Renewal @ Heaven’s Gates

14-john-robinson-17-september-2017I knew where they were taking her.

Martha would be the only Two-fer… They would not allow her to become a martyr.

This time- generational incarceration… not rehabilitation.

No chances would be taken that more innocents might see and follow the dream.


I had been found harvesting my meals from random dumpsters.

Martha took me in.

I was seven.

Seventeen others were advancing in the ruins of the projects upon my initial arrival.

Eleven years later, our numbers had grown.

Command knew of us, but we had been deceptively illusive. We existed on a far grandeur scale than Command could imagine.


Martha, a former Civics teacher before the takeover, had trained us well.

All men were created equal

All men were endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.

Martha established in us the belief in a government of the people.


We had infiltrated Central Command at all levels.

But even for us, the dream of escaping Heaven’s Gates … not possible.

Martha had sent word…

To whom much is given, much is required.

She may see herself reconciled… but I knew there had to be another answer.

There just had to be…

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: Using the picture provided, create a flash story of under 200 words.


Piggily? Wiggily?

Photo © Jade M Wong

“Abracadabra.” Sara stared at the dragon atop the grandfather clock. “Hocus… Pocus.” Her eyebrows creased. “Piggily…Wiggily.”

“Piggily, wiggily?” Evan burst out laughing.

“Stop laughing, Evan.”

“Piggily, wiggily?”

“Well, it’s got to be very simple magic. The caretaker said the dragon had last taken flight when the little girl was still alive. The brochure says ElsaMay died when she was only five. She couldn’t have known that many magic words.”

“Our tour guide…”

“The caretaker,” Sara interrupted.

Our guide/caretaker, also said this movie set closed right after Baby of Dragonslayer flopped.”



“Shush, Evan. I think I saw it move.”

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: Create a 200-words (or less) flash fiction story using the photo prompt.

AK-47 Doorbells


“Are you sure that’s Sarah’s?”

“Of course. Her parents have had my parents over hundreds of times.”

“Then why didn’t we just call? We could have went up the drive and walked in through the front door.”

“There is no front driveway… at least not for cars. It’s on an island, stupid.”

“So what’s in their driveway?”

“There have four helipads from which to disembark. And armed doormen to assist you with your luggage.”

“Being the daughter of a multi-billionaire recluse must suck.”

“That’s why we’re assisting her with her night-on-the-town.”

“Yeah, if we can get passed the AK-47 doorbells?”

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: Using the photo prompt provided create a 200 words (or less) flash fiction piece.

Testing My New Rapalas

© Jules Paige

“Be careful. Don’t run. The dock can be slippery.”

“I know, Gramps.”

“Did you bring the sandwiches your mother made this morning?”

“Gotten right here.”

“She said you have been packed for this trip for a week.”

“I was a little excited. I have my new pole I got for Christmas and may favorite lures. I have a can of corn and some chicken liver for you, but I’m using my new Rapala lures.”

“I guess we have everything,” Grandpop said with a smile.

“I don’t think so, Pop. Look at the end of the dock. Someone’s taken our boat.”

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction: Requirements: Create a flash fiction story of 200 (or less) words using the photo prompt provided.

Fortuitously Unique

he195-03-march-19th-2017“It’s beautiful, Alfredo. The immaculate landscaping and security play yard. The mammoth-sized porcelain-encased pool. Reggie will love the three-meter board. Five bedrooms and baths upstairs- one for each of the kids. One for my office. That magnificent master and bath.”

Evonne lay her head on my shoulder as her whispered enthusiasm tickled my ear.

“It’s a great deal. But it’s a foreclosure and it’s been on the market seven years,” I replied. “Everyone has been so secretive about the history of the estate. Seven owners in ten years. Half off the original asking price. There has to be a reason, dear.” I tried to maintain a firmness in my voice.

“I truly don’t care about its history, Alfredo.” She was nipping my ear. “I want this…”

Her passionate words were interrupted by a swishing breeze and an incandescent glowing from the entryway’s upper balcony.

We stood there in shook.

The realtor began to stutter. “There have been reports of mysterious manifestations for some of its past residents.” He was turning pale. “I think that these elaborate fabrications lend a certain fortuitous uniqueness to your future home.”
It was then that the iridescent fortuitously unique images solidified and spoke.

We left.

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: Create a 200 word flash using the photo prompt as a muse.

Magik Exams


“I loved our trip to Romaine.”

“Bran’s Castle. Just imagine the stories those walls could tell. The true story of Count Dracula.”

“Sheeesa, Rudolph. That is a grand idea.”


“Our senior wizard’s independent study exam. Let’s construct a spell to allow those walls to talk.”

“Wow, Spencer. A great project. From those stories, we could write a series of trilogies and sell them to our human malcontents.”

“Splendid! The trifecta! Power. Fame. And Wealth!”

Master Merlin raised an eyebrow immediately stilling the lads. “If I may continue…” Mater intoned coldly. “The reason for our trip to this unique sculptural emporium here at Hairpin Coven.”

The boys cowed beneath the toxic stare of their leader.

“Many of you are no doubt already thinking of your senior independent study projects. Enshrined here, at the Magik Sculptor Emporium, are the mistakes for such required projects. As was loudly inferred by our senior leaders, Rudolph and Spencer- Power, Fame, and Wealth are stupendous motivators. But please notice the stress on the word stupendous. It hails from its derivative STUPID. Here enshrined… entombed… it’s all mere perspective… rest many senior investigative gaffes and sometimes their investigators.

The lads gulped.

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: Create a 200 word (approximately) flash fiction story using teh photo prompt.

Not a Circus Sideshow

Photo © Sascha Darlington



The closer, the more intense his voice.

It had been summoning me for months.

How does an eleven-year-old say “Dad, there’s this being- an enlightened creature.

It… He… I’m not sure?

He’s traveled through many galaxies.

He possesses abilities?



Insights to correct our ecological imbalances?

Right now authorities think he’s a circus sideshow.

But he speaks… I have to tell them…

And I can understand him.”

Finally, after the expounding on his travels for an entire fortnight, he said something Dad would understand.

“Dad, he can cure Mom’s leukemia.”

We left for Goose Bay, Newfoundland, the next day.

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Requirements: Using the photo prompt, create a 200 word (or less) flash fiction piece.