10th #SatSunTails

Welcome to the tenth #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:-

“forget what they plant in the killing fields”

And here is your picture prompt:

& good luck!

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19 thoughts on “10th #SatSunTails”

  1. “Forget what they plant in the killing fields.” An order, not a request.

    Forget indeed!

    I hefted the heavy axe high above my head, then brought it down as hard as I could, burying it deep into his skull.

    “How the hell can I forget when they come to visit me every full moon?” I shrieked at the falling form.

    I dragged him outside and buried him alongside the others, fashioning a wreath of fern over his grave, adding the willow branch fetish.

    “I'll be seeing you again, at the next rising, let's see what advice you can give me then, huh?

    Looking over my shoulder at the house, I noticed a flicker of shadow pass the upstairs window.


    “Now we will see who gets to do the burying in future.” I whispered to myself.

    I walked back inside, grabbing the axe before setting off up the stairs.

    Steve Green. ( Word count 153)

  2. “It’s not coming off, it has to come off…”

    Grass and moss could only wipe away so much. Though she could dry her hands, making them visibly clean, she would always see blood on them.

    The Girl thought she felt a touch across her back and flinched accordingly. He and that Bitch were dead and buried, but she still found herself watching over her shoulder for them.

    Strange, she used to be able to picture him perfectly. Holding her, kissing her, fucking her, but now, in her mind, his face was blank. It was the Bitch’s that stuck with her. He never saw her sneak up on him, she never saw the terror in his face. The Bitch’s face was one of fear.

    The Girl’s grinding of moss and flesh grew increasingly manic, callousing her frail skin. She was obsessed – not even noticing the door open behind her, nor the couple who stood there.

  3. "Forget" he whispered in my ear,
    I closed my eyes, relaxing as much as I possibly could allowing his voice to soothe me, calm my mind. It brought me the release, I let go. Feeling my outward consciousness relapse, aiding  my thoughts to quietening; becoming just a gentle hum, a distant sliver in the recesses of my mind.

    Accessing my subconscious without the outward realisation of what was actually happening.
    "You're here to tell me about what's happened, what you can't remember, yes?"
     I replied in a voice that sounded  unlike my own. The voice was disjointed. Creating a certain discomfort for me, discomfort within the hum I was repressing.

    "Let's start at the beginning, let's start with her death"
    Something began to stir within places of my brain rarely trod; I remembered her remains hidden beneath the earth. That body of youthful innocence so brutally defiled.

    Lilianna Vetter
    Word count -148

  4. Everybody else took off ten minutes ago. If I don’t leave soon, I’ll never catch up. The girl had run by first, screaming as usual—then the boy. He’d fallen behind from trying to pull his pants back up.

    Chuck and Sara were the first on their tails. Chuck laughed at me in passing. I stuck my tongue out at him and got back to searching in the tall grass. Dragging myself around by the arms sucked. If I didn’t find my legs soon, I’d never hear the end of it.

    Just a few days ago, blood ran through those legs. Muscles and tendons kept them firmly in place. Now, I was just lucky to get through the day in one piece. The idea that I’d ever catch someone as stupid as I’d been was hilarious. Forget what they plant in the killing fields, Mom had said. I wish I’d listened now.

    Word count: 152
    Melanie Conklin

  5. Her Absent Lover

    He was imbued with the primal, elemental force of the very earth itself. His eyes were the reddish-brown of riverbed clay. His hair had the coarse texture of saw grass. He exuded a sense of immutable power yet possessed gentleness and solidity that made her feel safe and truly secure. He made love to her with such intensity and energy that she did not care that they never spoke.

    She felt she might have dreamt his existence, entirely, if not for the slight swell of her belly and the inescapable knowledge that all women have that there is nascent life blooming within.

    She needed him, needed to feel his reassuring embrace but he did not come. The winds of autumn were blowing and the kiss of frost forced the land into the somnolent state that heralds winter’s approach.

    She sat in the cold wind and rain, her bloody, mud-stained hands searching for her absent love.

    155 words @klingorengi

  6. Hi Rebecca, would it be okay for me to use this story as next week's #fridayflash, along with the photoprompt, and a link back to the competition?

  7. The Forgotten
    By Lisa McCourt Hollar

    Blood seeped from the ground, oozing between my fingers as I dug them into the field. The house is behind me where I’d been killed…where we all were killed and where we all remain.

