Category Archives: Friday Fictioneers

Eco-System Revenge

This week’s Friday-Fictioneers photo-prompt from Trish Nankeville is of wonderful flowers, which I understand are native to Western Australia. My first impression was that they were inside out, as the external stamen give the red bulbs the appearance of pin-cushions. Thank you to Trish for the picture and, as always, thank you Rochelle for bringing such interesting subjects to our attention.

More story contributions are available to read on this link HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Trish Nankeville

The Eco-system Revenge

The marauders striped the apples and pears from his garden. They mocked his flowers. Pretty useless, like you old man, and they kicked and stamped on him before they left.

Ceres looked up and saw his bees among the stamen of the Hakea. He smiled. Venerated for his knowledge, he had regenerated an eco-system of life into a dead planet. But his Earth’s wisdom seemed forgotten as a myopic dictator took control of Centauri which retarded into a dystopian panic.

Tomorrow, he will seal his eco-bubbles and order the Mantis to eliminate all humans and grind their bodies for fertiliser.

Mo Tong Lai Cha 無糖奶茶

Thank you, Brenda for a wonderful picture of the variety of street food. I can recall the smells and the atmosphere. It is a lovely photo-prompt posted by Rochelle to challenge our writing for Friday-Fictioneers. More stories are ready to be read HERE.


Mo Tong Lai Cha 無糖奶茶
(Tea, Milk No Sugar)

My shirt clung to my skin as I weaved down Yau San Street, and I knocked against a basket of squirming snakes. The warm aroma of peanut oil drifted among whiffs of cooking chicken; salivating, I ignored my hungry protests.
First the deal.

I saw her. Mai Ling sucking noodles, and she nodded.
‘Lai cha mo tong.’ She ordered for me. ‘Milk in tea, so British.’

I covertly slipped the passports into her bag, as a loose noodle struck her nose. 

I twitched towards the observers.
‘My bankers,’ she said. ‘Drink your tea.’

A smile, a gold tooth. Money transferred.

They Grow So Fast

Thank you, Rochelle, for one of your water colours as our Friday-Fictioneer prompt. I can recall when I was a child of the days running through the soft surf and collecting shells. Scrambling over rocks and poking around small pools was also lots of fun. 

More stories from the group can be read HERE.

Photo-prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

They Grow So Fast

Jessica was fearless.
At three she ran into the sea, and I had to rescue her from the pounding waves.
You never told me it was salty, she had said.

At four, she fell off the donkey.
It was my fault. I should have told her she was too small to be a jockey.

At ten she climbed the fifty-foot cliff face.
My heart raced. Get off I screamed. You’ll fall.
She laughed.

At twenty, she is sailing solo across the Atlantic.

These shells soothe my apprehension and remind me of our fun times.
Oh, Jessica, you grew so fast. 

City Slickers.

The sun is out and I am looking forward to a relaxing warm weekend. Roger Bultot’s photo-prompt reminds me to seek the shade if the sun becomes too hot. Thanks to our host Rochelle for presenting the challenge to write a story for our Friday-Fictioneers, a hundred words of fun. More contributions are available by clicking HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

City Slickers

We were called the city slickers in our faux Louis Vuitton short-sleeved shirts, embroidered ‘Domino Kings’. 
We played in the afternoon shade, sipping mint tea or black coffee, enjoying retirement in the street bustle.
Slowly, our numbers dwindled. Tony went to stay with his daughters in Chicago. 
Charlie’s eyesight is blurry with too much brandy, and Derek is getting his hips replaced.
Rich George is on a Caribbean cruise with Yasmin for two months.

Today, it is just us two playing pontoon. Darren is winning, and he is annoyingly cantankerous about George getting married.

“Hell, the floozy is only twenty-five!”

Alternative Neighbours

This week on Friday Fictioneers Sandra has given us a view of Corfe Castle, a place that had a role in the English Civil War.

I can only imagine that the effort to heat such a place with wood burning fires in the winter must have been a constant task.

Thank you Rochelle for the prompt and to Sandra for her contribution of the picture.

More Friday Fictioneers stories can be accessed HERE.

Photo prompt by Sandra Crook

Alternative Neighbours

What do you think, Ambrosia?
Oh! Lazarus, you said a castle. Well, it’s­ perfect.
I know, a dilapidated rustic palace.

Uncle Fungus will enjoy the putrid dungeon, with bones left from the Civil War.

What about Drusilla and her Black Widow collection?
There are also fusty caves for Felix’s horseshoe bats.

And the villagers? 

Ah! Cousin Gingivitis will charm them with his Nocturnes concerts.
Yes, and Aunt Verruca’s whiplash parties. How could they resist her Chinese burns?

