Today is a new edition of flash fiction Friday.
Our group of writers pick an image, and we all write a short story from the same picture. They are incredibly interesting and wildly different today. Check out what we’ve found…
Parker Broaddus
Author of A Hero’s Curse & Nightrage Rising
Morrowskye, the First Flying City
Twelve-year-old Zee Anderson liked straight lines and right angles. Unfortunately for her, the city of Morrowskye had very few straight lines and no right angles. Instead it had sails and balloons, walkways and cupolas, turrets and towers—all built on top of each other with little reason or rhyme—except to reach higher upward.
Her paint can sat beside her, untouched. Zee kicked her feet through the air, sitting high on a swinging scaffold, overlooking the city, which appeared as though it was tumbling into the sky. Her family, scattered and giggling below, loved Painting Day. It was a city holiday, after all. Everyone colored at some point on Painting Day. Even Nat, her little brother. His round face screwed up with concentration, he was ignoring brushes and using his fingers, hands—even feet. Now that was fun—watching him slowly disappear under a rainbow of color. He laughed and pointed at the crooked smiley face he had drawn and shouted, “Me!”
She felt like everyone in Morrowskye excelled in creating interesting and imaginative things. Except her. Zee counted the sails on the crowded tower of houses across from her. Twenty-seven. She supposed they were beautiful in their own way.
A tremor shook the platform she was sitting on. The city swayed, as if riding an ocean wave. The tail fin on a windmill, already at a jaunty angle, felt the tremor too. It sagged and then whatever held the rusted metal together let go. The fin clattered down the side of the house and came to rest in a neighbor’s yard, looking for all the world like it belonged there, and had always been there.
The painting around and below her paused for a moment. The bright chatter gave way to a few troubled glances, but then someone laughed at the mess of a spilled bucket of yellow, and the people of Morrowskye were able to shrug away the tremor like a bad dream.
Zee knew the tremors were getting worse. Just last week an entire section of the Rambleskies district had collapsed. She pushed herself off her platform and dropped to the deck beneath her.
It was the way the city was built. She was sure of it.
But no one wanted to hear that. No one wanted to be told how to build a city. Not since the fall of the Old Federation with its cold concrete laid out in squares as far as the eye could see. Of course she wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but Zee wished she could have seen the Old World with its true angles and straight lines. They built into the sky too—even higher than Morrowskye, if the legends were true.
She bounded down the stairs, in no real hurry, but enjoying the rush of almost falling down the steep, uneven slope of steps, all varying in height and width. She hit a sail sheet at the bottom, letting it catch her. It was stretched with the breeze, so it was exactly like falling into a cloud. At least, that’s what Zee imagined it would be like.
“Zee Anderson! Get out of my sail!” screeched a bent, irate woman with a wiry tangle of gray bristles poking out from under a black hat, three sizes too small.
“Yes, Jaeda.” Zee rolled out of the sail. “It’s just that it sits right at the bottom of the steps—it’s a perfect safety net.”
“I don’t care what it is,” Jaeda snapped from the window of her house. “Get out of my windsail or I’ll take my yulanda after you!” She brandished a heavy looking rolling pin, dusty with flour, with an intricate design carved into the roller. Her flatbread was not only tasty, but beautiful.
Zee grinned and waved before continuing around Jaeda’s house and down another flight of stairs, this one painted green like the first leaves of summer. She hopped the one blue stair—it was bad luck—and skidded to a halt in front of garish red and purple door. She grimaced at the color and knocked. A shaggy boy’s head poked out.
Zee arched her eyebrows. “Hey, Nance. Your family out painting? Is your brother home?”
A smile spread across Nance’s impish face. He ignored the first question. “Which one?” He asked, but it came out more like, “Whith un?” since he was missing at least three of his baby teeth.
Zee rolled her eyes again. “The biggest and ugliest.”
