I am not certain where the picture by Sandra was taken. It looks like Charmouth on the south of England. The area is also referred to as the Jurassic coast because of the large number of fossils found along the foot of the cliffs. Thank you Sandra for reminding me of my holiday visit. (From Sandra’s page, she tells us the picture was taken at West Bay, Dorset).
As always, thank you Rochelle for posting this week’s prompt, please click on her name to join the party. More contributions of 100 words stories can be found HERE.
My first thought on seeing Roger’s photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers this week was to ask; where are the children? Okay, it looks as if it has been raining and I expect all the mums have kept their little darlings indoors to remain safe and dry.
Thanks to Rochelle for keeping our ‘fictioneering’ challenged, click on the name to reach her site. Many more stories for this week’s prompt are found HERE.
Teddy is Alone.
The siren screaming across the town became a daily ritual and, below in the bomb shelters, families huddled. The children sang songs and played board games until they fell asleep.
Katrina couldn’t sleep. She was worried about the play park. Yesterday was the first time she climbed, swung, and slid with her friends as mum laid out a picnic on a bench.
‘Mum,’ she said. ‘Mum, Mum.’ She shook her mother awake. ‘Please, sleep, darling.’
‘But Mum… will they bomb the playground?’ ‘We’ll go tomorrow. Do you need the toilet?’ ‘NO!’ ‘It’s okay, Katrina, we’ll find Teddy in the morning.’
Thank you, David, for your photo prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I can imagine sitting in the hotel having breakfast watching torrential rain thunder down outside and thinking -it looks like another day at the indoor pool or playing cards. So much for a day on the beach-.
Olivia screamed in laughter as they dashed through the rain and fluttering confetti into the limousine. Everyone cheered from under their umbrellas. Their photographer abandoned the garden and riverside shots instead took indoor pictures around the reception hotel’s flora.
They left promptly, only to be delayed at Gatwick before their flight took off to Antigua for ten days on hot Caribbean sandy beaches.
Constant lashing rain from the tail end of hurricane Fiona kept the newly weds tucked up in the honeymoon suite. ‘I’m sorry about the rain,’ he said. She kissed him. ‘It’s my fault for marrying you, Noah.’
This week’s prompt of oil lamps brings back the times I did not trim the wick properly and ended up with soot inside the glass. Done the right way, the lamp gives off a wonderful glow and as you huddle around it for a little heat and comfort, you can’t help wondering what is lurking in the dark corners of the room.
Visit the Friday Fictioneers host, Rochelle, by clicking on her name. More stories from the group (why not join in) are available HERE.
On the first day of Autumn, our family traditionally holds a thankful togetherness around the oil lamps. A reminder of a humble journey from the harsh dust bowl to our prosperous orange groves.
Grandma told me she burned down the old house, spat in the wind and kicked the foreclosures man’s arse. On the edge of a prayer, she drove their wagon west with a broken husband and a deserted, pregnant daughter huddled among the measly fodder.
Today, I sit holding hands with Dorothy and our children as we remember their spirits and hear inspirational laughter from our wonderful grandmas.
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.’
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.
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.
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.
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.’
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.
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.
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.
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.
This story is for Friday -Fictioneers, a flash fiction site hosted by Rochelle. Other contributions can be read HERE.
I like this week’s picture, I can sense the thunderous roar as the water falls over the cliffs, and almost feel the humidity hanging in the air. It is a powerful scene.
‘The falls are wonderful.’ ‘What did you say?’ Laura shouted, ‘I said this is impressive!’ ‘Come on.’ Mike held her hand and led her along the narrow path.
She felt his grip tighten as they neared the edge of the cliff. ‘I can’t live without you. If I jump, nobody will ever know.’ ‘No Mike, don’t.’ She struggled free from his clenched hold. He laughed. Laura’s legs shook, and she stumbled away from the precipice.
Mike knelt and held up a ring. She felt her heart thumping Her answer must be no. Will he really jump? Only she would know.