PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
The Trappist Zone
George, the transporter is landing.
Will I miss this place?
We did our best George, we must start over, a new beginning.
I feel a failure; all the destruction and greed.
Oh, George, remember the woolly mammoth.
Downhill since then. Where did we go wrong?
We gave them dreams and intelligence. Our experiment had potential.
Yes, we did very well, but should we just abandon them?
It’s too late, they are out of control; a self-consuming infestation.
George, the bag?
Yes, all human goodness, fully packed.
Think of our next creation; “Mensch”.
A perfect ideal; the Trappist Zone is ready.
Posted in Blog, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Short Story, Uncategorized
Tagged 100 word story, Creationism, Friday Fictioneers, Futuristic hope, Interstellar Aspirations, micro-fiction, SciFi, Short Stories, Space Travel, spiritual, Writing
PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young
Nightmare in the City.
I am not sleeping, who does?
Robotically, I am on the train at six am, and transfer to the tube. I stop at Costa’s, the girl who serves is an Android on a vocal loop.
I sit at my station at exactly nine am.
At twelve pm the Android serves reconstituted Panini.
At five pm I catch the tube then, I am on the train again at six am.
I’m not asleep; the rat catcher won’t trap me.
The race is on and the Costa Android winks. She feeds dirty rats in the city.
Posted in Blog, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Uncategorized
Tagged Bad Dreams, Gedichte, Groundhog day, Horror, Humour, Jobs in the City, Metro, Nightmares, ScFi Dystopia, Short Stories, Writing
Do you appreciate how I enhance your life? Providing miracles as if done by magical hands, as an unsung hero I work to deliver your dreams and sooth away the mayhem of your hopeless stress.
I’d laugh with joy and happiness as you open my gifts, and even sit up with you through the nights to nurse away your fever and flu. Do you notice?
The explosion took my leg during the marathon, but now all you see is the prosthetic and sigh with pity.
Yet, I have not changed and remain the same; your loving, unappreciated invisible man.
PHOTO PROMPT submitted by Courtney Wright. © Photographer prefers to remain anonymous.Friday Fictioneers
Oh Janice, why are you here? I’ll let you rest, I’ll let you be.
Let me massage your weary feet, as you tell me where you have been.
You slept in ditches beneath hedgerows and counted stars to help you sleep.
You’ve travel through forests and barren deserts, while dreaming of my warmth.
You swam the Zambezi? – No! – I didn’t abandon you, look you are here now.
You cannot live without me and have travelled the world for my love.
Here let me make you chicken soup and then a soapy bath.
What now? Sorry, Janice, I never loved you.
PHOTO PROMPT © Karen Rawson
Where ‘re you going Norman.
Mother, I’m getting firewood, it’s cold.
Norman! don’t be going into the creek, to them hussy girls.
Mother! There ain’t no girls. Not since —
I’m just saying Norman, they did no good.
Why can’t I Mother, why can’t I . . . just once, Mother?
I don’t want hussys in our house Norman. Don’t you love me?
Yes Mother. Here’s your steak, as we like it.
Three plates? Norman you’ve got a hussy I want her out! out!
She’s gone, Mother, she’s in the creek.
Good boy, Norman.
Mother, I’ll fetch us the steak knife.
Posted in Blog, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Short Story
Tagged 1960s Classic, Alfred Hitchcock, Gothic, Horror, Muddy Waters, Psycho pastiche, Serial murder, Short Stories, Watery Grave.
News Flash – My short story Lilly-Anne has just been published on literally Stories a world wide short story site. Your views and comments are appreciated.
Lilly Anne – by James McEwan
Friday Fictioneers (slightly late this week, enjoy)
Shrouded in monsoon mist along the Chakkar Road, Jazlaan viewed the ruined and dilapidated house. Seventy years ago, Partition had driven her family away.
Still, in the kitchen, she smelled the warmth of cardamom and cinnamon sizzling in ghee and heard echoes of children lamenting in Urdu. Dust, like Chapatti flour, covered over the floors.
Mould consumed damp walls, the moths her gowns. What wealth and chattels she saved were left to grandchildren now, or burned on her pyre. The silver blacken mirror on the wall reflected her joy as she brushed her gossamer hair.
Her spirit was home.
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.