7th #SatSunTails

Welcome to the seventh #SatSunTails micro fiction competition.

Be warned – the prompts aren’t easy, but that’s so you can write to the best of your ability.

If you haven’t had a go before at this writing challenge, then please don’t hesitate to try this weekend.


  • Post stories in the comments
  • Stories must be 150 words (margin of 5 words either side) AND based on the picture and written prompts.
  • If you title your entry this is not counted in your word count.
  • Only one entry allowed (so make it count)
  • End each entry with word count and name/twitter handle (if you forget these REPLY TO YOUR OWN COMMENT with them before judging closes)
  • You may enter until Monday 10am GMT (because I’m extra kind like that).

If you do not comply with these rules your story will be disqualified from judging. Good spelling and grammar will also help to make a better impression on judges – the odd typo, however, will be overlooked so please don’t worry about that.

For tips, read through the critiques from last week’s entries.


There will be ONE OVERALL WINNER and THREE RUNNERS UP. After that there will be THREE CRITIQUES of three stories that didn’t make it.

It would also be nice to those participating if you could promote your fellow competitors and those who win.

Today’s Prompt!

The following may be used as a sentence in your story OR provide a basis for it:-

“skeletal fingers and a crystalline thread”

And here is your picture prompt:

& good luck!

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12 thoughts on “7th #SatSunTails”

  1. I enter the waters as the river rushes forth, building in strength and form. Grass and wood debris coalesce into the skeletal fingers of human bones. Faster and faster I travel through provinces and countries to the frigid lands of the north.
    Piece by piece, ice weaves a crystalline thread, knitting my features. Lips full and luscious, eyes mesmerizing. Hair flowing in the arctic winds. I am powerful. I am beautiful. I am dangerous.
    Forward I gush past Norse tribes, past mountains with sparkling peaks. Then, I slow, solidifying in the cold. My features sharpen, now gorgeous.
    At the apex of my metamorphosis, I am slow and unyielding. I struggle. My face cracks, shattering my vanity.
    I wait for ages, eons, until glacial patterns return my essence south and summer resumes….

    Alessandra patted her wheelchair with an arthritic hand. “Maybe I can’t walk, but at least I can dream.”

    @Leo_Godin 149 words

  2. TIME

    The witch felt a lurch of nausea as her lower half dropped away from her. Contents of her stomach rushed to her throat as if to avoid being spilled. Her world already gone dark.

    Eyes widened desperately seeking light; she felt the sands of time abrading her. Was she not immortal? How could death have found her where life could not? Her sight was gone, her hearing replaced by a crushing silence. Even the dry taste in her mouth was rapidly fading, the scents of the world she had known barely memories.

    She urgently reached her boney hand for the shattered pieces of her loom. Only fragments remained, both of witch and weaving. In the stillness before oblivion there were skeletal fingers and a crystalline thread.

    Born alone, the girl-crone tried her utmost to live. In the end it seemed that one did not need to live, in order to die.

    151 words

  3. I Call Her Sally
    by John B Badd

    Something woke me. Was it the smell of sweet perfume or the sudden atmospheric shift from cool and dry to warm and moist? Even in a state of half-dream I knew she was back.

    I breathed her in. I didn't open my eyes. I let her heat stir me fully awake. I didn't want to stop her. I wanted to give myself to her. But she did not want my flesh. Even the Man-Up-Above's rod and staff would not comfort this one.

    You see, me and Sally had been having this fling for a few months now. I picked her up at little party where I was the guest of honor. Well it was more like an exorcism and I was the exorcist, but I won't bore you with the details. At the end of the night the house was cleansed and Sally followed me home.

    It was fun at first. I mean, what self-loathing, half-assed psychic wouldn’t want a beautiful succubus around to dirty his bed sheets? But my girl Sally was devouring my life-force. I barely had enough life-force to keep myself going before I met her.

    I put my hands behind my pillow as if to relax. Instead I drew my powdery weapon. She shrieked as the salt and iron dust penetrated her – crystalline hair disintegrated, ethereal flesh melted. I saw her decayed form. Skeletal fingers gripped my throat. I muttered the arcane words. Her fading screams still linger in my mind.

    Damn I miss that girl.

    250 Words

  4. They were never particularly close, but I still felt a degree of sadness looking over her.

    She had been beautiful, once.

    My presence went unnoticed, her attention was elsewhere. Across from her final alter stood a great, ornate mirror. She was smiling, gazing at her reflection. Although all I could see of her was a withered face and skeletal fingers, it was clear that she had an entirely different view.

    The mirror did not display a fragile figure, holding on to life by a thread. Not to her. For what she saw in the mirror, was a young lady. There were no valleys of wrinkles, and the wispy grey haired was blonde, and full of life. The fluorescent light swaying above her head was not a source of blinding discomfort – she basked in its glow, the light being a sun in the meadow of her mind.

    Finally, she closed her eyes.

  5. Sophie sat at the table, palms resting on the table. The crystal ball sat in the middle of the table, clear as day. She licked her lips, breath coming out slowly. She wasn’t supposed to do this without help. Her eyelids flickered down as she calmed her heart, slowing the beating with repetition.

    Her fingers fluttered against the table. The temperature lowered in the room and she could feel a weight on her shoulders. Her eyes opened to the opaque ball, a woman with a soft face and long hair stretching and gazing out at her. Skeletal fingers and a crystalline thread wrapped through the woman’s hair, keeping hold of the strands.

    Sophie’s eyes widened and one hand reached out, fingertips touching the ball. “Grandmother.”

    “Let go, Sophie. Save yourself.” The tendrils of mist that surrounded the woman’s face thickened until the girl could hardly see the face.

    148 words

  6. Perception

    She was a being ethereal, less substance than suggestion, bound to the mortal realm by little more than a crystalline thread of potentiality.

    To some she was a deific figure, worshipped as the endless fount of inconceivable wisdom and unwavering love. She was spoken of in tones comprised of equal parts of unshakeable faith, immutable awe and boundless trust. Her presence was seldom known but, when felt, was akin to the touch of an angel’s wing against the cheek of a sleeping infant.

    To others, she was the inescapable face of retribution, the arbiter of justice empowered with the indomitable powers of punishment and vengeance. She was spoken of by overtaxed mothers and under-appreciated servitors, believing her to be the avenging spirit destined to deliver unto the evil the full measure of that which they deserved. She was the skeletal fingers of Death Incarnate scraping panes of glass in the darkest hours of the night.


    Had she been a princess it might have been different. Not that princesses didn't have their own troubles, but given the choice between hopeless poverty or sleeping for one hundred years, Ethel knew she would be snoring faster than you could say, 'Burn every spinning wheel in the land.'

    A whole industry gone thanks to Maleficent's curse and with it Ethel's livelihood.

    She was too old to retrain. Too set in her ways. In her dreams she spun crystalline threads through her skeletal fingers, heard the hum of the wheel as hunger ate her belly and rain dripped through the roof she couldn't afford to mend.

    She stared into the rushing river water seeking rubbish to salvage.


    The sky split, danced with colour. She fell forward, water streaming over her face.

    Three days later the guards dragged a tiny bloated corpse from the river.

    "Heard that the princess is safe?"

    "Aye, saw the fireworks."

    155 words, @charitygirlblog

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