Month: March 2019

Friday Fictioneers – Broken Threads

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

FF - Broken Threads 190327

PHOTO PROMPT© Sandra Crook

Broken Threads

Martha squatted in the only room that was still intact in the derelict house. Even the druggies had gone, leaving behind their mess and their stink. Martha moaned as the muscles of her abdomen tightened.

The Loom of Creation faltered. The Creator fused broken threads together, working frantically to keep the weave continuous. A spindle of charcoal thread was empty. Consternation! He had no more of that colour! He seized the nearest spool and spliced in a gold thread.

Martha, exultant, hugged her flawless new-born to her breast. She rose up and walked to the hospital. Her child would live!

What Pegman Saw – Warning

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page, from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. This week’s location is Patagonia, Chile. The prompt photo is in the city of Punta Arenas.

WPS - Warning 190323

Warning

The news that Ignacio was missing electrified our community.

“Dear God, not here,” I prayed.

Ignacio’s wife was frantic, visiting his usual haunts, interrogating his many trade union friends, calling at the police station daily. And then, abruptly, she stopped searching. She wouldn’t talk about him, or answer my questions about whether she had news of him. I saw terror lurking behind her dark-brown eyes.

There were second-hand reports of others who had disappeared, teachers, social workers, even a doctor. We all knew they’d supported Allende, but they weren’t Marxists, for goodness sake, just ordinary people who cared for others. We’re in Punta Arenas, not Santiago; not even Valparaiso. That was where resistance to the military was centred, not here. We’re a peaceful people.

Ignacio turned up after a few months. He’s a solitary man now. He shakes constantly and refuses to go out.

His fingers are twisted.

Friday Fictioneers – Change the Date

FF - Change the Date 190320

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Change the Date

Once more Denise counted the lamp-posts to the bridge. She was sure she was waiting in the right place.

She called Alan again. No answer.

Something must be wrong! He wouldn’t stand her up. Not on New Year’s Eve. Would he?

The minutes were ticking away, and the crowd was growing steadily thicker, noisier and more exuberant.

Her phone pinged. A message. From Alan.

“Sorry. Dozed off. Enjoy the fireworks!”

Before she could answer, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Mark! How lovely to see you!”

“Here for the fireworks? Shall we watch them together?”

Why not? Bugger Alan!

What Pegman Saw – Accident

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview, to write a story of about 150 words in response to a location prompt. It’s great fun, especially reading and commenting on the stories submitted. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page, from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. This week’s location is Rams Island, Northern Ireland.

WPS - Accident 190316

Accident

The empty windows of the lodge stared blindly into the night.

“No! Take your hands off!”

Annie O’Neil struggled with Sergeant Cardew, who was being a great deal too amorous for her liking.

He laughed and drawled, “Come on, sweetheart. You know you want to!”

“You’re just a gobshite!” she hissed, and spat at him.

His face darkened. He slapped her face three times, not especially hard, just to shake her. Annie lashed out with sudden violence and swivelled to flee, but rain had left the ground muddy and slick. She pitched forward, hit her head and lay still.

“Come on, Annie. Stop playing games.”

He reached down, turned her head, saw the wound, the open eyes, the frozen features.

“Shit.”

Glancing round apprehensively, he saw the lodge. It was easy to force a window, and the fire that some ‘careless’ GI started there that night reduced everything to ashes.

Friday Fictioneers – Growing marigolds

FF - Growing Marigolds 190313

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

Growing marigolds

Ferenc’s fingers hammered the final chords of the Polonaise, and the audience roared its approval.

“A new Liszt!” exclaimed one man to his wife.

Ferenc bowed and swept off stage.

Out of the shadows, the heavy hands of the secret police grasped him, forcing him from the building.

“You are an associate of terrorists.” The interrogator was implacable. “Give us their names, and we will let you live.”

One by one, he broke Ferenc’s fingers.

Now those twisted fingers painfully press marigold seedlings into the compost filling his piano case.

The seedlings will bloom prettily – but you can grow marigolds anywhere.

What Pegman Saw – The Ice Maiden

WPS - The Ice Maiden 190309

Image by Ellasommer on Pixabay

The Ice Maiden

Lars sighed and looked up from his homework. It was no use. He was going to have to see her again.

After the indoor smell of food, the autumn air felt fresh and chill. A dog howled somewhere.

Was he foolish, leaving without a rifle? A bear had been seen pillaging trash cans. He shrugged. If he went back into the house, his mom would probably catch him and make him go back to his studies.

It grew ever colder as he walked out of town, but his clothes were warm. His fingers tingled and his mouth was dry with anticipation.

And there she was. Beautiful. Perfect. The moonlight shone through her, making her glow with every shade of blue. Her sculpted features were proud and yet alluring, warm and yet ice-cold. Pinpoint reflections of stars sparkled on her like scattered diamonds.

Lars sank to his knees – and worshipped.

Friday Fictioneers – Romance

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz hyperlink on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

FF - Romance 190306

Romance

The job had been messy. To escape, I’d ridden my scooter three hundred kilometres through heat and dust to the quiet town of Medville. At the bar “Le Soleil d’Or” I found a much-needed drink – and her.

She had black hair and green eyes – unusual here, where bottle-blonde and sunbed-bronze are the norm.

What fun we had!

Walking hand in hand along the beach. Sampling the produce of local wineries. Eating pizza, ratatouille, bouillabaisse.

But now she nags me.

She asks questions.

And yesterday I saw her visit the gendarmerie.

The pistol in the carry-box of my scooter isn’t licensed.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

What Pegman Saw – Stone walls and iron bars

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page, from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. This week’s location is Portmeirion, North Wales, a place I know well. The prompt doesn’t mention this, but the village is on an estuary, and there are places from which you can see the sea.

Stone walls and iron bars

“Not that outfit, Michelle. You look like a tart.”

“But you liked it yesterday, Mark.” Her voice trailed away as he glared.

“Yesterday we were in Porthmadog; today we’re going to Portmeirion. It’s elegant; a model Italianate village.”

Michelle changed into her blue dress. Mark assessed her and gave a curt nod of approval.

“You drive, I’ll navigate,” he said, tossing her the car-keys. “You’d only lose us.”

The keys tinkled to the floor. “I should have handed them to you,” sighed Mark. “I know you can’t catch.”

Michelle’s cheeks burned. “I’m sorry I’m so useless,” she said.

When they arrived, Michelle concentrated hard and reverse parked neatly.

“Not bad,” commented Mark, giving her a tight smile of approval.

As they strolled past tumbling flowers, a decorative pond, a campanile, he luxuriated in his control of her; while she gazed beyond the prettiness to the sea, and dreamed of freedom.

Autumn Leaves