My Words, My World

First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing

Archive for the category “freedom”

23 Jan 2025
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99-word fiction: Animal instinct – part II

Following last week’s story, someone (Come on Jacqui and Esther, hands up…) asked me what happened next. I found myself in a South American hellhole to see for myself…

I watched the tail disappear in to the hole. The rat carried a message with my embassy’s number. It was my only chance. Corrupt leaders of failing South American countries are not inclined to treat foreign journalists kindly.

I was known in the town and I had my sympathisers. If the message found its way to one of them, then I had a chance. I laughed at my predicament.

Outside, the rat scurried between stalls, wary of feet and cats. It stopped and sniffed the air, just as a sack slammed over it and left it in the dark.

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Posted in 99-word fiction, dark fiction, Flash Fiction, freedom, hope, Short Fiction Stories, Writing and tagged , , , , ,
04 May 2021

99-word fiction: Wanted

He looked out from the trees. Nothing moved in the thick summer heat. The field sloping down to the shallow valley floor shimmered and the waist-high corn lost all its ends and edges and blended into a carpet of green.

            He heard dogs in the distance, the heat probably getting on their nerves like everyone else but he was happy it was only the dogs he could hear; for now. 

            A bead of sweat stung his eye and he blinked several times, not wanting to take his hand off the branch it held.

The other was on his gun.

Posted in 99-word fiction, crime, fear, Flash Fiction, freedom, murder, Writing and tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment
25 Mar 2021
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Motorcycle

The road keeps rolling under two spinning wheels

and your eyes are peeled;

for anything and everything

and the heat of the engine burns your knees

as the cool air kisses your skin

and with the visor down you can see the bugs hit your face

while the wind plucks at your jacket with its airy fingers

as you change up and change down

and your ankle stiffens like a rusty bolt

and you sweat; you sweat

and the inside of your crash helmet smells like a wet dog

but it’s all OK because that’s a motorcycle;

that’s my motorcycle.

Posted in Free verse, freedom, motorcycle, poem, poet, Poetry, Travel, words, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

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