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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friday-fictioneers

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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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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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.

*

Word Count: 99

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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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Folk Tales – 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 Dawn Q. Landau . . .

c2a9dawn_landau

and this is my story . . .

Local folk claimed these woods were enchanted; magical creatures played in their midst. Faye smiled at that. She’d frolicked amongst these trees since she was a child, had playmates aplenty. But could they be considered magical …?

Occasionally, she’d emerge to wave at passing trains but the passengers never seemed to notice her. Perhaps the billowing smoke from the steam engines hid her from view. So she’d drift back amongst the trees … until the next tooting whistle.

The stray dog had become her newest friend. He’d follow her for hours, provided she didn’t flap her wings too hard.

Word Count: 98

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Shards – Friday Fictioneers

I seem to be getting later every week with my Friday Fictioneers contribution. I almost left it until tomorrow, but decided against the idea. So, here it is. The challenge is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields and is open to anyone who would like to join in. Just follow the link above for details. The challenge involves writing a story in no more than 100 words from the photo prompt provided by Rochelle.

Here is this week’s photo . . .

crystals
Copyright: Marie Gail Stratford

And this is my story . . .

Sounds of shattering glass disturb my troubled sleep. Silvery-red shards shoot across the confined space, shimmering in the glow from the neon light in the street beyond. Sharp spikes strike my face and arms, piercing my exposed skin. I scream and cover my face as specks of blood pattern my arms.

Not my eyes! Leave me my eyes!

I struggle to understand why I suffer thus, and in the silence, I waken.

The hospital ward is peaceful now. I clutch at the dressings around my eyes and remember…

Shards of shimmering glass shoot out from my shattered windscreen…

Word Count: 100

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A Matter of Preference

It’s time again for the Friday Fictioneers, kindly hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This is a writing challenge which asks that we produce a piece of  fiction in 100 words from the photo prompt given. If you’d like to contribute to this challenge, just follow the link through Rochelle’s blog to read the instructions and copy the photo.

Here is this week’s photo . . .

balcony
Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

. . . and this is my story:

Abigail gazed across the lawn, a warm breeze rustling the gold-tipped leaves of the tall magnolia and nurturing her memories…

The veranda heaved with folks cooing over her newly-christened brother. Six-year-old Abigail fled to her room, tears streaming as her jealousy soared. Since Ethan’s birth, Daddy had taken his love away.

‘Where are you, Abigail?’ It was Daddy’s voice, down in the hall. He wanted her again.

‘Daddy!’ she cried, lowering her foot to the top stair…

It was a warm September day in 1886 when they buried her in the peaceful little cemetery.

But Abigail liked it better here.

Word Count: 100

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Labyrinth – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time again for the Friday Fictioneers, kindly hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This is a writing challenge which asks that we produce a piece of  fiction in 100 words from the photo prompt given.

Here is this week’s photo, copyright Melanie Greenwood . . .

garden-maze

. . . and here is my story:

I tumble into a deep, dark place, removed from the laughter and light. I traipse the labyrinth of my mind, engulfed in a maelstrom of questioning thoughts. Yet, like swirling tendrils of shadows along my path, answers reach out to taunt me, then melt away to obscurity.

Why am I lost, alone in the bleakness of night? Will the sun never rise in this covert place? Why has my youthful body deserted me, left me in these serpentine depths?

But wait! A light shines down on this maze: my escape to the world beyond … and reunion with my body.

Word Count: 100

This is a little different to the pieces I’ve been writing recently. I was particularly drawn to that single beam of light in the photo. I almost wrote somethig historical (my favourite genre!) but changed my mind at the last minute.  Too late to change things now – I’m about to post!

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Radcliffe Hall

Friday’s the day for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s, Friday Fictioneers flash fiction challenge. This requires us to produce a piece of writing in no more than 100 words from the photo-prompt provided. Although it’s quite a challenge to write a mini-story in so few words, I really enjoy doing it!

Here’s this week’s photo, provided by Ted Strutz . . .

on-on-off
Copyright: Ted Strutz

. . . and here is my offering:

‘Mr. Digby.’ The elderly widow’s arrogant tone cut through the estate agent’s spiel. ‘I’m well aware that the celebrated Radcliffe’s once owned this house – and of the property’s value. I’m also aware of its scandalously high asking price. Undoubtedly you could sell it to someone prepared to overlook its dilapidated state in view of the prestigious address … although it also needs completely rewiring.’

Mr. Digby followed her censorious gaze to the antiquated socket, reconsidering his options. ‘Make me an offer?’

Sarah Drummond née Radcliffe smiled, her eyes sweeping the elegant room.  ‘Mummy will soon be home,’ she whispered.

100 words

 

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