Tag: barbara beacham

It’s time to have a go at Monday’s Finish the Story. This is a flash fiction challenge which asks that we write a story in 150 words from the picture and first line prompt provided by the host, Barbara W. Beacham.

Here is this week’s photo . . .

. . . and this is my story, including the first line prompt:

On March 9th, 2015, three objects were reportedly seen in the skies over the Borracho Todos los Tiempos Vineyards.

Harry Hobson attempted to focus on the lights moving across the pre-dawn sky, unable to decide whether there were five flying saucers or three, and took another swig from his near-empty bottle.

‘What d’ya make of them, Fred?’ he asked the figure slumped beside him against the boulder. ‘D’ya think we’s bein’ invaded?’

Fred belched, opening his heavy eyelids a fraction.’ Nah’, he slurred. ‘Wars bin over more’n sixty years.’

‘A wa’n’t thinkin’ o’ Jerries, Fred. Them’s flying saucers …’

Fred wobbled to his feet and stared up at the sky. ‘Hoo cares about saucers – and we ain’t on ’oliday to look at lights. Wine and women’s all I …’

Harry watched, agog, as Fred drifted up into the sky, surrounded by a bright beam of light. Bleedin’ typical of Fred to go off without him.

‘Make sure yer back afore the vineyard store opens at ten,’ he yelled.

Word Count: 150

To view other entries, click here.

It’s time to have a go at Monday’s Finish the Story. This is a flash fiction challenge which asks that we write a story in 150 words from the picture and first line prompt provided by the host, Barbara W. Beacham.

Here is this week’s photo . . .

. . . and this is my story, including the first line prompt:

The old typewriter had a mind of its own.

Seventy-four-year-old Mavis Wetherton uncovered her cherished old Underwood typewriter, intent on writing the next chapter of her novel – a detective story, set in 1950s London. She switched on the old Zenith radio, another of her ’50s treasures, just as the Everleys rocked their way through ‘Bye Bye Love.’

The old Underwood worked perfectly, the letters sharply defined. The machine had been over forty years old when she’d acquired it in 1959 – the day her boss has been about to throw it out. She’d simply asked if she could keep it …

The romance had blossomed from there: their 55^th wedding anniversary was later this year.

‘How you get that thing to work beats me,’ Frank said from the doorway. ‘Won’t do a thing for me.’

Mavis smiled. ‘It’s all about chemistry, Frank. Me, my Underwood and the music. Together we hit the right note. Just like you and me do.’

Word Count: 150

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To view other entries, click here.