Flash Friday #63 'The Little Blue Bottle'
Original flash fiction: Imagine if you could fly...
Welcome to ‘Flash Friday’ where every week I share some of my original flash fiction.
This week’s story was inspired by the writing prompt: ‘The boy didn’t know it yet, but the potion would grant him the power of flight…’
I’ve had this prompt in my ‘prompt stock’ for a while now, and last week I realised that I had been purposefully shying away from using it because I just didn’t feel any connection with it. I’m not sure why, but I just didn’t. So having realised that I’d been avoiding it, I gave myself a kick up the behind and a pep talk, and got on with seeing what I could make of it. I found this one a little harder than usual, I’ll not lie, but sometimes (more often than not) that’s what writing is - hard work.
I hope you enjoy reading this one, and please leave a ‘like’ or a comment below if you’d like to share your thoughts - I’d love to hear what you think.
The boy didn’t know it yet, but the potion would grant him the power of flight. A quiet old woman with long grey hair, had given him the little blue bottle with a “Shh” and a “Keep it secret”. All she had told him was that it would, for a short while, give him his heart’s desire. Intrigued, but rather more afraid of the unknown, Sam had held off from swallowing it straight away, needing to build up his courage first. He wasn’t an overly timid boy, but even the boldest of lads would take pause before swallowing an unfamiliar liquid ignorant of its consequences.
He carried it with him for several days, never letting it out of his possession, transferring it from pocket to pocket with almost reverent care. He kept his promise of secrecy making sure neither his parents, nor his baby sister, found it. He liked feeling the weight of it in his shorts pocket, resting promisingly against his thigh, bumping against him insistently when he ran around the garden chasing after the dog. But eventually, when curiosity overpowered caution, Sam decided it was time.
He found himself a quiet corner of the local park, hidden away from casual glances by a thicket of bramble and hawthorn, the long dry grass warm beneath his feet. The sun shone white-hot in the bright summer sky, and a gentle breeze stirred the upper branches of the trees overhead. He’d eaten a good lunch, with his favourite blackcurrant-flavoured drink, and not much could frighten him out in the sunshine with a full belly. Slowly, he drew out the little container.
Desperate now to know what it would do, Sam hurriedly popped the cork stopper out, hearing a faint hiss as the bottle’s pressure was released. Holding it up to the sky he saw through the blue glass tiny little bubbles rising from the bottom just as if it were lemonade. Perhaps it was and the old woman had been pulling his leg. Whether it was potion or pop, it looked inviting to drink on such a hot day, and before he could change his mind he brought it to his lips and downed the entire contents.
It wasn’t lemonade. It tasted of herbs and citrus, with a hint of gingery heat. If it had been a drink for sale he’d have bought another one, it was so nice. But as pleasant as it was, Sam felt the nerves kick in as he sat and waited for something to happen. His stomach churned somewhat, though whether from apprehension or from the effects of the potion he did not know. Then, imperceptibly at first, something happened.
His limbs began to feel lighter and lighter, as if gravity had ceased to have such a strong effect on him. The feeling of weightlessness spread throughout his body and gradually he was lifted clear off the ground. Terror and exhilaration flooded through him as he rose higher and higher, the ground receding rapidly below him. Soon, he was looking down on the tree tops and the whole neighbourhood was opened out in front of him. The people on the ground below looked just like his toy soldiers, all scurrying about engaged in their various life concerns.
As he drifted gently along he came to understand that he wouldn’t come to any harm; he felt safe up there. He soon discovered that with just the smallest gesture of his fingers or feet he could speed up, slow down, or change direction entirely. He flew over his school, its buildings and gates all closed up now for the summer holiday. Then he sought out his grandparents’ house, the red geraniums lining the front path looking like scarlet pin-pricks against the backdrop of green. In the back garden he could see his grandad mowing the lawn with his usual precision; his Wimbledon stripes were the envy of the street.
Sam had always wondered what it must be like to fly. He’d often been caught daydreaming in class, imagining how it would feel to glide through the air and feel the breeze rushing against him. Now he knew, and it was like every daydream and better. He revelled in the immense freedom, turning somersaults and doing loop-the-loops, laughing all the time for sheer joy. He raced the birds, and studied how the larger ones used the thermals to their advantage, expending as little effort as possible to stay in flight.
Eventually, Sam sensed the weightlessness starting to recede and he began his slow descent back to the ground. Glancing at his watch, he saw he could only have been airborne for half an hour at the most, but it had felt both much shorter and much longer than that: glorious and awe-inspiring. Spying his home a little way away, he swam through the now-heavy air doing a version of breaststroke, propelling himself towards it before his magical flight ended. Judging it just right, he landed with a rather ungainly stumble into his little sister’s sandpit. And suddenly he was just an ordinary Earth-bound boy once more.
The very next day, Sam returned to the little tumbledown cottage beside the stream, to seek out the old lady who had given him such a precious gift, but when he got there, there was no sign of her. The cottage was even more dilapidated than how he remembered it, quite unsuitable for anyone to live in, and it was clear that no one had inhabited the place for years. It was as if she had never existed. He shivered with a strange, prickly feeling. Part of him wondered if he had imagined the whole thing, but the weight of a little blue bottle still resting in his pocket, assured him he had not.
If you’re not already subscribed, why not sign up?
All posts remain free and open access, as I’m passionate about my writing being accessible to all, so you can subscribe for free and get first access to all my posts.
A paid-for option also remains live for those of you who would like to support Read ~ Write ~ Dream financially, after all, writers have bills to pay too...
A huge thank you to everyone who has subscribed so far!
If you would like to support Read ~ Write ~ Dream with a one off donation without the commitment of a paid subscription, how about buying me a cup of tea?
And don’t forget to follow me on social media:
Join me and thousands of others around the world writing in community in ‘Writers’ Hour’ with The London Writers’ Salon: sign up here.