Tuesday, August 22, 2017

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Post 1585. Tuesday August 22

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers




As I stood gazing at the big house beyond the fence, a man sidled up to me.

'Magnificent isn't it'

'Sorry?' I said.

'Magnificent; the house. It's deserted now you know'

'Is it?' I said.

'Yes,' he replied. 'In any room, the Master could tug a chain and a bell rang in the kitchen. The butler went to the room and received his instructions. Parsons was his name. Parsons'

'Was it' I said as I started walking away. He followed me.

'There was a cook in the kitchen. Mrs Jones. She prepared the Master’s food and Parsons took it to his room'

'Really' I replied pretending to seem interested.

'The Master of the house was Lord Harrington' he continued. 'Lord Harrington died of food poisoning. Deliberate the police said. Mrs Jones was blamed and went to prison'

'And Parsons?' I asked.

'He disappeared' he muttered as he walked away.



Word count 149


At Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, the photo prompt comes to us courtesy of Yarnspinnerr.


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Monday, August 21, 2017

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Post 1584. Monday August 21

Wordless Wednesday


The other day I walked eight miles along the Cuckoo Trail in East Sussex with a just a dancing hedgerow for company!

Click on pics to enlarge - it really is worth it!




















Sunday, August 20, 2017

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Post 1583. Sunday August 20



There was never a space, not in his diary, not in his life. Not in his heart.

But look at him now, over there at table fourteen staring mindlessly at an upturned menu. Just him and a few empty chairs. Empty spaces.

It came as quite a surprise when he told us she'd gone. A silly argument that got out of hand he said. She's gone away he said, never to return. It made no sense.

*
It was indeed a silly argument. A misunderstanding. Yes, she was meeting another man, one of his friends but not for that. They were planning a party, a party for his special day. Yes, they whispered, exchanged knowing glances, and the occasional wink of an eye, but not for that. He confronted her but didn't believe her explanation. You've spoiled the surprise she said. The next surprise was hers.

She loved the vegetable plot at the bottom of the garden.  She'd cleared a space ready for growing beans. A few days later he filled the space, but not with seeds.

*
He won't say where she's gone. Probably buried her in the vegetable plot someone said in jest. How we laughed!




Word count 197



Loosely based on this week's picture at Sunday Photo Fiction

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Thursday, August 17, 2017

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Post 1582. Thursday August 17

Six Sentence Stories





This place is mine, my special place where seeds become saplings, saplings trees.

From here I watch, I observe and listen to sounds, relaxing sounds and eerie sounds, thunder and deafening silence.

I see fish leaping, animals scurrying, birds swooping and people being people.

I watch couples embracing, arguing, standing back to back, walking apart or worse.

When I close my eyes stories act out before me, stories of love, of hope; stories of despair.

This place is mine, it's where I create, from where I write and when I choose, share.



At this week's Six Sentence Stories the cue word is Mine

To read my Friday Fictioneers story 'Boozie Bathing' click HERE

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Wednesday, August 16, 2017

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Post 1581

Friday Fictioneers




Last night my girlfriend bathed in champagne bath oil. She climbed out all pink and shiny and I  couldn't resist giving her hot little body a squeeze, but she went pop, shot from my arms and hit the ceiling!

I fancy bathing in red wine; a cheeky little Claret with a hint of blackcurrant although it would be more like marinating and I’d probably emerge looking like an enormous beetroot. Perhaps a well-crafted beer would more sensible.

For now, I’ll make do with a squirt of citrus washing-up liquid, and pretend it’s gin and lime!


Word count 101



Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and providing this week's photograph.

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Tuesday, August 15, 2017

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Post 1580. Tuesday August 15

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers





He had no need to sit on a filthy blanket in the street.  He didn't need the loose change dropped at his feet. He chose to live alongside those that had no choice. 

In the depth of the night, he wandered past benches and shop doorways leaving money he had collected and more besides for the wretched souls as they slept. When they awoke they had no idea from whence it came. But find it they did, every morning. 


Years earlier his parents were cruelly stolen from him by a tragic accident. He inherited their vast fortune. He had no other family and had never formed friendships. A review of his charmed life thus far disquieted him, so he resolved from that day forward to dedicate his life to those whom society had cast aside. He became a new person, an unseen guardian angel. Bit by bit he handed out his legacy to those most deserving. Invisibly. Anonymously.

One day he disappeared. No one missed him. After all, he was just another down and out.


Word count 176



This week's photo prompt is from ArtyCaptures

Sunday, August 13, 2017

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Post 1579. Sunday August 13

For Sunday Photo Fiction where we have a picture of Doctor Who's Tardis!




Knock knock”

“Who’s there?”

“Disguise”

“Disguise who?”

 Disguise in love with you!”

John got home from work later than Lea and they always did a knock-knock joke before she'd open the door and let him in.






“Knock knock”

“Who’s there and why  that funny voice?"  Lea giggled. "John?"

“Knock knock”

“John, you are scaring me”

Lea edged open the door a little. A man in a black hoody pushed his way in and slammed his fist on the light switch plunging the flat into darkness.

"Hello Lea"

He switched on a torch and held it beneath his chin.

“Get out” she shouted shoving him back. He staggered but held his ground. Still, with the torch lighting his face he lowered his hood. She recognised him as the creature from whom she’d fled two years earlier. She froze with fear. He turned the torch on her.

“I said I’d find you, Lea".

“What the hell do you want Mike?”

“Stupid question Lea. I want what's is mine. I’m taking you home”



“Knock knock” Nothing. “Knock knock” Louder.

“Lea, open the door sweetheart” Still nothing.

John used his key to let himself in. Lea was nowhere to be seen.



Word count 199







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