Pesky Neighbours – Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers is a flash fiction challenge which asks us to write a story in no more than 100 words from the photo prompt kindly provided by the host, Rochelle Wisoff Fields. To join in with the challenge, or find out more about it, just follow the link to Rochelle’s blog.

Here is this week’s prompt . . .

keck
Photo prompt © Douglas MacIlroy

and this is my story . . .

‘Reckon you’ll like it here, Ve?’ Jim flashed his wife a lop-sided grin as he sat down opposite to her. ‘At least there’re no pesky neighbours to meddle in other folk’s business…’

Vera shrugged. ‘House i’nt bad … but I can’t go anywhere, with them big dogs prowlin’ about. An’ there’s nowhere t’ dry me smalls.’

‘But board and lodgin’s free.’

‘Of course they’re free, yer blithering idiot! Who’d pay t’ be stuck out ’ere on their own?’

‘Ah, Vera, love… If yer hadn’t knifed that old gossip, Mrs. Burke, you wouldn’t be sampling this newfangled isolation centre.’ 

Word Count: 98

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Lunch Dates – Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge, kindly hosted by Priceless Joy. The challenge asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100- 150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages participants to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the link tabove to see what to do. The challenge runs from Wednesday to Wednesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, kindly supplied by Vanessa Rodriguez:

wpid-photo-20150422065241749   . . . and this is my story:

Every Wednesday, on her day off, Margaret took the 6.15 am train to visit her mother at the Nursing Home on Morecambe Promenade. It was a grand old building, with excellent staff, and views right across Morecambe Bay to the Lake District mountains beyond.

The train was already five minutes late. Still, it gave her time to contemplate the day ahead. After visiting Mum, she would hurry to the restaurant for lunch with Peter, the lovely man she’d met at the Nursing Home a few weeks ago.

In fifteen years of marriage, Margaret had never been unfaithful to Jack, despite his numerous affairs and drunken rages. So far, meetings with Peter had been innocent. But last week, Peter had hinted at taking their relationship further. And why not? Jack wouldn’t care, even if he knew.

As the train hissed to a stop, Margaret smiled. A little hanky-panky would improve her life tremendously. Besides, Jack’s advancing cirrhosis meant he’d be gone before long. And, if she played her cards right, Peter would be waiting…

Word Count: 173

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A little note about Morecambe (pronounced Morcum).

Morecambe was once a thriving seaside town in North-West England. Like so many British seaside resorts, Morecambe’s heyday has long since passed as many Brits fly off in search of sunnier climes for their hols. It’s sad to see so many lovely old Victorian resorts sink into decline.

Morecambe’s most famous celebrity was Eric Morecambe. (He took his stage name from the town in which he was born.) He was one half of the 1960s comedy duo, Eric and Ernie. There’s a statue of him on Morecambe Promenade, which was, sadly vandalised not long ago by idiots with nothing better to do! I believe it has now been repaired.

These photos were taken three years ago, one evening when we passed through the town. My grandson was twelve at the time, and we had a bit of fun next to Eric’s statue. He definitely got the pose better than I did!

morcambemorecambe 2

That’ll Teach ’Em – Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers is a flash fiction challenge which asks us to write a story in no more than 100 words from the photo prompt kindly provided by the host, Rochelle Wisoff Fields. To join in with the challenge, or find out more about it, just follow the link to Rochelle’s blog.

Here is this week’s prompt . . .

fire-roger-bultot
Photo prompt © Roger Bultot

and this is my story . . .

Sammy grabbed his brother’s arm. ‘I can’t see the bedroom through all that smoke.’

Rick grinned. At nine, and a year older than Sammy, he was the one in charge. ‘The firemen just went into the house…  They’ll probably find the candles.’

‘But they’ll know it was us if they do!’

Rick shrugged. ‘It’ll teach Mum not to send us to our room in future –‘

‘Rick! They’ve got two people on stretchers. Wonder who they are.’

‘Can’t tell. We’re moving further away all the time.’

Sammy reached out his arms and giggled. ‘These clouds feel really nice.’

