PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr
Anya was naked and walked past.
I stopped reading.
(Mrs Newsome wanted Strether to rescue Chadwick from a wicked woman.)
I was dressed when Anya emerged from the bathroom.
‘Ready?’ She adjusted her blouse.
In East-Berlin, we had met in a provocative gaze across a crowded room.
‘Will he be alone?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘My flight is tonight.’
Col Kryuchkov met us at Marx’s Tomb in Highgate, and I gave him the USB memory.
‘I love you.’ I kissed Anya. ‘Goodbye.’
The encrypted files were bogus lists of double agents.
Another time, they may return to poison me.
Posted in Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Short Story
Tagged Double Agents, East-Berlin Spy, Espionage, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Honey-trap, Lost love, Mystery, Relationships, Short Stories, six word story. flash fiction. Great writing., Wicked Women, Writing
An opportunity to read my short story books, they are free on Amazon this week.
Author Page Amazon.
Let me know what you think, which was the best of the bunch?
I am working on a new anthology – title undecided – I am aiming to produce 300 pages based on a theme of lost love. It will not be a romance collection, instead it will be a series based on real life events.
I received a lovely comment from a reader about my book, Missing.
She found the description of the location, setting and the farming community authentic and real. This, she believed, could only have been written by someone from within that environment.
I felt humbled by her enthusiasm.
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged Cosy Crime, Creative writing, Flash Fiction, FREE Ebooks, Humour, Mystery, Observational, Sherlock Holmes, Short Stories, Tales of a different kind, Writing
Friday Fictioneers – inlinkz
PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie
A Warning Anagram
‘Whoever created time.’ Holmes mumbled as sweat dripped from his chin. ‘Must control the universe.’
I sprinted to catch up. ‘It’s abandoned. You were wrong Holmes.’
‘No, Watson, those walls conceal the Tardis.’ He wiped his brow. ‘See, a warning; Transgression S – S for Sherlock.’
I stared at his intellectual smugness forming laughter lines by his eyes. The dust burned in my lungs, and Holmes’s grin prompted me to draw my pistol. If I shot him, I’d be free from this mad quest?
‘Yes, let’s be careful,’ Holmes said. ‘We may have overstepped the Time Lord’s patience.’
Posted in Blog, Friday Fictioneers, Short Story
Tagged Dichtung, Doctor Who, Dr Who, Flash Fiction, Kurzgeschichte, Mystery, Sherlock Holmes, Short Stories, six word story. flash fiction. Great writing., Tardis, Time Lord
Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
Escape from Corfe Castle.
Holmes is missing, and the last train waits.
We came to investigate the torture and murder of three French spies, but found them unperturbed drinking real ale in the Purbeck Arms.
A trick and heinous treachery by Professor Moriarty to lure us to death in the dungeons of the castle.
What is taking him so long?
The scarlet sky, not a good sign, its dying rays dripping like blood over the castle ruins. Is it the end of Holmes?
What next; a screeching Pterodactyl swooping downwards.
‘Quick, Watson!’ Holmes shouts from the beast. ‘Jump on before the magic wears off.’
Posted in Blog, Friday Fictioneers, Only 100 Words
Tagged Corfe Castle, Flash Fiction, Gedichte, Kurzgeschichte, Mystery, Sherlock Holmes, Short Stories, six word story. flash fiction. Great writing., Writing
Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
Is she coming?
Wait by the plugs, she had said.
Where is she? My stomach tightened, and I strode around the display.
I looked at the tickets; the train leaves in ten minutes.
Her father; did she tell him?
We booked Gretna Green for tomorrow morning.
I saw her and picked up my bag.
‘Come on Aileen, let’s go.’ I took her arm. ‘Where’s your suitcase?’
‘John!’ She stood and squeezed my hand. ‘I can’t.’
Regret rippled down my spine.
‘There is no baby, and my –’ Her eyes were tearful.
A splinter of shame split my heart in two.
Why run away to Gretna Green?
Posted in Blog, Friday Fictioneers
Tagged Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Gretna Green, Observational, Relationships, Romantic, Runaway Lovers, Short Stories, Teenage Lovers, Young Love
Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
You know Mary, this takes me back to our swimming galas.
Oh Jeff, fifty years ago and it seems like yesterday.
What did you used to say as we raced?
Yep, and I won the School Gold-Band five times.
Our grandchildren take after you, Mary. They should win the relay, again this year.
Persistence and practice, Jeff, that’s how you win trophies.
I know, but I always kept focused on the bigger prize.
Oh Jeff, are you jealous of my Olympic golds?
Mary you’re an inspiration and always were. What did you used to say?
You’ll never catch me.
Friday Fictioneers -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
The Violation of Sister Teresa
‘We have only one minute to reach the gates,’ whispered Angelina.
‘Take my hand,’ said Sister Theresa. ‘Am I too late?’
‘Please Sister.’ She took hold of her elbow. ‘Come on, the taxi is waiting.’
They shuffled along the path. ‘Please hurry.’
‘The little cherub is kicking.’ Theresa stopped and gasped long breaths.
‘Come on. Come on.’
The Taxi driver helped her into the car; they sped off.
Tears rolled down Angelina’s cheek.
The church doors opened.
‘You missed prayers!’ roared the Bishop. ‘My room now!’
No. I am not Sister Theresa.
She checked her chastity belt was locked.
PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio
Dorothy pulled her coat collar over her neck and shivered.
Why are they taking so long?
The body of Jeffrey MacDonald, missing for ten days, lay in the fox lair as she predicted.
She pointed into the thicket. ‘You can see his feet.’ She covered her nose with her scarf.
Dorothy was a police Psychic Consultant, who had found the burial locations of fifteen murdered victims.
‘Another Lawyer?’ said the Chief. ‘How many more before we stop this serial killer.’
‘There will be one more,’ said Dorothy.
Her husband, John, had suspected the killer’s name, and motive.
He was next.