Friday Fictioneers – Alpine Retreat

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT (C) LISA FOX

Alpine Retreat

I knew as soon as I saw the chalet that I must possess it.

My sweet, my beloved Robert would have adored it. The door was weatherworn, coffin-dark; the walls were stone; the eaves – ah, those eaves! – were patterned in colours that once had been rich purple and glowing orange. Glorious!

It’s hard for a foreigner to buy property in Switzerland, but thanks to a smart lawyer I took possession in May. All summer I walked and wrote. I abandoned the world.

Then, when the winter came, I left the stove unlit. Gently, serenely, the chill bore me to Robert.

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Friday Fictioneers – Relative Values

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT (C) ROCHELLE WISOFF-FIELDS

Relative Values

‘You’ll check yo guns in here, gen’lmen,’ said the doorman.

Paw and Gramps muttered a bit as their Winchesters were locked securely into a metal cabinet, and we were ushered to a table right under a beautiful circular window in the ceiling.

Rosasharn started whining again.

‘Give her a feed, for goo’ness sake,’ said Paw. ‘Ain’t nobody gonna notice.’ He leered.

I uncovered a tit, and Rosasharn latched on. ‘Look at that lovely window,’ I said.

Paw roared with laughter. ‘Nobody cares how pretty the place is. What matters is the size of the steaks! Ain’t that so, Gramps?’

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Friday Fictioneers – Darn Dog!

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT (C) DALE ROGERSON

Darn Dog

Greg hated the basement flat, hated its poky windows, hated that he couldn’t afford somewhere better to live with his beloved Louisa, hated the neighbours in the flat above, with their parties, their hearty greetings, and above all their dog, which left messes on the grass.

One evening, Louisa sighed, ‘That dog misbehaved again today, Greg.’

‘More mess?’

‘Worse than that. It pissed on the window by the woodpile.’

Greg paled.

‘Right. That animal’s history!’

‘Don’t hurt him,’ gasped Louisa.

Greg grabbed his shotgun and stormed out.

There was a shot and howling. Greg crept back.

‘Darn it! I missed.’

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Friday Fictioneers – Keeping Promises

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

Keeping Promises

Sophie fastened her seatbelt, beamed, and exclaimed, “Legoland!”

I turned the key, the engine fired and sputtered to a halt. Flat battery.

“Daddy, you promised we would go today.”

The breakdown service was efficient and an hour later we set off. Ten miles down the road everything stopped. There’d been a crash and the road was closed.

“Daddy. You promised.”

I found a different route. It went well until we hit roadworks.

“You promised,” Sophie whispered

We pulled into the Legoland car park at three o’clock.

Sophie looked earnestly at me.

“Mummy was wrong. She said you never kept promises.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Dark Matter – the prequel

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT (C) Douglas M. MacIlroy

Dark Matter – the prequel

“There’s nothing to stop you having a baby,” said the gynaecologist. “I recommend your husband takes a sperm test.”

“He won’t,” said Fiona.

The consultant shrugged.

Trevor, her husband, was working in the observatory in Tenerife that week. Fiona phoned their friend, Mark.

“You must keep this absolutely secret,” she said. “You know Trevor and I have been trying to have a baby for years. Well, Trevor’s the problem. I wondered if…you’d be the dad? – only without telling anyone.”

“Are you sure you want this?” asked Mark, as they climbed into bed.

Fiona nodded.

“Just don’t tell anyone, that’s all!”

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Friday Fictioneers – Dark Matter

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT (C) Douglas M. MacIlroy

Dark Matter

Trevor had picked up the letter from the hospital as he left for work; and then forgotten it as he focussed on his application for time on the Keck telescope in Hawaii. It wasn’t until the afternoon tea-break that he read it.

“Sperm count – very low; quality – poor. Conception is essentially impossible.”

Trevor swallowed hard. It was his fault Fiona had been unable to conceive! How on earth was he going to tell her?

Her smiling face as he arrived home that evening seemed particularly joyful.

“I had some wonderful news today,” she said. “We’re going to have a baby!”

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Friday Fictioneers – A hearty breakfast 2

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT (C) ROCHELLE WISOFF-FIELDS

A hearty breakfast 2

A savour of bacon filled the cell. Hank looked over the fried breakfast at Roberto’s gun, bulging in its holster.

“How can I change your mind about – erm, shooting me?”

“Not my call,” shrugged Roberto, “Hurry up.”

“I could get cash out of my account.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday.”

Hank rubbed his bruised chin.

“I lied,” he admitted. “I could lay my hands on $100,000.”

Roberto sniggered. “Eat up,” he said.

“That would be today. Give me three days and I can raise $500,000.”

“Make that a million and I’ll ask the boss.”

Hank gulped. “OK,” he said.

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Friday Fictioneers – Fresh Start

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © ROGER BULTOT

An apology to Rochelle. When I first accessed the prompt this morning, my computer didn’t give me Roger’s prompt, so I went with Rochelle’s photo.

Fresh Start

White, pinched faces. Clothes that had once been smart, now heavy with grime and the sweat of fear.

The older woman kept glancing apprehensively at the younger, seeking reassurance. She sat lop-sided, as if she had been injured and never quite recovered.

“You are from Armenia?” I suggested. I could only imagine what they had been through.

The two women exchanged glances, and then the younger nodded assent.

“I have friends who will take care of you, if you like. They will help you learn English.”

The younger spoke to her companion, who wept.

“Thank you, sir,” she answered.

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Friday Fictioneers – Only a cold

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © DALE ROGERSON

Only a cold

It was one of those late fall days, when clouds smear the sun like ice-cream and a chill wind rattles the last leaves.

Pastor Nicholas was coughing in the hallway

“It’s only a cold,” he said, irritably, to his wife, Maisie, and he slammed the door as he set off to visit his parishioners.

Maisie had made him a packed lunch, but he left it unopened. Despite his exhaustion he could feel God working through him, healing broken lives.

That night, Maisie had to call an ambulance. “Pneumonia, exacerbated by overwork,” said the hospital. Maisie was devastated when Nicholas died.

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Friday Fictioneers – The security of wealth

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 on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © LIZ YOUNG

The Security of Wealth

Gold, silver and crystal thrust skyward in gigantic whorls that scattered mazy gleams from a myriad brilliant points. The billionaire looked and beheld that it was good.

People, ant-like, came from the slums and worked in the hotel of shiny surfaces, cleaning, toting bags, serving, making beds, all for the comfort of the guests. And if they were lucky the ants received tips. And if they weren’t tipped, they can’t have done a good job.

And that night, the billionaire felt his heart constrict, counted his racing pulse, sweated with the agony in his chest – and died.

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