The Wisdom of Morvik



The Wisdom of Morvik

Rejoice! The warriors of the tribe, who have wandered many moons, lost and desolate in the far citadel, have returned. Behold the bounty of strange gifts they bear!

Now I the elder, in ritual robes, solemnly unseal the book of myths and intone the powerful magic of the ancients.

‘Right. So take side A and crosspiece b and screw C1…’

‘Crosspiece B? That won’t work.’

‘Are you questioning the holy runes or my authority as elder and interpreter?’

‘Just shut up and give it here!’

And so the eternal struggle for kingship continues over the building of the IKEA wardrobe.

M J Lewis ©2016

Yes folks, Morvik really is an IKEA wardrobe. And indeed my husband and daughter are attaching wardrobe doors upstairs as I write. (I’m not daft – I’m keeping well out of it.) I did almost call this Game of Wardrobes, but that would have given it away too soon.

Many thanks to Rochelle our host at Friday Flash Fiction and to Kent Bonham for the intriguing photo.

Click here for a soundly constructed cupboardful of stories, or should I say a cupboardful of soundly constructed stories.

The Café of Impossibilities


The Café of Impossibilities

It’s down an alley between the shops, around a corner that isn’t always there. You push open the low door and a soothing murmur of conversation greets you. The coffee is frankly mediocre, but Amelia looks great at – what was it? – thirty-eight to your careworn fifty-five. Amelia who always knew the importance of trivialities, who cheered each tiny triumph. In a quiet corner your dad forgets to drink his tea; your fingers itch to stroke the old cat’s fur. But too soon you’re out in the crowded street and that isn’t really the back of Amelia’s head disappearing from view.

M J Lewis ©2015

Here is my contribution to Friday Fiction, presided over as ever by the amazing Rochelle. The sweet-peas are blooming out in the garden, or tennis is on the telly if you prefer to stay inside behind gently wafting curtains. It is indeed a lovely British summer. Thanks for visiting wherever you are.  (And to whomsoever stopped by from Mongolia only this week, multiple thanks.)

Thanks also to Stephen Baum for this week’s photo.

Wolf Girl


Wolf Girl

The traveller’s eyes shone bright in the firelight; his cape steamed with the enticing odours of tobacco, damp leaves and the wide reach of the sky beyond the citadel.

‘It is both easier and harder to hunt in the snow: sound and scent are muffled, but there are tracks.  Bloodied prints led us to a rocky outcrop where deep within a cave we found a girl, wrapped in a pelt of pure white, at her breast a wolf-cub of the softest silkiest grey.’

He shifted and held my gaze for all to see, as the memory ached within me.

M J Lewis ©2015

Inspiring photo prompt this week for Friday Fictioneers, from Doug MacIlroy, which I’ll be investigating properly now I’ve used it to go down some weird fantasy route. Can hear someone saying something about snow in Chile. Interesting…

Thanks as ever to our host, Rochelle. Many more stories to read here.

Beyond The Horizon

From his attic room, Hans stares longingly out beyond the line of trees. All winter he’s slept restlessly, in a bed that has grown unaccountably small, dreaming of faraway places.

Head west they say, for a hundred days, and you’ll reach a city where men and goblins walk free and unashamed – women too, of course, and perhaps a goblin girl with a wide smile and coils of green hair.

He’ll wait until the lambing is over and the top field ploughed, for the last hard frost.

Hans! Breakfast!

Hans straightens up, banging his head painfully on a low beam.


M J Lewis ©2015


Oh, those 100 words! Poor Hans was milking a goat, when Rochelle looked over my shoulder and said, Lose the goat! And apologies to any hard working parents and/or porridge makers – you were reduced to two words. What larks! Thanks to all fellow Friday Fictioneers – elves, humans, goblins, whoever – who drop by to play. And of course thanks to Rochelle (at Addicted to Purple) for linking our tales together and to Sandra Crook  for the photo prompt.

Finally, I stand humbly before the very brave, very lovely Terry Pratchett; he will be sadly missed.