Tag Archives: Writing

Adventure Beyond the Horizon

Thank you to Bradley for a lovely peaceful post-card picture of Hawaii. I can imagine the words, ‘I wish you were here’, written by him while spending a holiday break and enjoying the scene.

More Friday Fictioneers stories can be read HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Bradley Harris

Adventure Beyond the Horizon

I feel the morning peace and warmth of spring, and tranquillity of the waves lapping in the cove. Yet!–it is the horizon that torments me. I am jealous of the floating clouds flying free through the sky from over that line of no return.

My father scrambled up this beach in rehearsal for hell on earth, and I cannot imagine the exhilaration of soldiers disgorging from landing craft and speculating with death, with unwavering conviction.

My inertia wallows on this soft grass as Isabel’s ultimatum invites me to decide.

In solitude, I seek courage to cross over the line.

The Wedding of Sweet Molly McGuire

An interesting photo-prompt from Rochelle with lots of historical content to explore. I have researched the Molly McGuire as a secret society during the coal mining disputes in the US. The existence of the Molly McGuire may have been invented to try and discredit the miners. The 1970’s film of the same name stars Sean Connery and Richard Harris.

More Friday Fictioneer’s stories can be read HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The Wedding of Sweet Molly McGuire

A hundred years ago, Seamus O’Leary brought a large bottle of Potcheen from Ireland, and he insisted it was drunk to celebrate his wedding. The little bottle contains the spirit of the old country, a reminder of the mists of Killarney and the warmth of the family around a smoking peat fire. Legend states the Molly McGuire blessed the bottles with a kiss. 

O’Leary disappeared in a Pennsylvanian coal mine before the Pinkertons denounced some Irishmen for defying a twenty percent pay cut.

Nowadays in our cellar, you can still hear Sweet Molly whisper, ‘Seamus, your secret’s safe with us.’

Always with You

This week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt reminds me of cosy nights by a log fire. Thanks to Dale for her picture of the log stack neatly piled around the basement windows.

More Friday Fictioneers stories HERE.

Picture prompt from Dale Rogerson

I am always with you

The flickering of the flames from the logs burning in the grate filled the room with a cosy feeling. Elroy remembered drinking rum and the comfort of the taste warming his soul as it slipped into his turkey diner. He recalled these moments of joy and smiled, watching Jay and Josey playing cards under the tinsel draped from the fir tree; happiness and peace washed through him. 

The clatter of plates drew him into the kitchen, where Mary was crying by the sink. If only his spirit could kiss and hug her to let her know he missed her, too.

Charlie’s Mountain

Mountaineering and climbing the world’s highest peaks is not within the ability or resources of many, however mountain walking remains a favourite past time. The satisfaction of reaching the mountain top and being rewarded with a wide expansive view, occasionally high above the clouds, is worth the effort; in my experience. Also, we learn that the weather must never be trusted.

Read more stories from Friday-Fictioneers HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Charlie’s Mountain

My daily commute is thirty minutes each way across the strait, and the view is both an inspiration and a reminder of my sadness.

My brother Charlie would say we will get to the top next time. We started on warm days and when we were within reach of the summit, the bitter weather always forced us back down.

One dark morning we began the trek and by the next afternoon stood on the peak shouting across the world. A vicious blizzard marred our descent.

I will retire tomorrow and have the rest of my life to find Charlie’s remains. 

The Torment of Mellow Corn

This week’s picture is symbolic of a light from heaven floating above a church steeple. The image made me think of the UK television comedy show ‘Father Ted’. It portrays a shambolic group of priests, and particularly the character, Father Jack, who is a mad alcoholic lunatic.

More stories can be read by clicking HERE.

The Torment of Mellow Corn

Reverend Jamison obeyed the voice calling him to church. The burning, blinding light confirmed a higher authority was watching. 

His hands trembled as he staggered down the aisle to the pulpit where he found the sacramental wine. He gulped down the liquid, leaving little for the communion. He would mix in some water later.

