Young Ones Get Married

Friday Fictioneers 100 word story – Hosted by Rochelle.

Read more great 100 word stories – based on the photo prompt – enjoy.

Proclaimers – Let’s Get Married.

Young Ones Get Married

“Remember our nights in the Barrowland Ballroom. It was wild jigging and dancing. We went mad when Lulu sang ‘Shout’ and then there was ‘Let’s Twist Again.”.’
‘Oh Jack, you were lapping around me like a puppy.’
‘Ten times asking; are you dancing? You said not on your nelly.’
‘Bugger off, I said.’
‘We were wild, rocking around the floor, – everyone watching.’
‘What went wrong, Jack? Look at us.’
‘Fifty years, and they’re still watching.’
‘Aye, and I am still waiting. Are you asking?
‘Oh Maggie, enjoy the moment.’
‘Jack! It’s our tune “Let’s Get Married”.’
‘Yes, I know.’

Dangerous Dating Game

Friday Fictioneers

Dangerous Dating Game

‘Yes, the market.’ She giggled on the telephone. ‘We can meet for a coffee and Pani Popo.’
I hid behind the hats; she looked older than on eHarmony.
Why has she brought friends along or are they her daughters?
This is awkward as I look nothing like my Internet profile, and I don’t like groups.
We agreed on an afternoon alone.
People say I am shy and lack self-esteem around women – acting strange.
Once I was taunted on a date – you are a freak!
In anger, I released the padlocks and threw her off the boat; she drowned.
What a pity.

Missing a Novel

Amazon – Missing James McEwan

I was pleasantly surprised at the high number of downloads so far, but then again most people like to have a rummage around an unknown person’s attic – so to speak. You never know what they may find and perhaps a copy of their school pictures – now that is creepy.

I trust we are all adjusting our daily lives to cope with the various governments’ reactive decisions to deal with Covid-19.

I wish you all well.

 

Fear in the Woods

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields

For other stories CLICK HERE

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Fear in the Woods

‘Okay, you must stay together. Promise,’ said Maggie. ‘The pie’s in the oven.’
As a child, she loved playing in the woods, but Massie and Albert were little, at least they had Buster.
When the apple-pie was ready, she went to call for them.
‘Albert, Massie, come on in,’ she called walking into the woods. ‘Buster.’
She saw the dumped fridge and gave it a kick. Typical!
Massie shouted, ‘Hi Mum.’
Buster began barking on top of the fridge.
‘Where’s Albert?’ She pushed the dog aside and opened the door. ‘Albert!’
Massie’s lip trembled. ‘He stayed home on his computer.’

What Lasts Forever?

My apologies I missed last week – I seemed to have run out of ink.

This week’s Friday Fictioneers from Rochelle

Read more contributions with this link.

What Lasts Forever?

It was a dare; we ran naked along the beach.
Months later, the best man embarrassed us. Who told him?
You decorated and choose pictures for our home.
One day you said, “Nothing lasts forever.”
You left and disappeared.
I never liked your taste in art, and I was pleased to dispose of our differences.
But you were wrong.
When I close my eyes, I am with you under the moonlight; swimming.
I dream of us bobbing in the warm water; floating with promises for eternity.
Without your spirit, I flounder in this lonely depth of my dark despairing sea.

When I am Alone, I am Afraid

Post for Friday Fictioneers – go to the other stories using this link:

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

WHEN I AM ALONE, I AM AFRAID.

I can’t remember when I first noticed the little bird, a wheatear. When the telephone rang it appeared at the window and when I hung up the handset, I would drop some seeds or crumbs outside.
A bond developed between us and mutual expectation. The bird became my companion, and I was its source of titbits. We were creatures of habit, and the little bird became a great comfort to me in my moments of deep anxiety.
The bird will migrate soon, what will I do?
I wished the calls would stop, or at least whoever it was, would speak.

The Last Lineage

I trust you are all well – and have a plan to get through the crisis sweeping across our world.

Take care out there and; WYH.

Here is my contribution for Friday Fictioneers based on the photograph by Jeff Arnold

You can read other stories with this link; Friday Fictioneers

The Last Lineage

The publisher returned her novel of a Sci–Fi Trilogy. They asked Sabrina to write an improved leader into book two.
She slumped back in her chair, sipped wine and watched her ancient typewriter rattle out the final paragraph.

“From the single, surviving safety pod a small group stumbled and stared up at the brilliant clear sky. They felt humble to be alive after the one-hundred-year horror that had ravaged life on the planet. However, unknown to them, future anthropology will record their emergence as a new species; Homo-sapiens, the Teflon-man.”

Sabrina smiled, because she never could type or write.

 

Mercado without Roots

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers – Other Stories here.

Mercado without Roots

Just another day at Hernandez Hermanos Mercado.
The gossips at the taco stand whisper – there is civil war between the brothers.
It’s about Isabella, rumours of a secret child in the convent.
Until Isabella Lopez returns to the village, Ricardo refuses to provide root vegetables for Miguel’s market stall, unless he denounces his love for Isabella.
Senior Lopez forbids his daughter to marry any of these ‘granjeros’ and has placed Isabella in the hands of the Sisters of Santa Cruz for safe keeping.
The Taco seller takes bets. Which brother will Senior Lopez shoot?
Will there be carrots next week?

Cold Fever

Where are you 007?
Self-isolated with man flu, Mam.
Don’t be ridiculous Bond. I want you in London tonight.
M, is that an invitation?
Don’t be flippant, this is serious Bond. Miss Corona de Ville needs to be stopped.
The Queen of Oral Pharmacies?
Bond, I want you inside her organisation and get to the bottom of her plans.
My pleasure.
Oh, Bond have you seen Miss Moneypenny? She’s missing.

Cherry Blossom

Thanks once again to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for leading us in another:

Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Cherry Blossom

Bravo, encore, applause.
I soak my handkerchief from the emotional turmoil as I realise the beautiful cherry orchard will no longer blossom.
Society’s Axe of change has turned us away from the sweet taste of Kirsch.
Instead, liberation from feudalism offers the poor an alternative brutal taste of vodka and rally cries of revolution.
Lost is their appetite for a ripe, delicate life since they wish to gorge on blood in a drunken fratricide.
What if their future becomes trapped in years of hunger and social poverty?
Perhaps Anya will think back and talk about the beauty of cherry blossom.