Tag Archives: Short Stories

Sugar is a Crowd for Salt and Pepper

FridayFictioneers

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PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sugar is a Crowd for Salt and Pepper

‘I have something important­ –’
‘Not now,’ said Carolyn, and flashed her new Breitling watch. ‘Meet me at Le-Petite around five.’ She cycled away and tinkled her bell.
‘Still waiting,’ toned Maurice. He lifted my cup. ‘Another coffee?’
‘No.’ I paid him and stared out the window.
Carolyn’s Diamond watch niggled me.

We worked out at weekends in Bros Gym, where people ogled her glowing appeal.
Lately, without an explanation, she would disappear for days. No calls.
Was it my business? I dare not ask.
But today! She was never late.
I was going to New York. Would she come along?

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.’

Gateway to Adventure

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers

Click here for more story contributions.

I always admire the skill and patience it takes to handcraft art that produces aesthetic pleasure and brightens up our lives. Even more so when the item is an antique with a checkered history. This week’s picture reminds me of wandering through street flea markets and searching in curiosity shops for nothing in particular.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Gateway to Adventure

Carla, me and Joey loved Old Hickory’s shop. We spent Saturday afternoons enchanted by the curiosities. To us, every item oozed a magical secret.
Old Hickory frightened us with murderous tales of the polished pirate’s chest. Full of gold. He grinned. Inside is a world of dangerous dreams, and he laughed like Bluebeard himself.
One day, lifting the creaking lid, we took a peek, and heard Hickory cough and spit in the backroom.
No, we said, but Carla climbed inside looking for adventure. Don’t tell, she giggled.
For years now, Joey and me, we have stood outside praying for Carla.

Honky-Tonk Inheritance

Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The picture reminds me of the book, Huckelberry Finn.  The wooden fence prompted my memory.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Honky-Tonk Inheritance

‘It looks kind of grey, it wants painting.’
‘Yep, Grandpa was colour blind, it didn’t matter to him.’
Sally-Anne wasn’t sure about this legacy and expectation. It needed a lot of maintenance.
Grandpa was a Christian and provided a home for orphaned children of every race. Fifty children grew up here and all have prosperous concerns in the town and attend the Gospel Church, yet they are reluctant to help.
Grandpa wanted a new  hostel for teenagers providing educational activities.
‘I don’t think anyone cares, Sally.’
‘Oh, they will. I’ll say, what this town needs is a honky-tonk northern bordello.’

Dolphins are Guardian Angels

A 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

You can read the stories from other contributors, here.

Dolphins are Guardian Angels

I admired the parrot fish shoal dashing past, then wham! The impact dislodged my facemask; my flippers were clamped in the teeth of a shark. I struggled my feet free, readjusted my mask and mouthpiece, and swam to a coral buttress. I watched John climb into the boat ten metres above.
The excited bull shark circled and raced towards me. I was trapped.
I heard a screech of whistles and clicks, and a dolphin struck the shark’s underbelly. The pod harassed and chased the menace away.
My saviours escorted me to the surface, and to the safety of the boat.

Concussion in the Kitchen

A short piece of flash fiction for the Friday Fictioneers prompt.

Click here for other stories.

Concussion in the Kitchen 

At first, Beryl laughed. It seemed harmless. She arrived home from work each evening to a cluttered kitchen.
Although, she was certain the place was spotless when she left in the morning.
This problem started soon after the accident. An inconsiderate driver had knocked her from her bicycle, and she spent the night in hospital with concussion. The doctor advised that her head injury may lead to confusion and disorientation: take it easy.
She took pictures of the kitchen and kept a diary; it was not her imagination!
She lived alone.
Did someone else stay in her flat?

Why are Duck Eggs Blue?

This week’s picture on Friday Fictioneers reminded me of the British TV quiz programme “Eggheads.” Invariable the experts – The Eggheads – always seem to beat every challenging team who try their very best to win that elusive prize of a few thousand pounds.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers.

Read the other story contributions here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Todd Foltz

Why are Duck Eggs Blue?

It was the deciding question. Carol’s team stared at her and she shook her head.
The crowd in the pub had gone quiet; was it going to be jubilation or sheer disappointment? The last quiz of the tournament and a winning prize of a two-week holiday in Aruba – all expenses included.
Why are duck eggs blue?
The team huddled together. Was it a trick question? They’d reached the final by sheer luck, Carol disagreed – they deserved to win.
‘What are they saying?’ Someone whispered. ‘They don’t know – not a clue.’
Can we have your answer, please?
‘Yes,’ said Carol.

Conquer Your Fears

Friday Fictioneers – rochellewisoff.com

Read more flash-fiction from Friday Fictioneers here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

Conquer Your Fears

John’s birthday surprise left her speechless. In shock, Lynda climbed into the balloon’s basket; her shoes caught on the step. Her mind was screaming for excuses. Why did he have to sell his motorbike?
Lynda screwed her eyes closed and gripped the rail as if fused to the metal. Sweat dripped over her brow, and champagne bubbles churned in her stomach.
The engines’ roar and the swaying movement made her legs tremble.
‘Look,’ shouted John.
She peeked and saw her Mum waving. She relaxed and thought, this is okay. The balloon juddered; she vomited her champagne and caviar over John.