100 Word Wednesday: Week 66
A holiday of our lifetime, she said.
Those words ring in my mind and at night the howler monkeys join in.
This trek, to meet the Sapanahua tribe deep in the Amazon forest, has become a nightmare.
Janet left a note; “I need time to myself to follow a different path in my career. Sorry, but it’s goodbye George.” She took the canoe and supplies.
What a headache I had after the ayahuasca tea she made and I slept like a log. It’s been twelve days and the Sapanahua are tracking me. Are they friendly or like me, very hungry?
Three Line Tales, Week 115
Romeo and Juliet – Cancun style.
Oh Pedro my spider man, at last we are alone.
Si, me amor, let us elope my darling Rosita, while we are young.
The door! Quick, the cup, Pedrito. My father is home.
Posted in Blog, Flash Fiction, Three Line Tales, Uncategorized
Tagged 3LineTales, Flash Fiction, Humour, Poetry, Relationships, Romantic, Short Stories, Spanish, Spiderman, Writing
Sherlock seeks Dr Who. By request I have added this new menu heading.
Here you find my Flash Fiction about Sherlock seeking the new Dr Who.
Sherlock Holmes Statue in Edinburgh
Included is a Russell Holmes adventure “Murder at the Falls”, for your reading pleasure. This short story is taken from my collection ‘The Case of the Mahjong Dragon” and is included as it is based on the Holmes theme.
Warning, sinister tone.
Marcel Loves Christine.
Marcel watched Christine from his vantage point. He slammed his binoculars into his backpack. Tears welled, he pinched his nose to check his anger as revenge rattled down his spine.
Forgiveness for Christine, but the man must be eliminated. He means nothing and like the others will die.
Previous girls squirmed and bled, because they wouldn’t love him.
Marcel craved Christine.
He watches and stalks, close, behind her in the bus, in the supermarket aisle. He smells her and urges to stroke her body, to drink in her aura. Marcel is convinced she loves him, but she doesn’t know; YET!.
Yew Tree Memorial
In our eulogies, we promised to gather beneath the yew and play canasta.
Our descendants keep the place fresh and painted in the summer
and, in our honour, they place the cards.
I dislike their stinking cigars.
They have forgotten we played outside in the fresh air away from satanic dens and we thanked the Lord for our community spirit, friendly companionship and enjoyment in life.
We cough and splutter as their foul smoke drifts through the branches disturbing eternal peace, we wait for sundown.
In eons, we have evolved our wisdom and take our seats to play Battlestar Galactica.
Friday Fictioneers – Friday 23rd March
Photo Prompt by Björn Rudberg
Dreaming of the Tardis.
Holmes ignored me and peered through his binoculars. ‘At last we have her lair.’
‘Same sign again, Holmes.’
‘A mere ploy, Watson.’ He pointed to the distant ridge. ‘The Tardis! we have her. Oh boy, Watson, the Doctor is here.’ He strode on along the track.
For the hundredth time the ridge came into view, as we reached the same sign on this same spot.
Is there no escape from this repetitive nightmare? I was dehydrated following Holmes on this circular looped track.
Next time round, I will push him off and jump to jolt myself awake.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers – 9th March
Which Tree are You?
Photo by Sandra Crook
“Come tell me, Louise,” he said, pulling her from the water. “What happened to you?”
“Oh, Grandpa.” She laughed. “What a beautiful house, is it heaven?”
“For some. Such a dreadful war.”
“Yes. I was wounded at Sommesous. It broke her heart.” He ruffled Louise’s hair. “Ah, my Madam Lilly de Vogue and her hospital, our noble home.”
“Yes. She saved many lives, but for every hero who died she planted a tree.”
“Is she here?”
“No, oh no.” He laughed. “She lives with her lovers in Marseille. I wish her well.”
“Which tree are you?”
“My tree is the Colonel Marcel Pinion de Vogue.” He took her hand. “Now Louise, what happened to you?”
“I couldn’t swim, Grandpa.”
Friday Fictioneers – 2nd March Prompt
“Float like a butterfly. Sting like a bee.”
Twenty years ago, they carried Mikey out in a black bag.
A wasted young life.
We were just kids, dreaming of; “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee”.
I had won the County lightweight title, we were elated, but Mikey was pissed off and jealous. He exerted his temper by hitting out.
Our coach calmed him, but Mikey broke his nose. Mikey hit me, knocking a tooth out.
It was my skipping rope knotted around Mikey’s throat.
I DID NOT do it. The judge didn’t care.
The place looks the same, I’ve changed. “What a waste of a young life”.
100 Word Wednesday – Bikurgurl
A friend in need
Diane’s right, it’s lonely on that ranch by Alpine Springs.
She couldn’t ride in her condition; on the trail rounding up wild shorthorns around Badger Creek.
It sure broke my heart to see her cry when we lost our unborn.
Where the hell was I when she needed me!
Two weeks, branding them darn bullocks.
Burned my heart beyond despair as she told me, her pretty face all gutted up.
She’s a tough one, still I guess we need to mourn.
Tobacco Joe handed me one of his retriever pups.
Hope Diane’s still home and not left for Denver.