Photo of a cat walking along a port microfiction prompt sonya's three line tales, flash fiction
Photo by Timothy Meinberg

Slinking with a swagger,

he’d dressed right for every occasion:

dappled patches for climbing trees,

streaks stripping paint from balancing beams,

sunburst polka dots of little girls

who dared come close,

and at home in the hessian tones of the captain’s embrace.


Content in all his coats save for the blues of the glistening sea-

he’d failed to shake those drops off when disembarking number nine.


Aquatic hues

haunt the patina of his bronzed likeness,

unravelling his immortal coil between the




he never sleeps- perchance to dream and lose his footing.


Inspired by Sonya’s Three Line Tales, Week 70 and after the initial concept, inspired further by a ferret down an online rabbit hole that made me stumble and trip on Shakespeare’s Hamlet. I do not claim to have read Hamlet in its entirety but was pleased with how parts of his soliloquy worked with my idea.

Pair of Poplars

They stand close, swaying in the wind, one with branches that extend out a little more widely than the other. The thinner of the two seems to be heralding autumn a lot earlier than the other, its yellow leaves outnumbering the green. I see these poplar trees everyday, but I don’t always pay attention. When I do, as I am now, I imagine the delicate leaves being just like butterflies, light and aerodynamic, fluttering in an un-choreographed dance. Paying attention also brings back memories of that day, just over a year ago, when Delphin sprinted out the front door, across the verandah and down the terraced garden to the pair of poplars, finding the perfect spot to bask in the sunshine on that warm March afternoon- our first weekend here, a time we had all looked forward to for so long. Curled up in the sunny spot, in the stillness and silence of the country- the kind of silence that is quite loud in fact, when you pay attention, with chirping frogs, leaves rustling, and tall blades of grass swooshing in unison as birdsong carries through the valley. When I pay attention now, to those trees, I see them standing tall, a guard of honour for the resting place of Delphin, who lived till 23 and had a burst of life that March afternoon before saying goodbye.


Prompt from Writing 101, Day 8 Death to Adverbs. Today’s Prompt: Go to a local café, park, or public place and write a piece inspired by something you see. Get detailed: leave no nuance behind. Today’s twist: write an adverb-free post.