CITYSCAPE - Flash Fiction in 100 words

CITYSCAPE

From sixty storeys aboveground I’m a god, surveying the pointless life below.

Before daybreak traffic began poisoning the air – no wonder there’s no sign of green anywhere. People poured out of subways and scurried along pavements to spend hours behind glass producing nothing of value.

I used to live down there, taking pride in my skill at ducking and diving to earn a crust while staying out of trouble. But no more – now it’s time to end it.

I move closer to the edge and leap off ...... then spread my wings in the clean air and soar away to the forest.

..........................................................................

The above photograph taken by Marie Gail Stratford was posted by Rochelle on her blog https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  for Friday Fictioneers. 

You can follow the lik on her blog to read other writers' takes on the prompt - after you've commented on mine, please!

And here, for your delectation, is a photograph I took last night outside my home.  

A WINNING STORY!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!! 
And to mark the occasion I won a small competition on a writers' forum with this 200 word story, prompted by the word GLITTER. I make no apology for the fact that my background theme is again Christmas - in Tenerife the festival isn't over until after tomorrow - EL DIA DE LOS REYES - Kings' Day. 
So - Felices Reyes to everyone, and may 2015 bring peace and prosperity to us all.

WINGS                                     

At the cry of a newborn the villagers rejoiced – a new life was always worth celebrating but on Christmas Eve it was a double blessing. They clustered round as his father held him up.

“What will you call him?” a woman asked.

“Jesús, naturally,” Josef answered.

           

An hour later a dog barked and was instantly silenced, but it had been tied up deliberately far from the village and had done its job before it died.

Josef woke his children with his hand over their mouths. “Run and hide in the caves,” he ordered and they slid silently away, Maria close behind them carrying her baby.

The villagers cowered deep in the caves while rebels burned everything and then rampaged through the forest, slashing wildly with glittering machetes. Maria’s children clung to her skirts and Jesús whimpered.

The rebel leader stopped, listening.

The villagers watched in horror as Maria, with tears pouring down her face, held her hand over her baby’s mouth.

“They have gone,” the lookout reported eventually but the cave remained silent – Maria’s baby lay limp in her arms.

Then the air moved as if wafted by angel wings, the tiny chest heaved, and Jesús lived again.