Buried Under Spot 23

John Knox Buried Under Spot 23
Flash Fiction By: Christina Banks

The dark spires of St. Giles stood etched on the gray Edinburgh sky as our mission team walked toward the ornate Cathedral. Already we had been in the United Kingdom for almost two weeks, ministering in England and now Scotland. This was our first “free” day without any services or ministry commitments. Still, my hands were full of tracts as we shouldered our way through the throng of people, most of whom we could not understand because of their heavy brogue.

Tourist shops lined the street selling tartan plaids, bag pipes, picture postcards, and souvenir badges. A couple of the girls from my group stopped to inspect a stand of woollen shawls. My eyes lingered on a woman in her late twenties with two children in tow.

“Excuse me Ma’am,” I said, “could I give you this?” I handed out a tract.

Melli’s Melody

Bee and Flower
Flash Fiction By: Christina Banks

Melli rushed from flower to flower. The reds, pinks, purples, blues, and yellows of the garden called to her, giving her a sense of purpose as she did the work that she was created to do. She hummed merrily as she went about her task, a song for the Creator pouring from her heart.

This was her favorite time of year. As spring buds bloomed in brilliant displays. Like the other members of the Apis Colony, Melli flitted from bloom to bloom, tasting each flower’s sweet nectar. Yellow pollen clung to her hairy legs.

A patch of purple Asters swayed in the gentle breeze, the scent floating across the garden. Melli could not resist the lure of the fragrance. She stepped off the yellow petal of the Black-eyed Susan and zoomed across the open space of the garden. In her haste to reach the Asters, she veered into Tella’s flight path.

All Puffed Up

Icy Birdhouse
Flash Fiction By: Christina Banks

Carl Cardinal finished preening and took a final look at his reflection in the window. Every feather was in place – his beak shined to a high gloss. He was, by far, the most handsome bird in the subdivision. Hadn’t he been told so many times?

Alighting from the bush, Carl fluttered across the yard, and into the woods beyond. Skillfully, dodging tree limbs and falling snow, he navigated his path. As he neared his destination, he gave his call. The sound was still echoing through the trees when he heard the reply. He changed his course, angling down and to the right. Carl chirped again. He had the most beautiful voice in the city. Hadn’t he been told so many times?