If only mother was here to see this?
She already has, I dug her up yesterday.
Oh, Lazarus. You think of everything.

Where Dreams Die

This week’s picture of a disused and dilapidated building is a reminder, that nothing lasts forever. There is always a reason, and every place has its memories. Thank you, Bill, for the photo.

Click HERE for more Friday-Fictioneer 100-word story contributions. 

Many thanks to Rochelle for as forever hosting the prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Bill Reynolds

Where Dreams Die

It was on the day Dorothy disappeared when the tornado tore Grandpa’s fabrication business to shreds. Everyone left to find a new livelihood.

John squeezed Dorothy’s hand. “This is all yours now. Just think––‘
‘Don’t think! I am selling.’ She released his hand. ‘Look.’ She strode towards the gas bottles. Dry heat had cracked the hoses and seized the nozzles.

She remembered Grandpa welding a gate and sparks falling around his feet. That same day, a military car arrived, and Mum began screaming. Dad was missing. 

‘It was Dad’s only dream.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘I never found him.’

Water, the Source of Beauty

This week’s Friday-Fictioneers picture reminded me of the many wells and Spas of mineral water with their health and healing giving properties. I remember seeing a movie, Countess Dracula 1971, with Ingrid Pitt as the Countess Elizabeth Bathory. The film’s theme is about the loss of youth and beauty.

You may read more contributions to Friday-Fictioneer’s 100-word stories HERE.

As always, our host’s page is accessible on Rochelle’s site.


Water, the Source of Beauty

Beneath the flagstones are the remains of Countess Bathory. Her body is encased in oak, and it taints the water seeping into the basin with her blood. Legend says she weeps for the souls of deceased virgins.
I bless anyone who dares to drink from this source with longevity and eternal beauty.

The tour guide sprinkles salt into the glass, lifts her black veil and sips the water.
The visitors gasp, and are enchanted by the radiance of their guide, with flawless skin and features of a mythical goddess.

Ladies, please buy your personalised Bathory water from the gift shop.

Ils ne doivent jamais savoir

This week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt presents an idyllic suburban street where probably not a lot happens. Yet, I was drawn to the idea that every place has secrets that are best left buried, or you may think they should be dug up and exposed. You decide.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the site. More contributions can be accessed HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Ils ne doivent jamais savoir

(They must never know)

Early morning is the safest time to exercise my dog. It is when the air is at its cleanest and I breathe in deep large gulps of freshness before the commuters start up their vehicles.

Everyone knows me, and a dawn walk is the best time to avoid conversations that pry into my health and show pity. Also, I’m afraid I’ll say something I regret when they suggest how my missing wife, Susan, will change her mind and come home soon.

They notice I spend every day digging in the garden, keeping it in full bloom, the way Susan would.

Moira Seeks Adventure

This week’s prompt reminded me of the Outer Hebrides, those island off the west coast of Scotland. They are wonderful places to visit and the impression is an idyllic life. The islands are know for their products of tweed cloth and whisky distillers. The range of employment is problematic for many young people who seek careers elsewhere.

Thanks to Rochelle for the Friday-Fictioneers picture prompt. More stories can be read HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Moira Seeks Adventure

Moira smiled with admiration after polishing the spinning wheel. It had been in the family for generations, and a centrepiece of conversation for visitors to mother’s tearoom.

In the distance across the bay, she saw Hamish pulling up his crab and lobsters traps as a flock of seagulls hovered around him. On this island, it was an isolated life in winter.

However, the summer was grand, with a bedlam of tourists coming to see the seals and red deer.
She would listen to the boys’ chatter about their wonderful travels.

Oh, how she dreamed of escaping into their adventurous world. 

Sentimental Bric-a-Brac 

Gifting items to Charity or Second Hand shops gives you a satisfactory feeling that the once treasured piece will find a new home. Better than it going to the rubbish landfill site. Although, buying something else to fill that space, kind of defeats the idea of having a clear out. I have known someone who has regretted giving away an item then spends days looking for a similar replacement!

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers, and to John Nixon for the Photo-prompt.

Read more Stories HERE


Sentimental Bric-a-Brac 

I called him Grandad since he would come by and ask the same question.
‘Is it here, yet?’

Occasionally, I invited him in for tea and biscuits. He told me his wife brought it into the shop when she was angry with him, because he went fishing on their first anniversary. She passed recently, and he wants it back.

‘Someone will return it.’ He seemed convinced. ‘They always do.’
He would not say what it was. How was I to know?

‘Is it here yet?’
‘Maybe tomorrow.’

Now, I haven’t seen him for months.
Perhaps he found it at home.