Tag Archives: Five Sentence Fiction

Five Sentence Fiction: Candy

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They say no good ever comes from eavesdropping, “Major Ingleby is quite fond of her…and Lord Farrell has made his partiality known…” but from behind the door Amelia Lockwood could bear the talk no more and charged, in a most unladylike way, into the drawing room.
“I will not be spoken of as if I am sweetmeats to be offered on a silver tray, like sugared mice at Christmas-time…” she paused trying to keep her fury neatly restrained beneath her tightly bound corset and skirts, her bosom heaved and fell within the confines of her bodice and she stepped towards the window overlooking the vast estate’s immaculate gardens.
“Both would be acceptable matches…” her mother began calmly patting her perfectly coiffured, icing sugar hair and raising one eyebrow at her wayward daughter.
Amelia placed her unsteady hand against the cold glass pane and stared across the manicured lawns; in an unusually wild stretch of bedding stood the gardener leaning on his spade and returning her gaze, she took in his unruly mop of hair and unbuttoned shirt and smiled. “The Major…and the Lord for that matter, have nothing on the raw, unrefined sweetness of nature…”

Photo by Lisa Shambrook

Five Sentence Fiction: Explosive

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Her t-shirt soaked through in the downpour, stuck to her back, “Got…to get him…away from here…” she puffed, her words whipped out of her mouth as she spoke.
“Where to?” groaned her friend spitting her hair out of her mouth as the wind swept a sheet of rain across the lane.
“Is he dead? Really dead?” the third girl could barely feel her hands as she clutched the man’s sodden jacket as they dragged him through the muddy track.
The first raised her head and nodded, ignoring the rain dripping off her nose, and the three of them heaved succeeding in hauling the dead weight a few more feet towards the ditch.
As they paused for breath and to regain grip, the street light above them exploded and sparks flew through the torrents of rain…and the heavy bulk within their grasp opened his eye…

Photograph by Bekah Shambrook

Five Sentence Fiction: Armour

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She woke with a start, her heart rapidly pounding as adrenalin surged. Her body froze unable to decide whether it should be asleep or awake unable to use any sense except hearing which keenly heard…nothing. Inky darkness prevented her sudden wide eyes from distinguishing anything in the gloomy obscurity of her bedroom, whatever had woken her could be lurking in the shadows, waiting, and her shallow breath became even slighter lest it betray her. Fear fogged her confused, sleep-filled mind, until she could bear the tension no more and closed her eyes tightly whilst yanking the duvet over her head.
Safe once more from whatever it was that skulked within her boudoir, safe…beneath her 10.5 tog defence.

Photograph by Bekah Shambrook

Five Sentence Fiction: Tears

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“Please don’t,” I could barely look at her, couldn’t take the pleading and couldn’t bear the tears that gathered in her eyes or the gentle, but compulsive, wringing of her hands, “You don’t need to do this.”
My mouth set, lips pursed and locked, my hands clenched and controlled by both fury and a despair that threatened to drown me. My wretched heart thudded against my chest echoing the blood pounding through my veins and her voice cut through the tension, “Please don’t do it…” this time her hands shook as she roughly wiped mascara across her cheek.
My eyes stung but my grip tightened, my fingers, hot and slippery, but secure as they clutched my weapon of choice.
She turned away, grief consuming her, and I was glad I could no longer see her flood of tears as I stared resolutely in the mirror, seeing nothing but my own blurry image staring back, and the scissors cut…and the first of many fistfuls of my long, gloriously long, auburn hair fell to the ground…

Photograph by Bekah Shambrook

Five Sentence Fiction: Scorching

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Caught off guard they crouched as the fierce tempest raged above and a ruby wing swept down sending a cloud of red dust spiralling up into the air.
Sand swirled and a crimson dragon hurled a yellow flame, its thunderous roar echoed and the hogs in the field screeched and squealed as they stumbled. The dragon lowered its leg and plucked its prey, skewered in a single movement.
The beast dipped its wings and as it launched back into the sky its vermilion scales blazed in the sun.
Matt broke the sudden silence “Flame grilled…” he said, “Now that’s what I call fast food!”

(These are my opening lines from my current WIP, 
couldn’t have asked for a better prompt word!)

