The fish flopped about for a few seconds. Then it flapped about for a few seconds. Then it flopped and flapped about for a few seconds more. It lifted its head slightly, making that gulping fishy type gulping thing that fish do, as if it was making one lust gasp to fill its lungs with air. This, of course, is nonsense, well, partly. Fish don’t have lungs, although, unbeknownst to most folk, it was trying to breathe. If a fish has trouble breathing due to a lack of dissolved oxygen in water due to there being a deficiency of aeration or poor water quality, it will rise to the surface and gulp and gasp for air. I only know this as when I was a child I had tropical fish given to me by a co-worker of my mother, his name escapes me at the moment, I think it may have been Steve Something, although I can’t be sure. He gave me all that was needed, a tank, that looked a bit like a giant lava lamp, a heater, food and a variety of tropical fish, although after a few months all I seemed to have was a tank full of guppies and snails.

Anyway, I digress, the particular fish in question, that was lying in the bottom of the boat was, you see, trying to breathe, through its mouth. Fruitlessly, of course, as it would still need to get itself into water to survive and breathe properly. Besides. A few seconds later, it had stopped flopping and flapping and gulping and gasping for air through its mouth as it was dead. Not because it had finally succumbed to the lack of oxygen flowing through its vascular system, but because it had been ripped in half by two herring gulls and was now split between the stomachs of said birds.

Prompted by this page

It was beautiful, big, round, bright, and beautiful, there was an amazing spectrum of colours surrounding the outside of the circle and the more she looked at it the more beautiful it became, bursting with incandescence, glowing with luminosity from the edges and into the beyond of the periphery of her vision.

At the centre was an almost blinding whiteness.  The type of white brightness that would leave black dots in the centre of your vison if you looked away or closed your eyes. Except she was unable to look away. She was absolutely transfixed by the sheer brilliance of the lights, even if she wanted to, even if she tried to force herself, she simply could not tear her vision away from the lights. Sitting, in the middle of the road, utterly motionless, caught in the vastness of the brilliance as they came closer and closer, faster and faster, until…

Bloody rabbits, the driver said aloud as he sped down the country lane, swerving at the last minute in a futile attempt to avoid the inevitable, imagining the sound of crunching bones as his wheel instantly crushed the poor, blinded, bunny as he zoomed toward his destination.

Hello. I have had this wordpress blog site thingy for several years now and have never typed a thing into it.

Anyway, today I have. My old mate over at https://deaddeerblog.wordpress.com/ has told me to do this 10 minute writing prompt from here

December Writing Prompts

Todays prompt was/is: Holding her gaze briefly from across the room, he knew…

This is what I wrote, I haven’t read the rules so don’t know if I should edit out the typos and grammatical errors etc. so I have left it as I typed it:

Holding her gaze briefly from across the room he knew that it was just a matter of time before she came over and asked why he had just tipped his drink into the top drawer of their hosts sideboard. He glanced away then glanced back to see if she was still looking at him. She was. Quite intently. Damn it. He thought, why did she have to look at him at that precise moment of all moments? 

She was quite a stern looking individual, with a pointy, sticky out chin, with skin that looked as if it had been weathered to leather by years of facing into a north wind at the south pole. Her grey hair was tightly pulled into a top knot upon her head, which made the wrinkles of her forehead raise vertically instead of horizontally, which was made her look extremely odd.

She started moving towards him through the crowd of guests, stepping sideways to slip between a couple of portly gentlemen and ducking as she passed to avoid interrupting their conversation. As she did so, her chin dipped into one of the gentleman’s frothy beer, while her top knot snagged in the long bushy beard of the other fellow.

As the kerfuffle of entangled party guests erupted before him, he took his chance, slammed the sideboard drawer shut with enough ferocity to make the collection of family photographs, arranged on show on top wobble a little, and legged it out of the door.

It was a shit party anyway.