Wednesday 27 May 2020

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 159

This week's picture prompt is Jeannie Anne Numos aka i-am-JENius over on their page on DeviantArt, an artist based in the Philippines. They have some incredible pieces. I might have to use a few more. This one's titled 'Vanished Route to Demirville'. 

And we have another Tricky story, the 10th one, providing even more background information about her. She is easy to write. I hope to write something quite a bit longer for her soon. 

Here's the catalogue for my reference as much as anyones
Week 154 
Week 148 
Week 146 
Week 138
Week 132 
Week 126 
Week 122
Week 119
Week 77

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Brewing Storms of Change

Tricky looked at the sky. It was coming and she needed to prepare. Others wouldn’t, they’d think it was just another storm, but she knew that sky, she’d seen it before - and over these same train tracks.

It had been when she’d had to flee with her mother. Well, mother, she used the word loosely; she hadn’t been Tricky’s biological mother and despite raising her, she hadn’t really mothered Tricky either. She’d solely seen Tricky’s gift when she was a baby, and been in a position of power to take possession of her and nurture it, and bend it to her will. Tricky thought she should feel some kind of gratitude, but really she felt nothing. Feelings hadn’t been important when she had been growing up; they’d only been used for tuning into things and to manipulate others. Tricky had learnt otherwise over her, but back then she’d had no choice but to do as she was bid.

Her mother’s will had been one of greed and power, but despite having been successful initially, she’d pushed it too far, and they’d had to run for their lives. The world might have been reduced to a mere scrap of its population, but humans were the same creatures they’d always been – suspicious and jealous. And the wheels of time turned in circles, or some said spirals, repeating itself until someone twigged. Tricky and her mother had twigged – her mother was link and had taught Tricky to be – but only a handful of others had, and they had gained power by other grubbier means, and wanted to possess Tricky’s mother and Tricky – or have them burned at the stake like in the good old days.

Tricky still remembered that night: her mother pulling her by the arm through the forests, shouting incantations to get the trees onside and hide them. Then she’d heard the train, the freight ones that travelled between the remnants of cities carrying what little people had to trade. Her mother had dragged her to the edge of the tracks, the rushing of the passing carriages making Tricky dizzy, and counted down to a giant leap into one of the semi-empty freight cars. And they’d managed it, bundling up in a corner, hiding behind a couple of crates, and stayed that way until they’d safely disembarked in the next district.
Tricky had looked out at the sky through the cracks in the slats that made up the freight carriage, and watched the storm gather and swirl, feeling it inside, knowing it was more than just a standard storm.

It had been a prelude to change, another cleansing for the people who had grown too big in their boots. It was the kind of storm you wouldn’t survive, not just for its wrecking winds and flooding rains, but for what was contained within, the very poisons that had brought about the end of what they’d called ‘civilisation’ all those centuries ago.

Tricky and her mother had known that then, as Tricky knew it now. They’d found a safe place and hunkered down, protecting themselves, not only from the storm above, but the one that would rage again through the people.

Tricky had since returned after control of it had changed hands, knowing that what she needed was here; her mother having taught her that it held the core of all manifestation.

Tricky sniffed the air, and gauged that she had just a couple of hours to get back to her dwelling and ward it with protections. There was no time for dawdling, she must gather what she needed on the way and get ready. Others might be scared, but Tricky was thrilled. A new time was about to be ushered in, and a chance for her to find a new place within it.


  1. Tracks, by JPGarland @JPGarlandAuthor 346 words

    It seems appropriate, the lowering sky descending. Sometimes it is sunny. Other times rainy. Even snow now and then. This was the first that is on the mark.

    The seventh of the month. For twenty-five months, just over two years, I have come down to the tracks. They are near my house—close enough that if the wind is right trains sound like they are passing through my front yard or even through my living room—and there is a well-worn path through the woods that takes me to this one spot. The seventh of the month.

    It wasn’t on this little stretch that I last saw her. That was about a mile to the west, at the station. She was heading out, and from the train she’d be picked up by a bus to an airbase two states over and from there to Afghanistan. Her third tour, and she promised (as she had for the first two) that it would be her last.

    Yeah. That wasn’t on the seventh. It was March 27. Two years, six months, eleven days, and seven hours ago. No. It was a few months after that that I got The Visit. A captain and sergeant, one younger than the other. That was September 10. She was dead for over two days when they reached me. September 7.

    So I go to this little stretch of track, my little stretch of track. I think that she might have stolen a glance to the right, imagining she could see through the trees to our house. The path wasn’t so clear then.

    I sit and watch into the late afternoon. I don’t stay so long if it’s raining or snowing, and sometimes I feel I am letting her down by not. She was always, though, of me catching my death of cold, so I’m sure she would forgive me. But today. For the first time, it is me, the track, and my memories of her sky descending upon me, angry for I know not what. But she is there. I know she is.

    1. Sad tales, reflects the mood of the picture, thanks for joining.

  2. I haven't done anything for the challenges lately, so here's my entry for Mid-Week Flash Fiction Challenge Week 159. It's a little story called All That Glitters:

    Blogger: All That Glitters

    Patreon: All That Glitters