#LastLineFirst – A #FlashFiction Challenge: Week 11

last line firstGood day, and welcome to another week of Last Line First. Due to a fortunate and entirely foreseeable series of circumstances that have everything whatsoever to do with me … you’ve got an extra day to write your entries this week. In other words (not borrowed and butchered from Captain Jack Sparrow), you can have until midnight on Monday!

Your last line prompt this week is from Void by Denise Sparrowhawk. I picked it because, as an opening line, it makes me want to know what’s in the book and why she’s clutching it to her breast and crying.

Remember, you have until midnight on Monday 6th April to comment on this post with your ≤200 word flash-fictions, and you can tweak the prompt however you see fit. For a full run-down of the rules and easy access to previous challenges and their stories please visit this page.

So, here’s your new first line:

She clutched the book to her breast and cried.

Happy Flashing!

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8 Responses to #LastLineFirst – A #FlashFiction Challenge: Week 11

  1. Voima Oy says:

    Friends and Comrades
    @voimaoy
    181 words

    She clutched the book to her breast and cried. It was all she had managed to save from the fire. She had been holding the book when she got the message from Marcel, warning her of the impending raid. She barely escaped, and now all she had was in her black bag. She had just enough time to grab a pen, a sweater and ID cards, but they seemed as pointless as the book, now.

    No, don’t think about anything. No thoughts of the sunny little room, the bookshelf, the begonia in the window, the routine of waiting for a bus, sharing coffee with Andrea after work. All that was gone, smoke and rubble in the street.

    She found Andrea at the coffee shop. Marcel was waiting at the safe house. There were friends who would help them get out of the city, past the guards at the border. Together, they would find the rebels in the hills, and she would have the book with her, blank to write their future.

    Friends and comrades and the future. It was enough. She had everything she needed.

  2. Pingback: Ink on Paper | Word Dabbling

  3. Paul says:

    No Words (200 words)
    @mikanopy

    She clutched the book to her breast and cried.

    Everything he had ever done, ever seen, ever felt was documented meticulously; and yet there was no mention of her, despite the fact they had been together for years.

    Like losing him wasn’t enough; this was the salt in her wounds that she did not need.

    She wondered if there was more. Maybe she skipped over pages; read too fast. Or maybe there was another book… Yes, there must be. She knew that she meant the world to him, that the experiences they shared were most important to both of them, so why did he not write any of it down?

    She frantically flicked through the pages again…

    Then she saw it; ten pages before the last entry. Her name was at the top of the page, and the words that follow appeared underneath her name.

    Know that you are my world, even now I’m gone. There is nothing that I don’t remember. As you read this, I want you to be know one thing. Everything we have ever done together, ever experienced together has been awesome beyond words. Remember this. Some things are so special that they are just indescribable.

  4. denise says:

    Ink on Paper

    Clutching the book to her breast, she cried. The gathered tears overspilling, dangled for a moment in fat droplets at the tips of lashes before dipping to trace a slow glistening trail across her cheek. Heartbreaking sobs broke from the depths of her soul and the tears flowed faster. She dashed them away, but her anguish was inconsolable.
    Words from the book danced through her mind, each sentence remembered, caused a fresh deluge of tears and renewed sobbing. Her chest ached with the effort of breathing, of dragging in the unwanted air to her lungs. There was no room for breath. Her chest was filled to bursting with the pain in her heart.
    She opened the book and stared at a page. A year of words left to her. Beautiful words, meaninful words, words filled with love, with hope. How could he have written so much and yet meant so little? The words mocked her. How naive she had been! How eager to believe. Now she saw them for what they were – false, worthless, empty words. Nothing more than ink on paper. She closed the book and a coldness seeped into her soul.

    196 words
    @denisesprrwhwk
    Little bit strange writing from my own last line. There’s a bit of a link.

  5. Kirsty (@kirstyiswriting) says:

    ‘Love in the face of fiction’

    She clutched the book to her breast and cried. As she did, her mother appeared at the doorway, an amused look on her face.

    “What on earth are you blubbering about?”
    Cynthia couldn’t bring her eyes to face her mother. Instead, she stifled a sniff and ran her sleeve across her nose.

    “Just the tragedy of life, Mum; you wouldn’t understand!”
    Cynthia’s mother walked further into the room and sat on the edge of her bed.

    “Why don’t you try me?”
    Cynthia sensed the sincerity in her mother’s voice and felt a wave of excitement build inside of her. Quickly, she began rattling off details about the novel; its plot, the characters and the tragic ending. The words came tumbling out as she gesticulated passionately.

    “Then, after all that he had overcome, he bloody well died!” Cynthia’s voice was now high pitched as she finally took a breath and finished speaking. Her eyes glanced up, wide and expectant as she waited for her mother to respond.

    “Not to worry love,” Cynthia’s mother said as she gently patted her hand, “it’s only a book.”

    Cynthia leaned back, defeated. She never could understand what it’s like to fall in love with fiction!

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