Sunday Photo Fiction – Esther

34 11 November 17th 2013

Copyright – Alastair Forbes

This week’s entry is inspired by the Biblical story of Esther, one of my favourites. If you’d like to look at the other Sunday Photo Fiction entries, click here.

I was his favourite from the beginning, but how deep are his affections? Am I merely a replacement for the last one that displeased him, an object he can parade with pride in front of his subjects? When he looks at me, I think I see more in his eyes than lust, and it is hard to imagine those same eyes condemning me to death for my impudence.

I stand in royal garb whilst my people pray in sackcloth. In a few moments, we shall know whether I am a saviour, a martyr, or a coward.

I push open the doors of the royal court, and hush falls over the room. I see the sneering face of Haman before I bow to my husband and King. I see a golden glint reflected on the polished floor. I touch the sceptre the King has extended to me, a symbol of his pardon. My impertinent entry to his court will not be met with death.

I know that I have been saved by the grace of God, now it is my turn to save my people.


Friday Fictioneers – Josephine


Copyright – Claire Fuller

To submit your own 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers, click here.

And it came to pass that the mother of Josephine didst die, yea, she perished on the sofa whilst watching television, and Josephine, being a righteous woman, did labour to prepare the funeral, and didst mourn for her mother.

Josephine, being much afflicted with grief, did seek comfort and solace from her sisters, but they were unbelieving harlots, yea, exceedingly sinful were they, and they caused Josephine’s heart to harden against the Lord.

And the Lord didst curse Josephine and her sisters, that they would be burdened with junk mail, and with bad skin, and behold, Josephine saw these things, and knew she had sinned, and did sorrowfully repent unto the Lord.

The Library Book Project – 8 October 2008

To read more about this project, click here.

I look at the images blu-tacked to the blackboard and all of a sudden, my body seems to rebel. Not visibly, but my chest feels like it’s caving in, my guts tighten and contract, and there’s a buzzing sensation in my legs that precedes numbness. The pictures depict a happy bride and groom, glowing with love that’s pure and guilt-free. Something I’ve thrown away. My teacher blathers on about how we all must keep ourselves pure and worthy, so we can marry the right kind of man.

They say that priesthood holders can discern the truth, so do they know the truth about me? When they see me in the corridors between classes, are they disgusted because they know how I’ve dirtied myself? They still smile and nod their heads at me, but is it out of pity? I try not to think about it as I walk around the building on a Sunday. Sometimes I can really pretend that I’m still the same person that I was. I kid myself that I’m still whole.

But I’m not. I can’t even confess to the little things. I lied to my parents about going to the library. Well, not completely, I still went sometimes. But most of the time I was going to his house. We were often alone in his room, just like they always warned that you shouldn’t. I reasoned it was okay. None of my friends obey all the rules, and they seem happy. I could control myself, after all. We were alone so many times before that one afternoon, nothing happened, and I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Everything was fine, until it wasn’t.

I didn’t really feel all that I’d changed, but I know that I must be different, somehow. They say it’s almost as bad as murder.

Looking at the library book I borrowed last reminds me of the fibs. I end up crying into the pages.