    Something has awoken us. The soil is alive with our blood and we have stirred from our sleep, our anger unleashed. We had been left…forgotten by those that condemned us. We were insane, so they locked us up with a madman.

    I would forget too, if I could. Forget the experiments, forget the tears, the screaming, forget dying and just sleep, but there is a storm coming and I must help the others rise.

    The madman lives, but not for long. He will learn to scream, the way we screamed. He will beg, as we begged. Then we will turn to those that sent us here. They may have forgotten the dead that they buried, but we remember them.

    Word Count: 153

  8. Rosemary for remembrance.

    Herbs grew stronger on the Killing Fields, more pungent. More magical. No one touched them of course. To touch that cursed soil was to be unclean, to face purification at best, death at worst.

    So Tara came at night. Thrusting her hands into the damp soil she gathered the crushed leaves to her, inhaled the scent. Rosemary. Amaranthus. Mandrake.

    “Forget.” It was a silent order made evident by blank headstones, burnt records. It was as though they had never lived, never swum in the river or shared bread like any other villager.

    Unholy. Unclean. Burned.

    The secret lay thick as mud across the village, clogging throats, fogging memories.

    Her memories.

    But the old ways sang in her blood, gave urgency. She was the last survivor of the Sisters of the Morrigan, the duty was hers.
    Staring down at the herbs in her hand, she smiled.

    Rosemary for remembrance. And resurrection.


    word count: 153

  9. Across her lot was a perfect reflection of the eerie mansion Kerri’s mother had left for her. A reflection that hadn’t been there the night before. Kneeling before this other house was a pale raven-haired girl who looked nothing like Kerri.

    “Uh, who are you?” Kerri appraised the strange girl.

    “My name is Mirro,” the girl looked up with a detached expression, “I love your house.”

    Kerri glanced at the reflection of her mansion, “Is, that why yours looks just like mine?”

    Mirro nodded with an airy smile, “Did you know you lived on an old battlefield?”

    “Yeah, I guess I did… Why?”

    Mirro’s hands sunk down into the soil before lifting out a decayed arm.

    “Did you know there were still such wonderful parts here? It’s like people just forget what they bury in the killing fields.”

    “You’re keeping that?”

    “Just the hand.” Mirro smiled and twisted it off at the wrist.

    153 words

  10. "Forget what they plant in the Killing Fields," she urged, "If we don't stop this, it's going to make Pol Pot look like a choirboy."

    Everyone held back, letting her venture toward the old house. All had noticed the figure in the upstairs window and the bright energy field already forming overhead.

    "Thou shalt not pass!" she yelled into the ominous clouds. With no concern for her delicate gown, she knelt and picked up some of the overgrowth from the unkempt lawn. After blessing it, she shook it aloft, menacingly, but the spectre continued to coalesce.

    "Thou shalt not pass!" she shouted again.

    "No!" she shrieked. "It… it can't be!"

    Inexorably, the descending spirit grew brighter and better defined. By now, everyone recognised what she had seen and started running away as she caught up.

    "Let's get out of here NOW! It IS Pol Pot, and he ain't no choirboy!"

    150 Words

  11. Soon

    Stuart held Anna and asked for eternity — he did not know she was taken. She pierced his heart with my blade, at my command.

    I watched Anna as she hid her crime, all the while I longed to feel her pallid flesh, share her warmth, shelter her from the coming storm. She buried Stuart along the same pathway as the others. That path would soon be complete. She replaced the last of the foliage, taking care to smooth away signs of the earth's disturbance. She would soon forget him; as she did her previous lovers; before that her family — all because she was mine.

    She came back to me as she always did. She entered my warmth, she closed my door. She did not know I was here; trapped in cement and wood; a captive to a century old curse. She was within my walls. I was in her head. I would soon be free.

    155 Words

  12. Aunt May calmly sat there, drinking her tea and looking down her nose at Marie. Her dark eyes were as calculating as a crow’s. Waiting to see if she would become part of the murder or the roadkill to be feasted on.

    “Forget what they plant in the killing fields, my dear. It doesn’t concern you.”

    Marie stumbled back. The woman was so callous. Even her own husband was cowled by her, not wanting to intervene between the two of them, hiding behind his paper.

    Marie stumbled out of the room and ran, tossing the door open and tripping over her own feet until she landed on her knees in the grass. She could hear the whispers of those who had passed, buried in the ground. The voices wouldn’t stop. They crowded in her mind, driving her mad.

    She even heard his voice and sobbed. They had taken him away from her.

    152 words

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