vignettes

[marycatelli]

This week's prompt is:
flight

Anyone can join, with a 50-word creative fiction vignette in the comments. Your vignette does not have to include the prompt term.

Comments

[marycatelli]

Delia put her cup down with a click. "Such wild flights of fancy have their place, but now, let us speak together as befits cousins, in practice for the day when we will be such. You know we were not sent here to study, but in hopes of making matches."

[marycatelli]

A bat flew by the window.
They often did, but something was afoot. Maximiana scowled. Such were the limits of knowledge. Something could be anything. Foolish nobles thinking to take flight past her power, perhaps.
She concentrated, trying to calm herself. At least it was clearly not in the air, or on the earth.

[marycatelli]

Liam was seeing the point of making a magical ship that would fly over sea and land. The horses walked briskly, but the journey would eat most of the hours of this quest.
"Speedily a tale is spun," he whispered. "With less speed a deed is done."
Ewan glanced back.

[marycatelli]

Flower petals spread before her on the path, scarlet, as pink as the sunrise, pure blue, brilliantly yellow. Some fell on her hair, and she did not dare stop to brush them away. Perhaps the nobles thought them as lucky as peasants did.
Two crows took flight, cawing in black.

[starshipcat.livejournal.com]

Elaine still wasn't sure about joining Spartan's Own for meals. Quite honestly, she would've preferred to stay in the kitchen with Tamara the housekeeper, preparing, cleaning up and chatting over their private meal. But Spartan had been adamant that she was here for her value to the Sharp Resistance, and not as a sous chef or scullery maid, but as a telepath.

So here she was, sitting at the big table in the dining room and listening to Spartan telling war stories. The current was about being given command of a flight of helicopters, and some interesting moments when his unit was sent to provide "fraternal aid" in Poland. Oddly enough, the locals had suddenly warmed to him when they realized he was in fact a Georgian, in spite of his Slavic surname -- but his own command structure was less than happy about the situation.

[marycatelli]

Ah, complications.

[marycatelli]

He wished he could fly, and nearly tripped over a rock. He was breathing so loudly that he thought they could track him by that alone.
Strange green light rose over some of the dead, and Marcus found he could run even more quickly than he had been. Laughter followed him.

[marycatelli]

"The birds are safe. Maybe." Ned glared back along their trail. "They can track us, they will track us, they can not have anyone escape their perfection."
"They have many to track," said Will. "The farther we go into the mountains, the less they will want to track us."