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It’s that time of the week again – when I flex my fiction muscle. The usual rules apply, the photo copyright belongs to Madison Woods. If you’d like to find out more about what Friday Fictioneers is and how to get involved, you just need to follow the instructions on Ms Rochelle’s site for more info.

moon-and-sky1
PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods

It’s a bomber’s moon she thought. Then caught herself, the war had been over 50 years.

Suddenly a whistle pierced the stillness and a crack and thump exploded into a rainbow of colours nearby.

Instinct dropped her to the ground, as close to earth as she could possibly get to reduce her target area

Nana, Nana where are you? Jamie’s voice called out. Your birthday fireworks have started.

Heaving upwards she smiled, if only they had seen me work my resistance magic she thought.

84 words

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Linda Parkinson-Hardman

Social Entrepreneur and Founder of the Hysterectomy Association; Social Media Strategist at Internet Mentor; Speaker; Writer and Author of Eight Books; Blogger at http://womanontheedgeofreality.com and all round diva. Phew what a lot for a Thursday afternoon :-)

You can find out more about me (and perhaps connect) at http://www.linkedin.com/in/lindaph

This Post Has 11 Comments

  1. Wonderful. I couldn’t help but feel badly for her. Seems she has a bit of PTSD, which is horrible to have. I loved the last line. She made light of the situation.

      1. I remember during the Cuba conflict and John F. Kennedy was President, at school we use to have to have bombing drills. Everyone had to crawl underneath their desks. It was a very frightening time.

      2. We had something similar in the UK except it was a leaflet called Protect and Survive which explained how to make a crude nuclear shelter under the stairs with a mattress for cover …

  2. Dear Linda,

    Wonderful take on the prompt. I recently wrote a flash about a woman in the resistance so your story makes me smile all the more. Well done.

    Shalom,

    Rochelle

  3. Beautiful story. I feel sorry for her, the terror of these bomb nights never leaves her. But she can smile, and I hope she tells stories about her resistance magic to her grandchildren.

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