Tag Archives: Humour

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.

Village Hay and Bread

There is a sense of a peaceful country village in this week’s picture from Sandra.

A place where everyone knows each other and rumours and gossip flourish;
well, everyone wants to know all about you, especially if you have secrets to share.

More stories from Friday Fictioneers here.

Photo Prompt by Sandra Cook

Village Hay and Bread

Marcel drives his tractor through the village, although there are shorter ways to his farm. He stops at the Boulangerie, and it takes ages to collect his bread.

Across the street, Annette rearranges the books in the window of the Librairie, all the time watching for Marcel.

‘Stop it,’ Carole shouts from the till, and then joins her.

‘He’s taking his time.’ Annette checks her watch.

‘Mary-Anne is probably busy with a bun in the oven.’ Carole laughs.

‘Don’t! She’s happily married.’

‘And, she has loved both brothers.’

Marcel appeared; Annette waved.

‘Yesterday, Jacques bought a shotgun,’ said Carole.

‘No!’

Infidelity of a Goddess

My first motor bike was a Triumph Bantam 125 and my first car was a Ford Anglia 1200cc. Not surprisingly, examples can be found in motor museums all around the UK. The Transport Museum in Glasgow has on display five models of cars that I once owned over the years. The Ford Capri being perhaps one of the most iconic in its time. The only navigation system in use in those days was the AA Road Map which worked a treat.

This week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt stirs the yearning for the open road. More stories here.

PHOTO PROMPT© Lisa Fox

Infidelity of a Goddess 

This picture reminds me of my Triumph Bonneville and how Diana, her hair whirling from beneath her helmet, would hold on tight.
I loved this feeling as we raced along the roads in the summer.

We’d stop at the Craven Arms for a Theakston’s Best Bitter beer, and afterwards we’d speed to the coast.
Where, among the dunes, we stared at the moon drifting among the stars.

We planned a journey from York to Paris and across Europe to Berlin.

It never happened; instead she ran off with Charlie on his Harley Davidson.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘His is much bigger.’

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.

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.

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. 



Creepy Landlord

This week’s picture prompt from Roger is inviting, but I sense a hint of apprehension.
However, the CCTV puts my mind at ease.

More Flash Fiction stories at Friday Fictioneers

Creepy Landlord

Not as expected, but the rent is cheap and suddenly available.
Sally checked the agency’s note.
The landlord, Mr Bates, had the keys; she knocked.
It’s the top flat.
She followed him into a tiny room.
You’re beautiful. He scratched his beard.
Sorry!
A pretty view. See the park.
Oh yes, nice.
Is that jasmine shampoo?
She moved to the exit.
No, no, this way.
A dark bedroom with narrow windows, a carpet stain and a new mattress.
He scratched at his neck. Should we forget about this month’s rent?
She smiled. Maybe not, as my boyfriend would kill you.

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.’