The Importance of being Odd

Thank you Rochelle for posting the Friday-Fictioneers photo-prompt. The picture was provided by Amanda Forestwood, and looks like it is wonderful path for a country ramble.

More contributions can be read HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Amanda Forestwood

The Importance of being Odd

On the first step, I knelt, and Jennifer shouted for joy.

On the third step, I swaddled David.
Son, you are wonderful.

On the fifth step, three-year-old Mary whispered, ‘I love you, daddy.’

On the seventh step, David married, and along came James.
Mary shouted, “I’m a teenage aunt.”

On the eighth step, our hearts broke as Jennifer passed.

On the eleventh, Mary gave birth to Jessica.

Everyone said, Grandpa’s life was on an even keel.

On the twelfth, Jessica and James drowned sailing my yacht.

My saddest steps were always even.

I pray my last step will be odd. 

Can you tell Bobby?

Friday Fictioneers’ photo prompt this week raises sad past memories, but life goes on.

Thanks to Rochelle and to Jennifer Pendergast for the picture.
Click HERE for more contributions from the group.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

Can you tell Bobby?

Bobby is so happy, colouring and drawing.
We go to the park to walk Baxter and let him off the lead, and they chase each other around the swings.

Julia would take them walking in the woods or play catch around the garden.
Bobby has grown so much since then.

The picture of Mummy’s car is on display; she would have cried.

I gave Bobby her favourite chocolate.
She’ll share it out when Mummy comes home, she said.

I hide the picture of Julia, smiling, with the MacMillan nurses holding her hand.
Gone forever. 

How can I possibly tell Bobby?

Secret Gardens

Thank you to our host Rochelle for yet another interesting picture prompt, for this week’s Friday Ficioneers. More story contributions from the group HERE.

Secret Gardens

Rolf kissed my neck and asked, “Do I really love him? “
“Whatever we do remains private,” he said. 

We strolled, bumbling in the Tiergarten, Berlin.
He coaxed me along under an archway of roses.
Secluded, silent and among giant ferns. 

“It’ll be amazing, Anne; you’ll see.”
Oh no! This was not how I imagined our first date.

He pushed the ferns aside and pulled me onto a street.
I looked around at the buildings; we were in Montreal.
Fantastic.
Rolf had revealed to me the secret gateway for world travel,
through magical gardens.

If only I could ditch Rolf?

Songs My Mother Taught Me

Thanks to Rochelle for this week’s challenge, which is to write one hundred words using the photo prompt from Amanda Forestwood.

More contributions can be accessed by clicking HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Amanda Forestwood

Songs My Mother Taught Me

Your absence is like a cherry stone in Papa’s throat when he plays by the fire. Embers waltz in the breeze.
Papa showed you how to play.

When you played, we danced and sang; the moon smiled with gushing pride and the boys loved you.
You grasped the musical essence of the polished spruce, stroking the bow along the strings.
Enchanting, magical harmony filled the forest with inspirational joy, and at night, a melancholy score raised our ancestors to sit among us.

Our hearts burst, hearing you play in great city concert halls with the passion of the varda’s soul.

Naïve Card

Thank you Rochelle for the prompt and thank you Liz Young for sharing a picture of your collection of Joker Cards.

Like everything in life, you learn the rules of the game. In poker you take calculated risks and you learn the psychology of bluff and counter bluff. However, there are no rules when the emotions of love are humiliated.

More stories from Friday-Fictioneers here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

Naïve Card

By my bedside, I keep our framed picture. We hold hands and Carol is smiling.
Not now, she said, when I asked. She let me down gently; I was her special card.
Carol couldn’t settle until she won every poker tournament, her paramount ambition.
She promised, soon.

The games were in Chicago, Berlin, Monte Carlo, Macau, and Las Vegas.
She never wrote or called, but occasionally the jokers from card packs arrived.

I read the news from Rome; a multi-million-dollar winner married his croupier.
Carol looked treacherously stunning in white.

I telephoned Alfonso in Naples to return an outstanding favour.