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Word Count: 98

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Diary of John Henry – Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge, kindly hosted by Priceless Joy. The challenge asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100- 150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages participants to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the link in the title of PJ’s, blog: Beautiful Words to see what to do. The challenge runs from Wednesday to Wednesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, courtesy of Pixabay.com . . .

wpid-photo-20150414165334759

. . . and this is my story (genre: historical fiction):

In the autumn of 1842, I secured passage on a sailing ship bound for the East Indies out of Southampton. My aim was to indulge my passion for sketching rare seabirds … and to forget the girl who had broken my heart. By the time we rounded the Cape, the abundance of seabirds raised me from my moping self-pity and I exulted in the daily filling of my sketchpad.

Three days from the Cape an angry storm swept in, whipping the sea into a frenzy. In earnest I prayed for our lives and, although we were blown considerably off course, our ship survived unscathed. A heavy mist the following morning dissipated to reveal a small, green-swathed isle portside. I was delighted when the captain ordered his crew to make for the shore.

Albatross Isle has been my home these past thirty years. I found great peace amongst the islanders … and a loving wife who has borne me four sturdy children. I have many sketches of seabirds that soar in the vast blue expanse above.

Word Count: 175

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I’ve been concentrating on writing my book a lot this week, and I can’t seem to get my head out of historical fiction. I’ve also allowed myself to go to the word limit of 175, when I’m normally quite strict with myself and keep to 150. I just found I needed a few more words to tell this story.

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Take My Hand – Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers is a flash fiction challenge which asks that we write a story in no more than 100 words from the photo prompt kindly provided by the host, Rochelle Wisoff Fields. To join in with the challenge, or find out more about it, just follow the link on the challenge title above.

Here is this week’s prompt, copyright Jennifer Pendergast . . .

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

and this is my story . . .

‘Take my hand,’ you say. ‘Come with me on a journey to the stars. We could reach the ends of the Universe, you and I; wonder at things hitherto unseen. No boundaries to hold us back.’

I smile up at your handsome face; the fire that burns in your eyes. You want me, it’s clear, though you hardly know me at all.

You reach out your hand, unfurl your fingers in a gesture of love. I recoil from the small white package so tenderly cradled mere moments ago. I shake my head and turn away from your proffered hand.

Word Count: 99

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The Rockery – Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge, kindly hosted by Priceless Joy. The challenge asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100- 150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages participants to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the link in the title of PJ’s, blog: Beautiful Words to see what to do. The challenge runs from Wednesday to Wednesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt, kindly provided by Dawn M. Miller . . .

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and this is my story for this week . . .

‘You’d be better off selling this old place,’ David said, twisting to face his mother on the veranda. ‘You can’t cope with this big house now that Dad’s gone …’

Mildred was pleased her son didn’t pursue the matter of his father’s leaving. She’d known about Ralph’s affair with Doris for months and was glad to see the back of him.

‘And that huge garden … I know you said Dad built that rockery, but it’s a great eyesore and needs shifting. You can’t do that on your own.’

‘The rockery holds fond memories of your father, David, and I wouldn’t dream of shifting it. If I change my mind, my new handyman, Eric, can deal with it.’

Mildred sipped her tea, willing David to go home. Tonight Eric would join her for drinks in the garden. She’d raise her wine glass to the rockery, silently wishing her husband a peaceful night’s rest, before embarking on a bit of rough and tumble between the sheets with Eric.

Word Count: 166

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Salesman’s Talk – Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers is a flash fiction challenge which asks that we write a story in no more than 100 words from the photo prompt kindly provided by the host, Rochelle Wisoff Fields. To join in with the challenge, or find out more about it, just follow the link on the challenge title above.

Here is this week’s prompt . . .

Copyright: Lauren Moscato
Copyright: Lauren Moscato

 

and this is my story . . .

The greasy owner from the off-licence below gestured round the dingy flat. ‘Bargain at fifty quid a week: nice and compact. Good-sized bedroom too … for a lad your age,’ he added, winking.

I wasn’t convinced, but needed my own pad; my parents were driving me insane.

‘Meter for lecky and gas … fully furnished,’ he enthused, as I stared at the boarded-up door.

