Flash Fiction and Compressed Poetry Roundup

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Writer's Workshop members, I must apologize for my absence as workshop host. I have however been keeping tabs on submissions to this workshop. It was great reading everybody's Flash Fiction and Compressed Poetry entries. Several pieces have caught my eye, as well as others. So please accept my apology with a big hand to all of those who submitted. :clap:


Featured Writings



Flash Fiction


Queen Bee     The moment I was hatched from my egg, my mother tried to eat me. I was fortunate because I successfully escaped from her wrath. Later, I would learn that I was never supposed to be born because my mother was the Queen, and as her child, I was meant to be a male servant. But something went wrong. I was a girl. Everyone knew that if the Queen bore a girl, they would have a battle to the death. Instead, my mother tried to eat me when I was just a larvae.
     I got lucky I suppose, since one of her servants picked me up we flew off before my mother could bite my head off. His kaleidoscopic eyes shone all ultra-violet colours in the sun, and his translucent wings beat against the soft spring breeze. We flew further and further away from the beautiful palace with hexagonal rooms, and I became frightened then cried out in fear. The servant firmly told me to hush, for he was fighting the urge to go back −my mother's call in his
House of the SnailCurled like a tadpole in the confines of the ball turret, he slips into his mind and enters the first nautilus ring of memory.
i.
He sees a potting shed littered with terra cotta fragments, soft loam, and quietly rotting tomato vines. It is fall now, and the place hasn't been used for nearly a month, not that his mother was ever much of a gardener - she prefers the career of a socialite, and complains constantly about this heathen life in the country. His father yells whenever she embarks on a new tirade, and his mother drinks something out of a square-cut glass bottle that looks as though it were pilfered from Oz, and then everything is still again. For a while.
He watches himself enter the shed, gawky and fair. Tears have made a paisley pattern of sorts in the skim of blood on his pale cheek, and the skin about his eye looks like an oval of wet blotter paper rife with plum-colored ink. He purloins a splinter of stake from the tomato ruins, and in his rage and helplessness, ass

      Queen Bee by magic6jewls     House of the Snail by orphicfiddler



Compressed Poetry


:thumb243658381: CrocusesWhen November came,
we would plant
crocuses.  
Winter biting at
cheeks and gnawing at
finger-ends,
We raced the first frost,
shoving plump bulbs into
thick sodden earth,
Wet clods of it
sticking to our shoes,
blackening fingernails.
We were grubby
monsters counting ten,
twenty,
thirty,
more,
With no patience
in us to last
until spring.
Waiting for sun
and the thawed chill
and a green slender
finger-tip.
Willing the mud
to nourish its
tender crop,
We strained each
year for a glimpse
of green,
Wept for broken
crocus hearts
come summer time,
And when November came,
again we planted
crocuses.

  Spindrift by CJWilde            Crocuses by SaViNgGrAcEs

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CJWilde's avatar
Thank you so much for featuring my piece. I really enjoyed the workshop. :aww: