Y Ddraig Goch – Sunday Photo Fiction

Each Sunday, Alastair supplies a photo from his collection for us to write a piece of fiction, poem, or whatever inspires you up to 200 words. If you’d like to join in, wander on over to Sunday Photo Fiction. Click on the little blue froggy thingy to leave a link to your post and read what others have written. My story starts after the picture.

DragonLewis stared at the apparition in disbelief. “Y Ddraig Goch!” his voice trembled. Whether from fear or awe, Gareth couldn’t tell.

“You know what it is?”

Lewis nodded, his eyes growing rounder as the dragon moved closer to their hiding place. “The Red Dragon. I thought he was just a myth—my Gran told me about him when I was a little boy.”

“Not very big is he…” the scorn in Gareth’s voice obvious, “for a vicious killer I mean.”

“He’s not a vicious killer. He’s a protector; our protector—Wales’ protector.”

The dragon stopped and sniffed the air; moving his head slowly from side to side. A low growl grew steadily until the dragon raised his snout, and a ball of fire erupted, melting the rocks that hid them.

“Lewis Blevins,” the dragon’s voice rumbled, “you will soon come into your destiny and become a true Bleddyn.” He lowered his head until it barely brushed the top of Lewis’s head and Lewis felt the dragon’s warm breath flow over him.

I’m going to die! But when Lewis opened his eyes, the dragon had vanished, Gareth was nowhere in sight and at his feet lay a sword and shield.

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Author’s note: The name Blevins is derived from the Welsh given name Bleddyn which meant “wolf cub”. Y Ddraig Goch means The Red Dragon.

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The Quest – Monday’s Finish the Story

It’s time for Monday’s Finish the Story. You have up to 150 words to dazzle readers with your brilliance, your wit, or even both – or just make us laugh. But unless you join in, we won’t be able to enjoy your story. So, hop on over to Barb’s Monday’s Finish the Story  and have a go. My story this week is part two of a story I wrote back in February.
Be sure to read the other stories too, by clicking on the little blue linky man.

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Donning her fins and snorkel, she headed out into the deep water. Her head told her it was hopeless, but she had to try; she had to find Olivia. It had been three months since their little girl disappeared. After the police investigation and the coroner’s verdict of accidental death, Charles threw himself into his work and she hardly saw him. He refused to discuss it.

“We imagined it, Lou. We wanted it to be true,” he’d insisted, “but giant dragonflies don’t exist. There is no fairy castle. Olivia fell from the cliff and drowned.”

But Louise knew what she saw—what Charles refused to admit he saw. This time it would be different. She’d use her fins and snorkel to reach the diving equipment she’d hidden and then dive down beyond the waves until she found that castle. She was going to get her daughter back from Queen Marigold and King Silvermist or die trying.

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The Pen is Mightier than the Leg – The Scribe’s Cave #50

Written for The Scribe’s Cave, a place where fiction dwells. Hike up the mountain and add your piece of flash fiction based on the photo prompt. You only need 50-200 words and the Cave Mistress will warmly welcome you. When you’ve written your story, add it to the link to share with others. Be sure to read the other stories too. You’ll find my post for this week after the photo. 83858357 Victor looked up as his brother hopped into the house carrying his right leg; there was a hole in the calf and the foot hanging at a ninety-degree angle. Hugo threw the leg onto the floor and himself into a chair. “What happened?” “All I did was cut through Jessup’s field. He shot me and then tried to run me down with his tractor.” “This has to stop, Hugo; someone is going to get hurt.” “Get hurt? Get hurt?” Hugo snatched the leg up off the floor. “This gaping hole wasn’t done by termites, Victor,” he brandished the leg like a club. “He could have killed me!” “But he didn’t. Keep out of Jessup’s field, or I might just shoot you myself.” “You’re taking his side?” “You’ve been a pain in the backside ever since Jessup got the lead role in the play instead of you.” “But I’m a better actor than him.” “No, you’re a lousy actor, but you’re a good writer. Stick to what you do best.” Hugo’s mouth dropped open. “I…you…you think I’m a good writer?” “Yes, you’re a bloody good writer. Now forget Jessup and go finish that book you started.”