The voice beckoned, much calmer and calling from the vestry. Where behind the bibles, he snatched a bottle of corn-whiskey and drank; to steady his nerves.

He knelt, ‘Save me, Lord.’ 

Religiously, he sipped the golden Mellow Liquid.

‘The grip of the Devil is tormenting me!’

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.’

Treasure Hunt

When I saw this weeks photo prompt from Ted, it reminded me of the saying;

‘Where there’s muck there’s brass.’

So with this idea of reclaiming/recycling old metal, my story is more whimsical than usual.

To read more flash fiction stories from Friday Fictioneers click HERE.

Photo Prompt by Ted Strutz

Treasure Hunt

Colin and Jack unveiled their treasure, a pile of broken auto parts.
Their teacher, Mrs Wilson, smiled, ‘Oh my,’ she said. ‘Where–?’
‘Along the canal path and Bunting’s wood.’
‘Boys, you know it’s Easter, right?’

The class crowded around the items, smirking.
The girls giggled and held up their baskets of coloured eggs.
‘We won. Nah, Nah,’ they chanted. ‘Better luck next year.’

‘Sorry, boys,’ said Mrs Wilson. ‘The Grand Chocolate Egg goes to the girls.’

The boys dragged their cart of junk to Joe’s Yard, where he gave them fifty dollars.
And so, CJ’s Metal Recycle business began.

Nuggets in the Creek

This week’s picture prompt shows the interaction between stones and ice and gives us an interesting photograph.

All I could see was a face on the ice and so the frozen creek became alive.
Thank you to Jennifer Pendergast.

More Friday-Fictioneer flash fiction stories can be found here.

PHOTO PROMPT© Jennifer Pendergast

Nuggets in the Creek

Grandpa found a nugget in our creek, and Grandma said it was the blessing of the Larney. 

The sun was warm when I met Mary-Lou skimming stones, and we played all afternoon.
I never asked, and she never said where she came from.
She just appeared like Grandpa’s gold.

She was there all year and Grandma said, “Marry her, she’s the luck of the Larney.”

Mary was tough and wild, like a prairie pony with a main of red-hot hair.

One winter’s day our boy said, “Look Ma, ice eyes in the creek.”
“Yes Billy, that’s just my father, Larney.”

Our World our Village

Friday Fictioneers.

This week’s picture prompt of a rotting tree stump (provided by Sandra Crook) made me think of orchards and how , at one time, they were the life and soul of many villages along the Clyde valley. An industry that is rooted in the past. However, commercial decline is not the only reason that villages are torn apart–look around the world today.

I have based my story on experiences from Bosnia.

The usual mix of contributions by other members of the group can be found here.

Photo Prompt By Sandra Crook

Our World our Village

As you stare across the wasteland, you can see there was a village here; once.
Point down the valley where the trees were, and people nod and look away.
We remember childhoods learning together and laughing in the classrooms.
In the autumn, families congregated in the orchards, in the wood mills, and harvested the crops.
We were an entwined community of good neighbours, innocent lovers, and with marriages of everlasting bonds.

The fanatical nationalists terrorised us with a medieval past, infesting our streets with their hateful ethnic cleansing.

Today, we stand in silence, holding hands in remembrance of our roots.

The Well of Eternity

This week’s Friday Fictioneers’ photo-prompt takes us for a stroll through the woods, and we discover an abandoned cabin covered in moss. Interesting.

Read other story contributions here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas

The Well of Eternity

There it is, “Die Quelle der Ewigkeit.”
Mary looked at John, his eyes ablaze with excitement.
One mouthful of the water in the hut ensures eternal happiness for life.

They bumbled around these woods for days, searching for the mythical source. 
She gritted her teeth. She expected a romantic weekend, perhaps even a proposal. 

John scooped up a handful of water, refreshingly cool, gasped, choked, and dropped onto his knees. ‘Mary.’
Her mother’s warning sparked Mary’s thoughts. “He’s a lunatic.”

Panic battered her heart.
No! she screamed and pointed at the sign.

John gasped for breath, collapsed, and died.