Who Lives There Now

Thank you, to Lisa Fox for the Photo–prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. 

Our host Rochelle encourages us to write a 100-word flash fiction to illuminate what is behind the pictures. More story contributions are found HERE. 

Who Lives There Now?

We appear now and again and look up to the windows where we all once lived.

We see a young lady occasionally staring out.

Marleen and her boy Sam were the occupants before Agatha, who had five cats.
I remember the smell, and it needed a deep clean before I moved in.

We are friends now, Marleen, Sam, Agatha, and me.

Often, we discuss how people never know the history of their home.
Too late for us now. 

We shimmer as we look up, knowing that the woman will join us soon.

No one survives the torment of FLAT 13.

Besotted Love—Awkward

Thank you, Roger for the Photo–prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I can imagine people from busy offices having a lunch break sitting on the benches by the river to enjoy some sun and fresh air.

Our host Rochelle encourages us to write a 100-word flash fiction to illuminate what is behind the pictures. More story contributions are found HERE. 

Besotted Love—Awkward

During lunch breaks, she would come and sit by me on the bench.
She said I was lovely and shared her fruit salad.
It was her first job in the city, and over enthusiastic around the office with her boyish, charming smile for everyone.
She said my hair danced in the wind and she gave me strawberries with cream.

I stopped her touching my knee, after she said I like your firm racing-horse legs.

She brought me a rose and said I love you.

No! I have a husband and three children.

We don’t have to tell them; she said.

The Office Laundry

The challenge this week from Rochelle for Friday-Fictioneers is a lovely picture from Na’ama Yehuda. My first impression to this prompt was to think of Thumbelina and where she would do her laundry? Instead, I have gone for piece about an office party.

More stories form the group can be found HERE. Visit Rochelle for an insight to her world.

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

The Office Laundry

The office secret Santa presents are useless items given to generate moments of tasteful laughter at the party.
They gave Mrs Welsh a pair of woollen knickers as she constantly complained about the cold air beneath her skirt.

Occasionally, the joke was incomprehensible and generated both unease and fodder for speculative gossip.
Why did Julie spill her drink and blush when George Carson received a pink toy washing machine?

Doris had seen them holding hands, and Angela thought Julie looked radiant.
Should they buy new hats? 

Tom, the Devil’s advocate, bought a black tie, in case Mrs Carson found out. 

The Future is Bright

Friday Fictioneers photo from Fleur shows one of my irritations when driving at night; bright headlights from oncoming traffic. However, the rustic-red coloured sky is the lovely.

Thank you to Rochelle for the prompt and many other stories can be found HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Fleur Lind

The Future is Bright

Don’t be angry John!
Forgiveness is humble, trust me.

Debbie, trust me! If only I can reach eighty-eight mph and drive into the white.
Then we will live a future of eternal happiness.

John, please slow down!

He pushed hard on the accelerator and drove into the oncoming light.

A horrendous roar of a foghorn exploded towards them.

Debbie grabbed the steering wheel and turned the car on to the verge.
The DeLorean rattled over the rough gravel and ground to a stop.

Oh, Debbie… I’m really sorry.

Please John, I forgot to feed Baxter.
And, he needs his walk.

Music is Universal

Header picture courtesy of Cotton-bro Studio.

I was not sure what to make of Roger’s picture of steps with litter and graffiti, so I decided on an upbeat theme.

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle, find out all about the group by clicking on her name.

More entertaining stories from the group can be accessed HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Music is Universal

We were about ten when we made the old factory our den for years. Then he caught us playing music.

“Get out’a here you scumbags,” he shouted, and threw an iron bar that missed.

“We ain’t causing no harm.”

“You’re looking for a smack, wise-boy.”

“We only want to practice; brilliant acoustics.”

“Brilliant! Tell them without work.” He snorted; pointing, “That a sax?”

“Do you want to listen?”

“Used to play; do you know ‘Baker Street’?”

We played for an hour and tears roll down his face.

This old building is a now a rejuvenated soul called Upbeat Music Club.