A girls dreams, a woman’s reality.

“Ingrid pay mind to your customers. Mrs Lavender requires pears not peaches. I don’t know why the tiniest peep of sun rays and clear skies set your head tumbling.”

“It’s those books from Lady Margaret’s library.”

“What books?” queried mother. Her voice barely above a whisper which
bellied a tumultuous rising temper.

There was no doubt about it, it was definitely going to happen. Louise had
to be gagged at the nearest opportunity.

“It’s nothing mother, Louise is making things up, as always.”

“I’m not …” she yelped in pain she as her sisters’ fingers dug
into her left side.

Photo prompt courtesy / copyright of Brenda Cox.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting this writing opportunity called Friday Fictioneers.

Stitched together.

Photo prompt courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Every little helps. Chris smiled as he emptied the groceries. He couldn’t agree more with the slogan.

He had started losing hope of ever completing his vision. Thanks to hunger pangs which led to an impromptu visit to the shop weeks ago, he had stumbled on the final piece for his project. Granted it had taken several visits to confirm a perfect match. There was no doubt about it, her lips were exactly like mothers’.

And soon they would fit the rest of her. Mother would live again. It was time to set things in motion.

Inspired by the art and decorative pieces in the picture.


A drop of sunflower nectar.

Feathers from a fire-crest.

Egg yolks from a cobra, an ostrich and a chicken.

Dew drops from the peak of yellow mountain.

Yellow food colouring.

Nascent petals from a yellow rose.

Five yellow jars and pebbles.

Now if only one could remember what was supposed to go where. Oh, it was no
use! The list was only as helpful as it was clearly labelled. And this list

Well, someone was going to end up with a toxic breakfast or a less than
interesting display for yellow is the colour of science.

Written for Friday fictioneers organised by Rochelle. Thanks Rochelle.

Flighty facades

“Esther come away from that window, now!” ” If I have said it once, a said it a thousand times, no good ever came from poking your nose into others business.”

Esther couldn’t help herself, if she pressed her nose anymore into the glass she would probably become one with her reflection.

“Esther ….” mum’s voice had that edge to it now. The one that said move before something comes flying at your head.

Esther turned away from the window. There was so much to do outside. It wasn’t fair, how come others got to have fun?


It was finally Tuesday and the sun was out in all of its glorious blaze! Esther needed nothing more to make the day fun.

Tip toeing gently down the stairs and towards the door, Esther glanced into the living room. Mrs Featherstone was sound asleep. She had only two hours. Two hours of glorious play in the sun.

Closing the door gently before tearing into the street, Esther face was lit with excitement, her steps flighty with anticipation.

She turned the corner and rammed right into some one.

“Hi Esther,”

“Hi Layla,” Esther replied giggly still reeling with excitement from her escape. “What are you guys playing?”

“Nothing really. Come on let’s play tag”

“Tag you’re it” yelled Esther tapping Layla’s shoulder and running off.

Laughing in anticipation as she speed down the street, crossing to the opposite side. Layla’s hand missing her back by a few seocnds.

Spinning round in excitement she found herself face to face with a child she hadn’t meet before.

She wasn’t much taller than Esther nor Layla.

She didn’t smile neither did she say anything. She just stared at them as though they were miscreants.

Her eyes held the look of molten ash, a brewing storm under a blue pupillary facade.

Downloaded from pixabay

Written in response to the daily prompt rebel.


PHOTO PROMPT © Carole Erdman-Grant

The snipping sound of the scissor was lost in the background of celebratory jeers and claps.

For some it was the triumphant ending to a remarkable project.

For others it was the beginning of new adventure, the chance to start again.

And for some it was just another tick box exercise for the state. An effigy to dissuade a guilty and blood stained conscience from losing all it’s humanity. It was always the same, the politicians could never sustain their quick fixes to deep seated problems. Like a drug addict high on new fix, there was no doubt in their minds the building would fall into disarray a few years, when it’s shinning surface no longer impressed the media. When ghosts buried behind the walls rose to life again.

For Eloise it was already a little too late.

Her flesh was the foundation for all this hope. Her blood, the current surging through the light bulbs.

