Fog – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Friday Fictioneers time! The challenge is to write 100 words based on a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Check out her blog for more information by clicking here. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like or comment.

2016 07 01

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Fog

Fog covers everything.

“My name is John Matthews. My name is John Matthews. My name is…”

She’ll be back soon. She always comes back. And when she does the fog will lift, for a time at least.

One who wears blue is fussing over his bed, chatting away incessantly.

“My daughter. When is my daughter coming?”

“I’m sorry Mr Matthews. Jennifer passed away last year. Remember?”

Remember.

Jennifer? Yes! That was her name. His beautiful Jenny.

He sees her face clearly. A shining beacon in the fog. His guiding light.

“Jennifer. Jennifer. Jenny.”

The beacon fades. She disappears.

Fog covers everything.

Anywhere But Here – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry. The challenge is to write 100 words based on a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Check out her blog for more information by clicking here.

Apologies for not reading as many stories as I would have liked this last fortnight. I will try and catch up this week! As always, thank you to all who take the time to read, like or comment.

2016 06 24

PHOTO PROMPT © Rich Voza

Anywhere But Here

Six months since The Event. The country’s gone to hell. Only way of knowing if the world followed suit: get out there and ask.

Somehow our band of misfits survived. Most of us anyway. When we learned about the airfield we had one objective: keep Frank alive. No point securing a plane if nobody could fly the damn thing.

We kept watch all night whilst he checked her over. The dogs rested easy. I didn’t.

The sun was glinting off the fuselage when Frank emerged.

“She’s ready. Where we heading?”

Beautiful metal bitch.

“To the moon, Sinatra. Anywhere but here.”

Magic – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry. The challenge is to write 100 words based on a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Check out her blog for more information by clicking here. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like or comment.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

PHOTO PROMPT © John Nixon

Magic

“Why do you like this stuff?” The older boy demanded.

“It’s funny.” The younger boy replied, although his smile had faltered. “And it’s magic.” He added quietly.

“It’s not funny, it’s stupid.” The older boy said. “And it’s not magic. Look, you can see the gears moving.”

“Mum would have liked it.”

“Mum is dead.” The older boy lit a cigarette and punched his brother on the arm, hard enough to make him wince. “Come on, let’s go do something cool.”

The piano played a mournful tune as they walked away. The younger boy looked back briefly, his eyes unreadable.

 

 

Abyss – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry. The challenge is to write 100 words based on a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Check out her blog for more information by clicking here. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like or comment.

2016 06 10

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

Abyss

She had been instructed never to play with it (too valuable) and certainly never to wear it (too much weight for a young girl’s shoulders to bear). Yet once again Cordelia heaved her grandfather’s brass diving helmet out of the trunk and lowered it over her head. It wasn’t that she was deliberately disobedient, she just needed to escape sometimes.

Sat cross-legged on the attic floor, eyes closed, head and helmet leaning against the wall, Cordelia dived to that place where the arguing and shouting couldn’t follow her. Where her grandfather waited, hand outstretched, to lead her through the abyss.

The Mill – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry. The challenge is to write 100 words based on a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Check out her blog for more information by clicking here.

I was blown away by the response to Tide last week. In terms of likes and comments it was my most popular post so far (although not one of my personal favourites). This week I’ve gone far outside my comfort zone and written a poem. As always, thank you to all who take the time to read, like or comment.

2016 06 03

PHOTO PROMPT © Piya Singh

The Mill

To crush the grain of unpure thought
I built a mill inside my mind.
On hate and lust the millstone feeds
Continuing its endless grind.

Though good intentions paved the way
This mill’s the dark Satanic kind.
The grain became a toxic dust
Now to all else I’m blind.

Starved of grain, sweet friction would ensure
The mill burns to the ground.
But my soul too would be consumed
As to my millstone, I am bound.

Instead the mill, well fed, continues
Rumbling deep within my tortured mind.
Whilst I, the miller, labour on
Worn down beneath its endless grind.