Four Seasons ♡ 101 FLASH FICTION PROMPTS
Thursday, 14 March 2019
Prompt #3) Structure a story based on the four seasons: Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. Write 100 words for each season, with the four episodes tying together and leading to a dramatic or thought-provoking conclusion.
Winter...
The crisp air caused a flush to poke through her pale cheeks. She'd been wondering the streets, aimlessly for hours. The Baker had thrown her into the snow without a second thought. She was alone once more. The pennies she'd saved would last the week if she was careful. She was extremely thankful for the loaf she'd snatched on her way out of the boulangerie. It's warmth and scent mouthwatering. Finally her broken boots dropped her off at the shelter. She kicked open the door with a force that startled the other inhabitants.
'Tough day?'
The crisp air caused a flush to poke through her pale cheeks. She'd been wondering the streets, aimlessly for hours. The Baker had thrown her into the snow without a second thought. She was alone once more. The pennies she'd saved would last the week if she was careful. She was extremely thankful for the loaf she'd snatched on her way out of the boulangerie. It's warmth and scent mouthwatering. Finally her broken boots dropped her off at the shelter. She kicked open the door with a force that startled the other inhabitants.
'Tough day?'
'Don't fancy talking about it.'
Spring...
Pollen was distributed, snow melted and sleepers woken, she banged on door after door. The outcome was always an open and direct close. She was running out of options on the good side of the river. With frustration she kicked a potted plant, thriving as it shattered dramatically. 'Excusez moi! You'll have to pay for that!' She ran, knocking over various lily-of-the-valley in her haste. Corners turned, people dodged and heckler averted, she stopped for breath in the bitter air. The wooden planks of an old Inn stared back at her. She entered with determination.
'What do you want?'
Summer...
The Inn's liquor became mulled in the heat. She collected her coins, swallowed her wine and marched to the magasin-de-chaussures. The tattered leather on her feet had held up enough through Winter and Spring but now it was time. Her francs were exchanged for a needle, thread and strips of material. In her excitement, she skipped from the store and began work on a nearby bench. One barefoot on show didn't disturb a soul, they were used to seeing them on the poor. Shoes were a privilege she thanked God for and the dead man she stole them from.
Fall...
She'd settled in at the Inn by late August, feeling stable for the first time in years. She had an income, food and warm feet... until he recognised her.
The florist.
'You owe me. I never forget.'
Dragged out of the Inn by the scruff of her collar, she yanked and begged, promising to pay. The Innkeeper would never have her back after this scandal.
'I can work. I'll pay you back.'
He dumped her to his shop, presenting a time limit. She had until the end of the day to make the money.
The florist.
'You owe me. I never forget.'
Dragged out of the Inn by the scruff of her collar, she yanked and begged, promising to pay. The Innkeeper would never have her back after this scandal.
'I can work. I'll pay you back.'
He dumped her to his shop, presenting a time limit. She had until the end of the day to make the money.
When the sun set, she sold her shoes.
Thank you so much for reading,
Alex Allison
Alex Allison