“Oh, tha’ un. Jack’th upthtair.” Nance swung the door inward. “Thomeday you’ll fall for my good lookth, Thee.” Zee marched past, headed for the loft in the back. “And it’ll be thoo late!” Nance hollered after her. Two more boys, even smaller than Nance, were dividing a stack of marbles in the kitchen. Zee scrambled up a steep ladder and pushed through a heavy sailcloth curtain.
“Hey,” she said.
A pale boy, about her age, looked up from where he sprawled on a cot next to a large window. “I figured you’d be here,” he replied.
“Another tremor,” they said in unison.
“How was it down here?” she asked.
“Bad enough, but not like Saturday’s.”
“The higher up—”
“—the bigger the repercussion,” he finished.
“That’s four this month.”
“Nineteen this year.”
“Up from a total of five all of last year.”
“And only one before that. Ever.”
Zee plopped down on his cot. “Do you think they’ll believe us?”
“I think they’ll have to.”
“What about the framing system, do you think it will work?”
Jack bent over a sketch pad that had dozens of markings and drawings, most of them with lines and right angles. “I hope so.”
Zee squinted at his work. “You’re sure it’s bendy? It can’t be too rigid. It’ll break.”
“It’ll bend. Like a mast in the wind.” He frowned. “First things first—we have to interrupt the Painting Day parade—”
“—and convince Mayor Thompson that the city’s collapsing—” Zee interrupted.
“—and that we can make the city fly,” Jack finished.
“Gramma Zee,” a fuzzy-headed girl interrupted from under her covers, “skip to the part where you made the city fly.”
“I can’t skip ahead in the story!” Gramma Zee smiled. “Besides, your brother is asleep. I’ll save the rest for another day.”
The girl gave a comical frown. “I like the part where you make it fly.” She poked her head over the bed, looking toward the window. The last glow of the sun sparkled against clouds floating past.
Gramma Zee nodded and rubbed the fuzzy head. “I liked that part too.”
Robin Lythgoe
Author of As the Crow Flies
Opposite Tricks
When Toady says they’re to paint the Widow Grayling’s house, Akasha stares along with everyone else.
“Orange.” Uneven teeth make his smile particularly fiendish. The gang erupts into hoots and shouts of laughter at that. The widow’s a quiet woman of modest means. Her house used to be brown, but most of the color’s chipped off now. It would no more willingly wear orange than would the widow.
“She needs some brightening.” Zekan always backs up Toady. If their illustrious leader decided they should all become acolytes at the local temple, Zekan would hand out the cassocks and thump anyone who questioned the choice. Same if Toady resolved to filch grub down in the Bellows—Royal Ghost territory, where Toady’s Azure Fang Gang would swiftly find their end. Hopefully not a permanent one… Did the Ghosts kill children?
Patricia Reding
Author of Oathtaker
Signs, Signs, Everywhere There Are Signs!
Having arrived at the port in Corsair, the largest city in Metzphlat, Kira and her mother stepped off the ship’s deck and onto the wharf, then shuffled through the bustling crowd. Signs all around, in assorted sizes, shapes, and colors, directed folks, informed them—and no doubt warned them—of numerous matters.
Suddenly, came a jostling from behind. Kira’s grip loosened and a second later, she found herself quite alone.
Quickly she looked ahead, but could not catch sight of her mother in the still growing crowd. Unsure whether the gangs hurrying both directions had swept her beloved parent back the way from whence they’d come, or had caught her up and whisked her forward, Kira choked back a cry.
Mother had warned her not to appear weak . . .
Thanks for following along! Please let me know on Facebook what you thought of Morrowskye, or shoot me an email, or send me a carrier pigeon. I’m always eager to engage! Also, a special thanks to artist Zhiyong Li for letting us use the painting – you can check out more of her work here.
I knew from the straight lines and right angles you’d make this wonderfully clever and fun, and I was not disappointed! I can’t help but wonder how Zee and Jack managed to convince the mayor to listen to their plans. Great story!
This is so clever, Parker! Such fun. Bendy–and not too rigid. Way to go!