Irene sat in the Diogenes club, disguised as man, watching the smoke rise from her cigarette. She was trying hard to look disinterested and aloof when she was positively screaming on the inside. Nell had been taken and she had no clue as to where or why. As far as Irene knew, no one even knew she and Godfry were alive, save for Nell, nor why Nell had moved to France from London. Irene came home two days ago after a stroll down the Seine to find her house torn apart, Cassanova, her foul mouth parrot, out of his cagewith Lucifer the black cat chasing him about, and the picture safely in its hidden compartment. Nell was not in her usual place in the garden, nor was she anywhere to be found with no note left as to her whereabouts. Irene had to turn to the only person she knew who could help, and he was currently at the club having lunch with his brother, Mycroft.
Could this man get any more British? Sources close to the actor say, no.
“He’s about as charming of a person as you can get,” a family friend said. “Every time you invite him to dinner he always brings a good bottle of red or some flowers for the hostess” Continue reading
Sage was excited about the prospect of getting to spend a week aboard a ghost ship. Her recent installment, partly inspired by the changing weather, partly inspired by her insatiable curiosity about all things supernatural, was about the spirit world. What a better way to study it than first had, while on a ship ripe with tortured spirits? Continue reading
Clarissa had never been a religious person. She sometimes believed in a higher power, or karma, or whatever explained things she didn’t know how to. Like most people, she assumed there had to be something more to life than what was going on in the world, but since there was no hard evidence to prove it she remained unsure of what it was. But today, today she prayed. Continue reading
I can still smell Scotland when there is a slight dampness to the air and the leaves are still green. I still feel the ancient air running through my bones on a particularly chill summer day. I have yet to feel as at home as I have when looking over London for the last time. And I still feel a sense of pride in a country to which I do not belong, but for a brief and blissful moment, I was part of.
My friend at Sweet Abandon and I decided we wanted to try our hands at a flash fiction writing challenge. We are going to post every other day based on the prompts. All are welcomed to join in, here are the prompts we will use.
“Just breathe. You can do this,” Dom said to himself as he was sitting in his Honda Civic. “You are doing this because you are depressed and need to meet new people. And besides, you’ve always wanted to learn how to dance. Jessica never wanted to.”
Dom had been sitting in the parking lot for about twenty minutes, he came too early, and watched people enter the dance studio. It was weird, it has been so long since he’s done anything by himself.
When I read that some beaches in France had banned the wearing of burkinis and that women were ordered to take them off by police officers I thought it was a joke. But no, the burkini ban was not a joke. Nor was the police asking women to remove their modest clothing.
I wasn’t mad, or even frightened, about this new ban because of feminism. Of course women should wear what they want. But this issue goes to the heart of something much deeper and more sinister than even the controlling on female bodies. It is down right Hitler-esque.