either parties, so I won’t. But Dylan, I recommend you tell Maria straight after class,” Dylan blushes deeply and nods to Mr Wood, “You should know not pass notes in class.”
Dylan’s face stays red for the rest of the lesson, but he still keeps smiling at me, in an embarrassed, boyish way, like he’s got a secret which is about to burst forth from his mouth.
By the end of the lesson, Dylan can’t sit still anymore. Mr Wood dismisses us, and Dylan immediately picks up his books and speed saunters past my table. I feel my face growing red and hot as he walks over. He stops in front of my table and declares, “I have something I have to tell you”. He looks really embarrassed, ‘Oh God, what is he going to say?’ I think. I’m too nervous to stand up, my knees will surely knock.
He leans down so that his eyes are level with mine, and he cracks a wicked grin. “You’ve got toothpaste on your shirt.” And he cracks up laughing and skips out the classroom to tell his friends.
I look down in horror, and sure enough, I have a big, green smear of toothpaste down the front of my brand new blazer. I feel my face burning; ‘Oh God, It’s been there the whole morning, no wonder everyone has been staring at me!’
That was the day that I met, not the cutest, kindest boy; but the prankster, Dylan.

Written by Hana July 2014

Short Story: Wings of Death

“Write a biography about a family member” my teacher said. Well that’s easy, seeing as most of my family lives in rural England, and I in New York, America. I don’t know anything about my Dad’s side of the family because he left Mum when he found out she was pregnant. And there are no other family members in America apart from my mum. My Aunt used to live with us, but she died before I was born, so I never knew her. Mum has never talked about her, and when I ask, she always changed the subject.

I remember my mum saying that we have some old stuff of my Aunt’s in the garage, but whenever I went near it, she would tell me off; but that didn’t stop me from being curious. Mum is out shopping in the city today,  so I’m taking the opportunity to have a poke around.  All I can find is an old chest full of dresses, home video tapes and books; one of which catches my eye. It is a simple hardback journal, covered in floral cloth.

I open it, and flip to the start of one of the last entries. I start reading…

3rd of March 1985

Today I worked on my assignment for university. I have an assignment due in two weeks, and I still haven’t done much. After working on it for two hours, I got bored, so I left to go have lunch in the city. While walking down 3rd avenue, past ‘Sal Anthony’s Movement Salon’ I spotted a man who was particularly tall and stood out like a black cloud in a clear sky, standing outside Scheffel Hall.

I stopped not far from where he was standing, and I was a little surprised by how he looked. He had very pale skin and very dark black hair which was mostly covered by a dark, swirling cloak.   When he moved slightly, his cloak swayed, and it looked as if he had black feathered wings folded behind him. But the most unnerving thing about this man, no, creature, was his face. His eyes were black, and seemed to resemble the pits of hell; and the mouth frozen into a silent scream of horror. It was completely unearthly, but I am sure he Isn’t real. It’s just a joke, no one could possibly look like that… it must be a mask. I think that he is one of those people who dress up as statues and people look at them and give them money; but no one even looked at him. It was as if he wasn’t even there.

Maybe I’m just a little sleep deprived.

I turn the page and start reading the next entry:

4th of March 1985

Today I had to go to work, and it was a bit of a shock what I saw there. Last night, I concluded that I had just seen the creepy guy because my brain was being weird from lack of sleep. Yesterday, I made sure to go home straight away and get to bed early, so that I wouldn’t start hallucinating from not having enough sleep. So I got up early this morning, full of energy and ready to start my day. I rode my bike to work, and worked hard for three solid hours. I then desperately needed a coffee break, because I was getting distracted.

On my way to the communal coffee machine, I thought I saw Mike, and I turned towards him to ask about an article he was writing for the newest edition of the newspaper. Instead of  friendly mike, I turned to see the deathly scream of the hooded man. This time, he had wings that stretched from behind his back. They seemed scabbed and feathers missing; like he had a sickness. Why was he there? Why have I seen him again? I think that I was standing there for a few minutes, because the real Mike walked over and chuckled, “You alright Melanie? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

I just closed my eyes and shook my head, and the figure disappeared. Maybe I am a little spooked by that guy from yesterday, I thought. I suddenly felt sick, and I asked my boss if I could go home early. She said I didn’t look too good, so she let me go.

Maybe the creepy creature might go away.

I turn to the last entry in the book:

9th of March 1985

I keep seeing him! He keeps popping up in completely normal places, and every night I wake up screaming because his grim face haunts my sleep. WHY WON’T HE JUST GO AWAY? I walk around the city every day, expecting to see him around every corner I turn! I can’t take it anymore, I don’t want to be stalked every single day of the rest of my life by the devil!

This entry was particularly short, and attached to the back of it is a newspaper clipping dated back to the 11th of March 1985. I start reading:

Missing woman may have committed suicide
A woman who has been missing since the 9th of March, may have committed suicide. After the article in the paper on the 10th of March, calling for anyone who may have had information on her disappearance; several readers have called in seeing a woman matching her description. One person said that they saw a woman standing on the railing on the Brooklyn Bridge. They only got a glimpse of her, and when they looked back, she was gone. It was dark standing on the railing on the Brooklyn Bridge. They only got a glimpse of her, and when they looked back, she was gone. It was dark at that time, so they thought that they may just have seen wrong. A member of the public said, “She looked really scared, but not in the normal way. She looked like she had seen a ghost.” The matter is still being investigated by police.

SLAM! I hear Mum’s car door; I shove everything back into the chest.  I hear her keys in the front door; I rush to my room. I hear her plonk her bag and keys down onto the kitchen bench; I open a book and start reading. Suddenly, she swings into the door frame, “Oh! Hey Honey, I didn’t know you were still up.”

“Yea, hey Mum,” I say with a fake expression of concentration, like I was reading the book before she came in, “I was just reading this book, and I kind of lost track of time. Sorry.”

She smiles, “I’m so glad that you like reading. Well, you need to get ready for bed, it’s late.”

I brush my teeth and hair, and make my way to my bed room. I reach for my lamp switch, and flick it on. What I see before me seizes my heart with fear. I see the horrifying, swirling, hooded figure clouded in a swirling black cloak.

He’s here.

Written by Hana Oct 2014