22/06/2017

BURNING THE PASSPORTS - and TRAVELLING - TWO stories in 100 words each.

BURNING THE PASSPORTS

It was supposed to be a day of relaxation – drive into the French countryside, eat moules in a tree-shaded cafė, stock up with goodies and head home.

It was dark when we zigzagged through burning tyres, dodging masked men brandishing weapons.
“They only stop lorries,” Dave said, just before a torch blinded him and the door was wrenched open. Not a gendarme in sight as our wine hit the road and two men squeezed into the boot.
“We have guns,” they said, “Drive.”

If we don’t end up in prison I’m burning our passports.
........................................................................................................
And here's another story in a much lighter vein - two for the price of one this week!
........................................................................................................
TRAVELLING

I was happy in that quiet close – trees for shade, some lovely flowers, and the cats kept the birds at a respectful distance. The furthest we travelled was to a local market – nothing too adventurous, until we went on a day trip to France.
Miles on the motorway, far too fast – anything over fifty upsets my digestion. Then, after hours in a smelly ship, we’re driving on the wrong side of the road!
The moment we got home I moved out. The people next door never go anywhere – I’ll be much safer living behind their wing mirror.



.....................................................................................................
One of the treats I looked forward to when we returned to England was a day trip to France such as we used to enjoy in the 1990s. Though the news reports are no doubt exaggerated, with the turmoil that fills our present world, the very idea now fills me with dread.

The second tale? Well, that cobweb appears with predictable regularity on my car, and on one occasion I actually spotted the spider nipping back behind the mirror. Which I can't take out, so he stays, living an exciting life in the fast lane and catching flying insects in his seine net.

These stories were prompted by Ted Strutz's photo posted on Rochelle's blog for Friday Fictioneers. To read other stories, follow the links from  https://rochellewisoff.com/

15/06/2017

HEN PARTY - one hundred words for Friday Fictioneers

HEN  PARTY

Six of us flew to Tenerife for Leanne’s hen do. The apartment was pretty basic, but it didn’t matter because we were out every night.
In one nightclub this creepy bloke bought us all drinks, and when we staggered home in the pitch dark he tried to kiss me. Eeuuw!
He pinned me against a palm-tree – I still remember his long pointed teeth – but then the moon came out like a spotlight, there was a horrible screech, and a black shape flapped up into the tree. When I looked round, the bloke had just vanished.

A real weirdo, that one!
...........................................................................
Dozens of people from all over the world write a 100-word story each week prompted by a photograph. This week's photo was taken by Dale Rogerson. Go to https://rochellewisoff.com/ and follow the links to Friday Fictioneers, read what others have written, and perhaps to take part?

08/06/2017

THE FANS - one hundred words for Friday Fictioneers

THE  FANS

Maggie and Nell were Valerie’s staunchest fans, reading each book the moment it came out and discussing every bodice-ripping page over glasses of Prosecco.

When Valerie died they wore black arm-bands and planned a pilgrimage.
After months of research they found the place, but the caretaker was reluctant to admit them.
“We only want a quick peek,” Nell pleaded, but Maggie’s fiver was more persuasive. He pocketed it swiftly. “Don’t touch anything.”

They walked down the brick path, found Valerie’s retreat beneath rampant roses, and stepped inside reverently.

After a long silence, Maggie said, “Well, she always did love nature.”

.................................................................................
This week's photo prompt comes courtesy of Sarah Potter via Rochelle's blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/  If you follow the Blue Frog link from there you will find many other interpretations of the same photograph.
But first, please do leave a comment on mine, if only to prove I am not talking to myself!

01/06/2017

NAKED APES - one hundred words for Friday Fictioneers

NAKED  APES

Clinging to Pedro’s waist, Tom lifted his legs out of the water to reduce drag. As they raced downstream the banks became a blur, only the occasional streak of colour when a bird took flight breaking the monotony. Tom yelled with the sheer thrill of speed, his voice bouncing from the green walls.
As they rounded one of the many bends, he caught a glimpse of movement. Two creatures scrambled up the bank and vanished in an instant, but the sight burned into Tom’s brain – their mud-streaked bodies were naked, and they walked upright – just like the Humans in Grandfather’s bedtime story.
...................................................

When I saw this week's photo for Friday Fictioneers I couldn't think of a short story - until I thought of the book I am revising at the moment, and which needs an insert for the sake of continuity. So this is it - one day soon I hope to publish the entire book - A Volcanic Race.
Thanks to Rochelle at  https://rochellewisoff.com/ for organising rhe group, and to Karuna for the photo which reminded me of something I needed to write!

24/05/2017

CONCERT - one hundred words - a story for this week.

CONCERT

They spent hours getting ready, filling her bedroom with perfume, laughter and excitement. Sophie borrowed my purple earrings.

Chloe’s dad dropped them off, their precious concert tickets tucked into tiny handbags, mobile phones as fully charged as our girls. They promised not to get separated, not to drink, not to take drugs – all the usual things parents worry about.

Later, I waited outside as instructed – apparently it’s embarrassing being met. I’d been there ten minutes when the bomb went off, and the world was nothing but blood, nails and screams.


I only recognised Sophie by her purple earrings.

...................................................................................................
Looking at J Hardy Carroll's photograph of devastation, I could only write about this week's dreadful happenings in Manchester. How other writers interpreted the image can be found by following the link from https://rochellewisoff.com/
ps. if you would like to read another of my stories, I'm on p68 of Visual Verse at http://visualverse.org/

18/05/2017

EAVESDROPPING - a short story in 100 words

EAVESDROPPING

Joe’s passion was people-watching. Each night he’d regale Monica with stories of businessmen meeting hookers en route to a motel, writers seeking material, runaways looking for lifts. After a decade he considered himself an expert.

These three women, he guessed, were young mums on a break from housework, though their conversation looked rather intense for that. Joe took the coffee to refill their cups and heard one say, ‘I’ll drive – my car’s bigger.”

How nice, Joe thought, an outing, and left them to their plans. 
He was almost out of range when the blonde said, ‘Remember to bring your guns.”
.............................................................
This story was written for Friday Fictioneers, ably run by Rochelle, where writers from across the world use a mere 100 words to tell a story inspired by a photograph. This week's picture was taken by Roger Bultot and posted on  https://rochellewisoff.com/

10/05/2017

STRIKE THREE - flash fiction

STRIKE  THREE

I only noticed strike one in retrospect – he forgot names and muddled dates, but doesn’t everyone?

The second strike was more troubling. I’d often catch him standing with a lost expression, clearly wondering where he was, but a gentle word would bring him back. Never one to listen to other opinions, he became angrier, and so illogical it was useless trying to reason with him.


But when he backed the car into the gatepost, stormed into the kitchen shouting, “Who put that blasted pillar there?” and then demanded, “What are you doing in my house?” – that was strike three.
...................................................................................
Those who have lived through similar scenarios will understand where this story comes from.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on  https://rochellewisoff.com/  and also for bravely sharing the photograph of her accident - I hope the insurance covered it?