‘Ah, we don’t use that door. Last tenant fell right out. Drunken fool killed himself. His ghost pops round occasionally.’

I smiled at his silly grin. The idea of ghost-hunting parties and séances clinched the deal.

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Word Count: 99

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The Best Clown Ever – Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Flash Fiction for for Aspiring Writers is a writing challenge, kindly hosted by Priceless Joy. The challenge asks us to write a piece of fiction from the photo prompt provided in around 100- 150 words – give or take 25 words. It encourages participants to comment, constructively, on other entries, so supporting each other’s writing. If you’d like to join in with this challenge, follow the link in the title of PJ’s, blog: Beautiful Words to see what to do. The challenge runs from Wednesday to Wednesday every week.

Here is this week’s prompt . . .

wpid-photo-20150331205503052

. . . and this is my story:

Marvin stared at the mirror, considering his hollow cheeks, the deep lines about his sunken eyes. Gambling had brought him to this: a sad excuse for a man.

Jobless and penniless, scorned by his long-suffering wife, Marvin had taken the only job to come along. The Circus had come to town.

‘On in twenty, Marv, after the sea lions,’ the stable lad called, rapping at the caravan door.

Marvin applied foundation to brighten his skin, topped by vivid lines of coloured paint and a red horn nose. His ginger wig, chequered suit and oversized shoes completed the look.

His act had the audience enthralled. He juggled and cavorted and honked his big red nose. He laughed and applauded as much as they …

As he left the Big Top, a woman and two small boys stepped into his path. ‘I’m proud of you, Marvin,’ Susan said. ‘You make the best clown ever.’

Rivulets of tears streaked Marvin’s carefully painted face. But then he smiled.

‘Yes, I do, don’t I?’

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A Good Darned Flag – Monday’s Finish the Story

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

Here is this week’s photo . . .

2015-03-30-bw-beacham

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

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Pizza anyone?’ the dark-headed waiter asked.

Chris glowered at the man, noting the name-tag on his jacket with the name ‘Fabio’ written on it. He was still piqued that Jane had booked the meal without consulting him. Their first anniversary, for Pete’s sake – and she knew he never ate pizza!

‘Menu and wine list…?’ Fabio continued, evidently puzzled by his hostile response.

‘Pizza … pizza… pasta …. I don’t eat any of these,’ Chris snapped. ‘Everything’s got meat in it. And I hate pasta!’

‘Ah, no meat …’ Fabio’s face crinkled in thought. ‘We can make vegetarian pasta … or pizza with mushrooms … or olives. Margherita pizza perhaps: sizzling white Mozzarella cheese, sweet red tomatoes, garnished with bright  green bay leaves.’ He kissed his fingers and flicked them out. ‘The colours of Italia’s flag …’

Chris washed down his last mouthful with a swig of Chianti. ‘Best darned flag I’ve ever eaten.’

Word Count: 150

I wrote this story with my husband in mind. He’s a vegetarian – and a very faddy one. He won’t eat rice or pasta dishes and would never touch pizza until we had a holiday in Sorento. Not liking Italian food at all, he tended to eat Margherita pizza at least once every day. He certainly didn’t love it, and has rarely eaten it since.

If you’d like to read other entries, click here.

mondays-finish-the-story

Don’t Pluck My Heartstrings – Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers is a flash fiction challenge which asks that we write a story in no more than 100 words from the photo prompt kindly provided by the host, Rochelle Wisoff Fields. To join in with the challenge, or find out more about it, just follow the link on the challenge title above.

Here is this week’s prompt, copyright David Stewart . . .

david-stewart

and this is my story . . .

The lights of the bandstand glow against the darkening sky, lively tones of the violins dancing on the evening air. The merry tune is well suited to the May Day mood. I gaze at my husband, so focused on his playing he will not see me …

In truth, James rarely does see me, for he’s a violinist of perfection and married to his music. But, after three years of loneliness, my musical appreciation has waned.

Tones of the violins soar as I turn away. The note on the kitchen table will not pluck too fiercely at James’ heartstrings.

Word Count: 99

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