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A Matter of Taste

This week’s prompt from Rochelle is a lovely painting of typical dining table condiments.
I hope I have added some spice with my story.

Read more stories from Friday Fictioneers HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

A Matter of Taste

How much?

The value is in the symbology. 
The famous artist is making a passionate plea to their lover.

I don’t understand. What does it say?

Focus on the condiments, they are always complementary.
The spicey, romantic flirtatious pepper by the flickering candle has an offer of an honest commitment.
See the full clear glass of lemonade.

The sauce is a promise of abundant passion and substantial wealth.
Sensible salt is pondering indecisively (half full glass) between a dying flame and the squeeze of the silky-smooth future.

I expect she said no.

Why?

There’s a pepper top on the salt.

Spectacles for Every Occasion

My contribution to our weekly Flash Fiction group Friday Fictioneers.

Read more wonderful fiction bites HERE

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Spectacles for Every Occasion

Certainly, sir.
We have a range of paranormal spectacles.

Yes, our mood range. The rose lens lets you view the world in eternal, euphoric happiness. Our blue ones present a cynical world of bitterness and grievance. Apparently, they are very popular with politicians.
Our nostalgic glasses will let you wallow in a mud pool of missed opportunities and shameful regrets. However, this monocle will swell you with pride as you relive achievements and insurmountable success at the expense of others.

These, in cotton wool to avoid distortion, give a view of our future.
You may not like what you see.

The Torment of Mellow Corn

This week’s picture is symbolic of a light from heaven floating above a church steeple. The image made me think of the UK television comedy show ‘Father Ted’. It portrays a shambolic group of priests, and particularly the character, Father Jack, who is a mad alcoholic lunatic.

More stories can be read by clicking HERE.

The Torment of Mellow Corn

Reverend Jamison obeyed the voice calling him to church. The burning, blinding light confirmed a higher authority was watching. 

His hands trembled as he staggered down the aisle to the pulpit where he found the sacramental wine. He gulped down the liquid, leaving little for the communion. He would mix in some water later.

The voice beckoned, much calmer and calling from the vestry. Where behind the bibles, he snatched a bottle of corn-whiskey and drank; to steady his nerves.

He knelt, ‘Save me, Lord.’ 

Religiously, he sipped the golden Mellow Liquid.

‘The grip of the Devil is tormenting me!’

Stuffed Bald Eagle–Trophy

This week’s Friday Fictioneers picture prompt from Krista Strutz, showing an Eagle, is a reminder to me of the constant struggle in Scotland. The Golden Eagle and numbers of other birds of prey are in decline and the efforts to encourage them to flourish are not popular. The birds prey on game, partridge and grouse, and sometimes young lambs and the idea of striking a balance between the wildlife and people’s livelihood is controversial.

PHOTO PROMPT © Krista Strutz 

Stuffed Bald Eagle–Trophy

John stood transfixed and his heart rate fluttered.
At first, he let the paddle board drift as he watched the eagle land so close.
The magnificent creature stared at him, as if deciding whether he was a threat.

He remained calm and tried to hold the board against the current. He had never been so close to a Bald Eagle, and he savoured every second.
Some people would pay a fortune for this trophy stuffed and on display.

Would people believe him? He wanted to shoot it and prove them wrong.
However, he had left his camera-kit in the car. 

Crocodile Love

This week’s picture by Penny appears so peaceful and allows the mind to wander in those warm summer afternoons.

Yet, as I discovered in Roaring Creek Belize, swimming in the water attracts all sorts of creatures, like little fish that nibble and bite!

More from Friday Fictioneers here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Penny Gadd

Crocodile Love

‘There’s one. Oh, it’s gone.’
The crocodile dived, creating a cloud of silt.

Caroline detested John’s profession of photography.
He stopped her from going to the golf course with Jenny. Lovely, soft Jenny.
You’re my wife, John had demanded. Together, we are going croc hunting.
Yes, their problem; together was everything he ordered.

From the boat, she trailed her hand in the water and thought of Jenny.
Sweet, warm-hearted Jenny. Oh, the bliss, when she massaged her legs and kissed–.

‘Look, another one.’ He leaned over the side, snapping away.

‘Careful! You’ll fall in.’ She grinned, rocking the boat.

