About the challenge: Each Tuesday I will provide a photo prompt. Your mission, if you choose to accept the challenge, is to tell a story in 280 characters or less. When you write your tale, be sure to let me know in the comments with a link to your tale. If you would prefer to post your tale in the comments (some people have very specific blog themes but still want to participate), I am happy to post a link to your site when I post your tale in the Round Up.
A final note: if you need help tracking the number of characters in your story, there is a nifty online tool that will count for you at charactercountonline.com.
I will do a roundup each Tuesday, along with providing a new prompt. And if for some reason I missed your entry in the Roundup, as I have occasionally done, please let me know. I want to be sure to include your tale.
Finally, have fun!
And REMEMBER…you have 280 characters (spaces and punctuation included), to tell your tale…and a week to do it. I can’t wait to see what you create this week.
Starting us off:
Rain or shine Granny cooked her kettles of soup. The hungry came. She fed them all.
It was against the law to feed the poor where Granny lived. It wasn’t long before the city shut her down.
“Don’t you worry,” she shouted as they led her away. “I’ll be back. People gots to eat.”
By Deepa at Sync with Deep:
the fire soon died
but the one inside
brought back everything
except the warmth of him…
By Neel at Neel Writes Blog:
HUNGRY BODIES, HUNGRIER SOULS
As the log burnt, embers crackled and lit the night sky.
Amba cupped her warm fingers against her cheeks.
Then drank the brew she’d made.
Centurion Granny was the sobriquet the street urchins had honoured her with.
She didn’t mind.
It was a promotion from ‘street kid’.
By The Dark Netizen:
They sat at the campfire.
The flames were warm and mood was jolly. They sang merry tunes and shared scary stories. They were enjoying nature’s grace.
They paid no heed to the eerie fog settling around them, nor notice the creatures coming from the forest.
Taking all of them away…
(Find the sequel here – Flash Fiction: Boots )
Character Count: 280
By Martin at Martin Cororan:
Three square meals a day, lowered into the pit, the pots checked for tampering afterwards. Even the flimsiest of handles could be fashioned into a shiv.
Despite hellish conditions, with no light or fellowship, the pots always returned empty, and the will to survive and hate endured.
By Fandango at This, That, and the Other:
The cowpokes called their range cook “Cookie.” He may not have been a gourmet chef, but when it came to preparing meals out on the range, Cookie was the man. Beef stews were his specialty and he always had plenty of kettles of hot grub going for the ranch hands at day’s end.
By Reena at ReInventions:
“Why do you insist on immigration? This is the place we were born in, and belong to.”
“The pot has got to be where the fire is, if anyone is hungry. It is the law of survival.”
By Kristian at Tales from the Mind of Kristian:
The End of Hostilities
The camp was deserted, only their enemies’ food still bubbled over the fire.
After they had filled their bags with booty, they couldn’t resist filling their bellies with the delicious bounty left for them.
It was all part of the plan.
They were defeated and no blood was spilled.
By Teresa at The Haunted Wordsmith:
What He Shared
An avid outdoorsman since he was a child, Bill impressed everyone with his survival skills. He tried to make a business out of it, but no one stayed long after discovering his obsession with the Donner Party.
By Jo at A Creative PTSD Gal:
She sat quietly beside her cauldrons as they cooked the evening’s meal. No one visits a seer like herself unless it’s crucial. In the flames that danced under her supper, she saw pain, laughter, and heartbreak. She looked up at the new desperate stranger. ‘Sit. Sup then answers.’
By Jan at Strange Goings on in the Shed:
People were generous towards them in the old days, despite their own hardship.
Their faces didn’t fit now, viewed as flotsam, despised. A statistic, huddled round campfires.
They were heretics of society, dissenters against oppression. Dreamers consigned to the fringes of dusk.
By Anurag at Jagahdilmein:
I checked the three kettles once again to see if everything was cooked to perfection.
The Three Musketeers had arrived really late last night, and had crashed immediately. They seemed to be famished, the poor souls.
Unfortunately for them, so was I…but not anymore.