Picture by Lisa Shambrook

Five Sentence Fiction: Wicked

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She sat beneath the camellia, absently rubbing a broad, waxy leaf between finger and thumb. Only the tips of her feet, clad in baby pink Mary Janes, peeped out as heavy drops of rain began to fall echoing the weight in her heart. Bile rose in her throat and a wave of nausea threatened to remind her of breakfast. Her name rang out and she pressed her tiny spine against the thick, shrubby stem desperately biting her hand to prevent the accumulating sobs from noisily escaping – silence was vital. Heavy brogues padded up the garden path, searching, coaxing and impatient…and pink shoes gently withdrew from sight, receding beneath the camellia’s protection. 

Photograph from: http://www.treesdirect.co.uk/shop/celebration-days/camellia-japonica-

Note: If you need to know what happens…find out in my National Flash Fiction Day piece here…

Five Sentence Fiction: Enchanted

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‘His blue and green scales shimmered, and their flickering colours mesmerized her, a faint sheen of lemon reflected the sky above and Hannah took a subconscious step forward. She instinctively ran her hands over the dragon’s scales and they were smooth, almost velvety, then rough and coarse as she changed direction; she’d imagined his scales to be hard and cold, like the shiny, metallic colours ought to be.
The dragon bent his head and nuzzled her hair, making her jump as his hot breath tickled. His eyes followed as she ran her hand across his flank, like a small child brushing past railings, and he lifted his wing to let her pass beneath.

She gently took his wing and rubbed her cheek against the blue hide, it felt like smooth leather, supple and strong, and as her finger stroked its underside, which looked and felt like shot silk, his wing rippled beneath her touch.’ 

Picture by Lisa Shambrook

(This is an extract from my WIP…with a few alterations for 5SF and my own dragon art. Hope you like it!)

Five Sentence Fiction: Yearning

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We lay, our bodies barely touching, the sheet draped across our stomachs as the pale moon peeked nervously through the curtains. My eyes roved, taking in the contours of his upper body lit by silvery rays. I could almost see his heart beating beneath his skin and I licked my lips. My hand moved slowly, gently, and my fingers lightly stroked the dark, wiry hair covering his chest. My head swam with longing and my body was awake with desire…then…he snored…

Five Sentence Fiction: Exquisite

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The word: Exquisite

“Just one more…that’s it!” she said, “One more!”
I shook my head, beads of sweat ran down my face and I thought I was finished, but I pushed again, just once more.  The delight on my husband’s face was all I needed. He glanced at the midwife, who nodded, and our child was delivered into his waiting hands. Once the cord was cut, and her delicious cry voiced, I watched as my daughter stared into her father’s eyes and my own welled with exquisite, unshed tears.
(When I was born, back in 1971, there was a nurses strike and only one midwife on duty when Mum went into labour. Dad became a midwife that day and I was delivered straight into his hands…I know ‘exquisite’ is a word he’d have used!)

Photograph of Lisa Shambrook by Peter Roberts

Five Sentence Fiction: Shiver

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The word is: Shiver
‘Her heart hammered and she was sure it could be heard thumping against the wall of her breast. She pushed backwards, her cold, clammy hands stretched flat against the damp brick. Fingernails dug deep into the mortar, splintering as she strained her ears to hear…nothing, and she wanted to breathe, but couldn’t. A putrid stench permeated the alley and the foul odour assaulted her nose despite her breath still caught in her constricted throat. Hot sweat dripped from her cold, shivering body as she began to slip into unconsciousness, his hands still clasped around her throat…’

And a new twist…my son is struggling with English at school, he’s always found creative writing difficult, and with GCSE’s on the horizon, we thought this exercise would be great practise for sentence structure and creative writing…so here’s Dan’s try (influenced by Michael Morpurgo’s ‘War Horse’) he really enjoyed having a go:
‘The lieutenant could see his horse shivering with nerves because he had to go to war the next day, so he practised and practised with his lieutenant, eventually night fall came. 
Today was the day that the horse had to go to war, and the horse ran and ran down to the enemy trenches trampling over dead bodies then an enemy sniper’s bullet skimmed his lieutenant’s leg, so he ran for help. On the way back an enemy jumped onto his best friend, another horse, after he shot his rider and as he kicked him flying off, the enemy shot him dead. The horse was concentrating on his best friend that died and his lieutenant got shot in the head, and the horse ran back as fast as lightning. When he got back the nurse looked at him and could feel the horse’s breath on her arm as she looks at his legs covered with scars.’