The Aliens are Here

This week’s picture prompt for Friday Fictioneers adds a sense of modern humour, taking a selfie of a selfie!

More story contributions from Friday Fictioneers can be accessed here.

PHOTO PROMPT© Roger Bultot

The Aliens are Here

Something caressed his face as goosebumps erupted along his arms, and a cold air whispered, ‘Martha’.
John looked in the mirror. “Is that really you? I miss you.”
Since Martha passed, his sixth sense alerted him to soft moans and shadows that danced across the mirror. He was not alone.

For goodness’ sake, he was a scientist searching the universe for intelligent beings on other planets. Yet grief warped his imagination towards believing in the paranormal.

What was life without Martha?

Were the aliens observing him and trying to communicate?
He sensed the cactus plant was reporting his every move.

Our World our Village

Friday Fictioneers.

This week’s picture prompt of a rotting tree stump (provided by Sandra Crook) made me think of orchards and how , at one time, they were the life and soul of many villages along the Clyde valley. An industry that is rooted in the past. However, commercial decline is not the only reason that villages are torn apart–look around the world today.

I have based my story on experiences from Bosnia.

The usual mix of contributions by other members of the group can be found here.

Photo Prompt By Sandra Crook

Our World our Village

As you stare across the wasteland, you can see there was a village here; once.
Point down the valley where the trees were, and people nod and look away.
We remember childhoods learning together and laughing in the classrooms.
In the autumn, families congregated in the orchards, in the wood mills, and harvested the crops.
We were an entwined community of good neighbours, innocent lovers, and with marriages of everlasting bonds.

The fanatical nationalists terrorised us with a medieval past, infesting our streets with their hateful ethnic cleansing.

Today, we stand in silence, holding hands in remembrance of our roots.

A Dash to Freedom

Friday Fictioners, a volume of fiction in 100words.

This week’s prompt is interesting as it reminds me of the many storms and monsoons I have experienced.

If this was a holiday snap, I hope that Brenda’s holiday went well despite the storm and they enjoyed the experience.

You can read other contributions to Friday Fictioneers, here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Brenda Cox

A Dash to Freedom

Mai Ling ordered black coffee.

The uprooted trees symbolised the turmoil in her thoughts, a burning itch of fire ants on her skin.
The bitter drink aggravated the snake coiled in her belly, a mixture of freedom with the dread of discovery.

Last night’s tempest thundered like a herd of stampeding buffalo battering the hotel with spears of rain, and the window crashed across the room.
She acted on impulse, a frenzied flash of angry until the bedsheets resembled an impressionist canvas of red.

Her cup rattled in the morning quiet.
The train departs at seven and she will travel alone.

The Well of Eternity

This week’s Friday Fictioneers’ photo-prompt takes us for a stroll through the woods, and we discover an abandoned cabin covered in moss. Interesting.

Read other story contributions here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas

The Well of Eternity

There it is, “Die Quelle der Ewigkeit.”
Mary looked at John, his eyes ablaze with excitement.
One mouthful of the water in the hut ensures eternal happiness for life.

They bumbled around these woods for days, searching for the mythical source. 
She gritted her teeth. She expected a romantic weekend, perhaps even a proposal. 

John scooped up a handful of water, refreshingly cool, gasped, choked, and dropped onto his knees. ‘Mary.’
Her mother’s warning sparked Mary’s thoughts. “He’s a lunatic.”

Panic battered her heart.
No! she screamed and pointed at the sign.

John gasped for breath, collapsed, and died. 

The Guiding Beacon

This week’s photo prompt reminds me of the NATO early warning system domes that once were situated on some of the hilltops.

More stories from Friday Fictioneers inspired by the Photo can be read HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The Guiding Beacon

Mary-Anne gave out sandwiches and coffee from the back of her van to the destitute. She received a licence to expand her enterprise and has added fries and seafood dips.

‘My unique Bubble,’ she says. ‘Well, that’s just storage and an attraction for the town.’

Her assistant sniggered. He maintained the space array beacon hidden by the dome, and his team operated from the sub-terrain control centre.

The Nymerana were creating a network on Earth to guide their people towards safety from the Asteroid shower destroying their constellation.

Humans are naïve, although accommodating, thought Mary-Anne. They taste like scrumptious chicken.