Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers

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

Caroline 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.

Married Bliss

I am amazed how the BMW in Liz Young’s photo-prompt does not appear to have any damage, considering the wall and railings are in pieces.

You can read more Friday Fictioneer’s contributions and stories here.

Photo Prompt Liz Young

Married Bliss

She drives wearing high heels, rummages in her handbag and,
at junctions, if she stops, she has to text the kids.
When we are in the car, she will nag at me.
You missed the kids’ school play and games day–-a crime in her eyes.
The traffic accident held me up. I didn’t get home until midnight.
Apparently, I never liked her Mum. Hell! the poor lady died before we met.

You are wearing the wrong shirt, and Martha will comment on it.

Who is Martha?

Enough! I screamed. I missed the brake. 

“See what I mean,” she said. 



Mai Lai and Nasi Goreng

Lovely picture from Brenda, I can just imagine the onslaught of cooking aroma when the alleyway is bustling with people.

More from Friday Fictioneers here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Brenda Cox

Mai Lai and Nasi Goreng

Mai Lai turned down the alley. I pulled my scarf across my face and followed her.
There was no one around to disrupt my plan.

Foreigners avoided Kai-Tok’s alleys where I had a meeting with a corrupt official.

A container ship from Mozambique was loading humanitarian supplies at the docks, and the harbour agent demanded a bribe to release the shipment.

He was waiting for us with a steaming bowl of fried rice.
My taste buds exploded.

I confirmed the export documents. Thankyou.
Then Mai Lia cuffed and arrested him.

It was the best Nasi Goreng we have ever eaten. 

A Chance Opportunity

When I opened the photo prompt this week I saw the humour of having such a robust security device.
Yet, I noted the craft in the metal work so my story recognises this skill. Having worked with metal I understand the satisfaction of creating aesthetic pleasing items, no matter how simple they look.

Below the story I have added a crafted bespoke gate, which we fitted for a customer.

My story contribution to Friday Fictioneers reflects how the apprentice system needs resetting in this technological age.

PHOTO PROMPT © Trish Nankivell

 A Chance Opportunity 

Elliot hated the written blacksmith test.
The pen snapped in his hand and he slammed the desk.
‘I’m sorry, sir. It don’t make sense.’ he said and wiped his eyes.

Mr McKay looked over his newspaper. ‘Take your time, lad.’
He watched as Elliot clawed at his hair.
He was the worst-case illiterate and innumerate of anyone in the rehabilitation class.
Words and letters jumbled around in the boy’s mind.
However, he expressed eagerness in his eyes and was a skilled metalworker.

“A last chance,” the judge had said.
“Join honest society and make use of your pilfering hands, constructively.”

_______

Holy Water!

There is something about village life that creates a sense of wicked humour from me.
The minister is sometimes a central figure that may bind or break communities.

Read more stories from Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

Holy Water!

‘Water, is the sustenance of life.’ Father Van Gory preached.
Melba and Cheryl were at the back as usual, knitting.
‘Any time now,’ whispered Cheryl.
‘You’re mean.’
‘You mustn’t tell.’ Cheryl dropped a stitch. ‘It’s only vinegar.’
‘Serves him right.’ Melba stared at the priest. ‘Him rubbing salt in folks’ wounds.’

‘Alcohol,’ Father Gory pointed at the Bible group, ‘is a mean spirit.’
He picked up the bottle of water. ‘Let us pray and seek forgiveness.’
He took a large mouthful, then spluttered and sprayed it over his notes.

Cheryl dropped a stitch.
‘Immaculate,’ whispered Melba. ‘Let him seek forgiveness.’

Newsreader Lost for Words

With so much high profile news this week, I think Rochelle’s prompt contribution is fortuitous.

Read the other Friday Fictioneers contributions here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Newsreader Lost for Words

John gripped the barrier. Will he jumble the words like last time?
He wished he wore a clean shirt as sweat was gathering under his armpits.
Oh, no! He wasn’t wearing his favourite blue dotted tie, his lucky charm.
Yesterday, he spilled coffee over it as he reported the terrorist attack in Spain.
Concentrate. He can do this, he has to be professional. 

The train blast kept replaying in his mind.
The image of those poor, poor children and his distraught sister screaming had kept him awake throughout the night.
Traumatised, he clung onto the cold barrier.
Lost for words.

Ice Cream in Tel Aviv-Yafo

Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers, https://fresh.inlinkz.com/party/5caf3cef9d814e28babc281a38c8590d

Photo from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Ice Cream in Tel Aviv-Yafo

‘Let’s have an ice cream,’ Carolyn said, ‘and stop talking politics.’
We were here to visit her grandmother and not to solve the Middle East’s problems.
Having refused my money, she sold her Breitling to pay for our flights, but I insisted on booking the best hotel.
She wasn’t pleased and mumbled something about expenses.

Next morning, she disappeared for the day. Where?
That evening she burst into the hotel room.
‘Get packing, we are leaving. Now!’
‘What?’
Her clothes were dirty with a smell of gun oil; a fresh gash on her head. 
‘Now!’
We dashed to the airport.

Selkies’ Ceremony – Return to the Sea.

Rochelle’ Friday Fictioneers.

This week I have adopted a mythical idea from Scottish folklore.

http://PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Selkies’ Ceremony – Return to the Sea.

It was the same after every ceremony, but John was glad of the work.

‘How did it go last night?’ he called into the restaurant.

‘Oh John,’ said Morag. ‘Our women were beautiful with glowing complexions and gleaming hair.’

‘Looks like a lot more kelp this time.’

‘You should have been here,’ said Morag. ‘Our families washing in on the high tide with the skins.’ 

‘I understand you leaving with work shutting down.’

‘They played the flute and lyre; so soft, so emotional. I was in tears.’

‘I’ll miss you, Morag.’

‘Aye, I am sorry, John. My ceremony’s on Wednesday.’ 

*****

Photo from Clan Rollo https://sites.google.com/site/clanrolloonlineallthings/home/magical-scotlan/selkies

The Curse of a She Wolf

Friday Fictioneers – hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields

Read all the stories  HERE

The wonderful Dale has given us a picture of a garlic string to stir our imagination and taste buds. I understand that the greatest benefit from garlic is to eat it raw in salads. Does anyone really eat the cloves raw?

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The Curse of a She Wolf

Radiant with the beauty of eternal youth, Silvia enchanted a fluttering of men like lavender surrounded by buzzing bees.  Four of her husbands died of broken hearts and the fifth during a moment of rampant ecstasy, and she howled pitiless that night. It was her curse to devour the passion from the souls of men.
In Vulcan, the women called her ‘She Wolf’ and fortified their homes with strings of garlic.
Late afternoons, wearing fine leather and furs, she would ride her sleek stallion to lure a lusting youth.
By midnight, her mourning and howling would haunt the mountain villages.

Every Child Deserves a Mother

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers

This week’s picture reminds me of Ernest Hemingway’s six-word story;

“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Every Child Deserves a Mother

Damn, how Malcolm preferred the office than coming home. He kicked a box out of his way. The City garbage strike was a health hazard.
Then he saw it. Hell! Mary has flipped. Another of her tantrums since the IVF failed, and for the last time. Dr Nolan said it was pointless.
Malcolm suggested adopting a baby girl. No, she wouldn’t listen to him.
In the flat, the aroma of baking eased his tension as Mary pecked his cheek in a gregarious mood.
‘Oh, Malcolm. I’ve decided to adopt.’
‘Then, why throw out the chair?’
‘Because Charlie is three already.’