Alba would never understand a society that indulged it’s appetite voraciously, then plugged it’s rectum just as tight with asphalt. It never led to much.

The old build dubbed “iuventus seditio” Vesna’s altar, by the teenagers, had been torn down. In its’ place stood a new structure christened “youthful springs” by the adults who wanted a new life for all these teenagers who wandered lost through the street with nothing to do.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday Fictioneers.

Quotes related to the story:

“There are two hundred million idiots manipulated by a million intelligent men.” PE

Every positive value has its price in negative terms… the genius of Einstein leads to Hiroshima.” PP

“so I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache.” PN

Red is for emergencies

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

The red phone rang.

Kendrick grimaced, Eric smiled and Emily laughed.

It was exactly 18:00pm, there was no doubt who would be on the other end of the phone.

“It’s your turn tonight, I got it last week.” Eric grinned.

The grimace on Kendricks’ face grew even worse.

“Hello, good evening, dial up take away services. How can I help?”

It was the same thing every Wednesday night.

First came the order, then two hours of complaining about everything on the plate.

The toast was too soggy, the egg was dried out, and on it went.

But he never sent it back regardless of the offer to pick it up.

Kendrick was getting tired of it. Wednesday’s were starting to drag.

Maybe next week he would unplug the red phone.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting Friday fictioneers.

Define me.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Those are not my shoes.

I don’t care what anyone has to say or think.

They were not my shoes.

They looked like…like… like something a labourer would wear!!

My God, how could my life come to this.

Who invented such tools of torture.

I mean they actually placed by toes and heels on the same level.

The arch on feet felt insulted, betrayed.

I do not model such shoes.

I do not care if these are changing times, those shoes do not belong on a ladies feet.

Hang them up somewhere if you must but keep far away from my feet

Broken but whole

Broken: interrupted or discontinued (Merriam-Webster dictionary).

It was the first time the house was silent on a Friday night. She waited with baited breathe for it to change. It often started like a volcano sighted from a distance, silent but intimidating with the rapidness of approaching doom. Much like that tornado, the roar and chaos swiftly descended on the house, leaving no one untouched, no matter how hard they tried to hide. But not today. It was almost 1 AM and the only sound she could hear was the emptiness of nothing. As she drifted off to sleep, the smile on her face blossomed stronger under the gaze of a full moon. It was exactly one year after his burial, and so many Fridays after before she could let herself believe that the peace was here to stay. His death had interrupted the chaos that had become her life over the last eighteen years.

Broken: imperfectly spoken or written.

“Dada I wan i-cream with dorought and spikles.”

“What did you say, honey?”

“I said I wan i-cream, spikles and dorought.”

“You want dorought or doughnut?” he tickled her tummy.

She shrieked with glee “I wan dorought dada, dorought.”

“Oh just doughnut then?”

“Nooo ohhh! I wan i-cream too” she gaggled in laughter. “Dada you so silly”

He tickled her again even as she tried to escape his arms. He found her absolutely adorable, broken English and all.

Mind webs.

I am not plagued by what plagues my peers.

I am not plagued by what plagued my ancestors.

I am plagued by what plagues ME.

Like Charon’s’ fingers ripping through curtains of darkness, its shallow whispers seek to stifle my voice.

I rise at dawn racing to escape the dark recesses of my mind.

I wish them away… they start to fade, a sense of peace assails my mind.

Like a dot of light, a patch of clarity on a foggy morning, so are the words crooning through my ear piece.

Looking at the computer, I find myself sinking again.

Written for two challenges:

Friday fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click on this link to join in the fun and on this one to read other stories.

and Flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy. Click on the link to join in the fun and on this one to read other stories.

The view

1999: A home with a view that’s all I wanted, was that too much to ask for? 

2005: my life changed, my view was altered; I was thankful to be alive.

I hope to never witness another dialogue between the concrete jungles of a neighbourhood and the weapons of mans struggle to subjugate another, I hope my view stays the same.

three line tales week 136: camping
Picture by Tyler Nix via unsplash

Written for three line tales challenge hosted by Sonya. Click on this link to join in.