By Willow at WillowDot21:
Someone had to stay up all day and night to keep the fires hot. It was so important that the alixier was maintained at 275 F. Douglas was tired of breathing life into dying embers. This job was far beneath his potential. He was a mighty dragon, sadly enslaved to a vain witch!
PS. Now we all know what happened to Puff the Magic Dragon AKA Douglas.
By Sadje at Keep it Alive:
The camp fire
The food was ready and Jay waited for the sound of horse returning. But the sound that came to his ears was of gunshots being fired. He took cover behind the trees and saw rogue cowboys ride by with captured horses and knew that nobody will be back to eat the dinner.
By Dave at Dave M Madden:
A smoldering pit told the tale of a village’s demise in cursive smoke trails rising toward the heavens.
The first wave of arrows muted the frontline’s alarms. Then, everyone was blind to the tsunami of slaughter.
In a heartbeat, an entire community flatlined.
Character count: 274
By Di at Pensitivity101:
They came and gathered,
Thieves in the night light.
Eyes grew heavy, lids closed.
As breathing evened,
The embers glowed,
Towards those who slept.
Fire devoured them all.
By JP at The Wide-Eyed Wanderer:
Three black pots hung over the fire.
“One for biscuits, one for stew and one for witchly brew,” the old crone cackled.
She ate her meager supper, sipped her tea and gazed at the stars. Memories of an age gone by when she and her sisters glimpsed the future through the magic eye.
Character count 278
By John at Broadsides:
Double Double boil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble
Throw in Poems and posts and tweets
And blogs from those you’ll never meet
In the cauldron boil and bake
With audio files, a charm to make
That cause bloggers in their dens
To drink it deep and deploy their pens.
The vicious storm’s whirlwind had destroyed all. Hunger was rampant. The tenacious women scoured through the scattered debris retrieving their battered pans.,collecting he dried bark and fallen fruit, and digging out the tuber. Huge fires dotted the land that fed hungry souls.
By Hayley at The Story Files:
The Witches’ Pots
Three ancient hags sat around a fire, stirring their black pots which they added things too and whispered over.
‘Tail of rat dropped in this potion for a diplomat.’
‘Eyes of gnome dissolved in this lotion for Jerome.’
‘Tongue of duckling tender in this poison for the king.’
By Peter at Peter’s Pondering:
At the native American theme park, the false fire glow, created by the LED’s, wasn’t very realistic and, on closer inspection, the pots were made of some sort of plastic. The smell of cooking was pretty authentic though. No doubt intended to lure us to the overpriced food outlets!
By Ponnz at The Swan Song:
Like her soul in love
dying embers of wood
hid stories, ashes of fall
Awaiting dawn, she froze
Fiddled by evening breeze
sustained smolders of past
lit her lifeless eyes, tears race
Spreading warmth to twilight.
Character count- 203
By Ron at Read 4 Fun:
Where Do You Hang Your Pot?
Staring at the visible border, we scavenged breakfast supplies We carried everything we had with us. Close and always at hand. The longer we were here, the fewer the people, the higher the desperation. We were burning salvaged abandoned stuff. Don’t know what we will burn next.
Our photo last week inspired Violet at Thru Violet’s Lentz to pen a short story. You can read it here…“Oakies”
Another great round of Twitter Tales. Thanks Everyone for joining us last week. For this week, I found this lovely photo by Juan Pablo at Pexels.com. I really like the girl’s expression in this photo. According to Pexels, she is sitting in a coffee shop. But don’t let that limit you. What do you suppose she’s thinking about, or looking at. Is that wistful look on her face the stuff of romance or is it something more sinister? I can see a bit of both. At any rate, you have the opportunity to weave a tiny story, tweet-style, in 280 characters or less. Have fun. I’ll see you at the Round Up.
Twittering Tales #120 – 22 January 2019
It was Lilah’s spot; the window overlooking 3rd and Main.
“You can set your clock by her,” said one barista. “Yep…8:15 am.”
She’d order a coffee, black, and watch the city come to life. And wait to catch a glimpse of him.
One day she’d get the courage to say hello. One day.