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My Precious – Monday Finish the Story

It’s time for Monday’s Finish the Story. You have up to 150 words to dazzle readers with your brilliance, your wit, or even both – or just make us laugh. But unless you join in, we won’t be able to enjoy your story. So, hop on over to Barb’s Monday’s Finish the Story  and have a go. My story this week starts under the picture.

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“In the compound on the hill, lives a man with a dream.” The driver of the tour bus told his passengers. “He already has three domes partially built.”

“So?”

“See them?” he pointed towards a line of huge trucks. “They’re 793C mining trucks and each holds 248 tons of soil.”

“So?”

“He’s ripping out the pine trees, covering the whole area with soil and planting full-sized Oaks. It’s costing millions.”

“So?” The teenager was starting to annoy him.

“He’s building his own Hobbiton.”

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Kick up Your Heels – Monday’s Finish the Story

Yay, it’s Finish the Story Time.  You only need 50-150 words to take part. Just pop over to  Barb’s Monday’s Finish the Story  for the rules (which a two-year-old could follow – I could) and click on the little blue froggy thingy to add your link. The first sentence is supplied but isn’t part of the word count. You’ll find my story after the photo.

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Dance as if no one is watching! That’s what the fluorescent sign on the wall behind the band urged. “Fantastic idea!” Brad grabbed Holly by the hand and pulled her to the dance floor. They were out to enjoy themselves and to celebrate the opening of his cousin’s “Kick up Your Heels” jazz band club. The beat of the music even brought his grandmother to her feet despite her seventy something years.

The band and the singer grinned in delight at the sight of their friend’s grandmother resplendent in a purple ‘flapper’ dress,  doing some wild jive moves. Gloria pointed and the spotlight angled down to highlight their new star. The crowd cheered in appreciation, and if Gran had been in possession of a ‘dance card,’ it would have been full.

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Fruitless but not Toothless – Monday’s Finish the Story

It’s time for Monday’s Finish the Story. You have up to 150 words to dazzle readers with your brilliance, your wit, or even both – or just make us laugh. But unless you join in, we won’t be able to enjoy your story. So, hop on over to Monday’s Finish the Story  and have a go; you still have time.  My story this week starts under the picture.

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“When I rented the room, I did not think it would be this one!”

Have you lived here long?” I asked, trying to bring the interview back on track.

“I came here in 1502. Of course, back then I was much younger and lived outdoors. Oh it was so nice to pick a fresh peach or an apricot for breakfast, but now…” he shook his head sadly

“But now?”

“Now the orchards are gone and all that’s left is this” he waved towards the abandoned outhouse. “I suppose I should be grateful. It keeps me dry, it’s nice and dark—even during the daytime—and the rafters are quite comfortable.”

This was taking too long. I glanced at my watch—it’d be dark soon and I wanted to be back in the office before then. Oh well, no one said interviewing a vampire bat would be easy.

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Rolling to Victory – Scribe’s Cave Picture Prompt #48

Written for The Scribe’s Cave, a place where fiction dwells. Hike up the mountain and add your piece of flash fiction based on the photo prompt. You only need 50-200 words and the Cave Mistress will warmly welcome you. You’ll find my post for this week after the photo.

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Freddy Jordan pinned little Annie Tunbridge to the tree as one of his gang went through her coat pockets. “Four dollars.” He crowed in delight. “Look Freddy, four whole dollars.”

“That’s mine; it’s to buy my Daddy a birthday present.” Annie pleaded.

“Not any more, it’s mine now.” Freddy and his gang were bullies. They picked on the little kids every day. They stole lunches, and lunch money. They stole homework and assignments.

Without warning, Samantha Miller struck, and Freddy found himself flying through the air to land face first in the gravel. He scrambled to his feet just as Samantha swung the wheels of her walking frame again, and Freddy found himself pinned to the ground under its wheels. Samantha leaned forward and the metal wheels dug into Freddy’s arm. He screamed.

“Next time you go near one of the little kids, Freddy Jordan,” hissed Samantha, ” I won’t be so nice.”

Like all bullies, Freddy was a coward. Annie bought her Dad his present, and no one’s lunch money or homework went missing ever again.

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