short stories – lifehomeandaway

One’s shadow.

The image looked so familiar.

His stance is carefree, f a young lad who knows his worth but feels not the need nor pressure to guard it jealously.

His face smiles at me, a gaze so familiar. I feel as though I should know him.

But then so do many of the other faces. The wall is covered with pictures.

I feel they tell a story. Or is that one of those sayings mother used to repeat.

“Every picture is worth a thousand words.”.

Well, this could be worth a hundred words, if only I could remember them.

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

I would like to take this opportunity to ask you to support a charity fun run endevour carried out by myself and my kids. We are raising funds for St. Mungos’s charity. To give someone a very pleasant christmas. Please click the link for more information and to support us starightaway click on this link.

P.S all funds go straight to the charity. Kind regards.

Lands & times.

I am May Benchwater.

These lands are mine and my families to keep.

My father is Sir Hugh Hightower. He owns the land West of here.

We have lived here for eons.

Like the land you see, the Hightowers are an impossible people to conquer, even moreso to outwit.

The Benchwaters, however my new family by marriage are like the ocean. To trust their word is foolishness, to doubt it is to court death.

Hence, they make good allies. Beguiled with the tongues of the Benchwaters, an enemy is strategically subdued by the Hightowers.

It is a lovely heritage.

One foot in the grave

Victor hit the snooze button. Again.

It was Monday. Monday was never a good day to get up early.

Then Victor remembered, it was his last day at work. After this, everyday
would be the same.

…..Buttoning up his shirt vigorously, Victor wondered how ten minutes always
became thirty minutes on a Monday.

Where were his shoes? No, he needed a hot drink first.

He opened the cupboard door, then sighted something under the table.

Misjudging the distance, he knocked his forehead against the table.

Springing back up to right himself, he rammed straight into the cupboard
door.

Ahhrrgg Mondays!!

This weeks prompt reminded me of the comedy series One foot in the grave. I tried my best to write a story of mishaps, hope you enjoyed it. Click the link to read what wikipedia has to say about the series.

Faulty shadow walkers.

Photo prompt courtsey of Dale Rogerson

I could hear them coming.

I knew what awaited me, my fate had been cast in stone many moons ago.

They would question me, prod at me endlessly.

Even though we had gone through this ritual multiple times. I never knew what to expect.

They attempted to creep up on me, as though this gave them the advantage.

They needn’t bother with the subtility, for they failed woefully at it. They could not sneak up on stale cheese even if they tried.

I waited in trepidation; my reprieve was over.

“Hi dad,” They both shrieked.

Work was over, life continued.

Green eyed

Five years old:

“Jay can Gideon have a turn with your airplane?”

“No”

“It’s kind to share and …”

“Nooooooooooooo”

Gideon looked on with soulful eyes. Not a tint of green was seen.

Ten years old:

“Hey, pass me the ball.”

Steven passed to Matthew. Matthew passed it to Andrew.

Gideon ran around ignored, his eyes enlarged. Pupils tinted green like the field.

Fifteen years old:

Thomas sat tied to the goal post in his underwear.

His cigarettes and trousers swung from another’s shoulder.

They had ignored him but not anymore.

Green was a nice colour.

Spiced up

A sprinkle of curls, not too tightly wound. A dash of red to spice the cheeks. Add some green drapes to finish it up.

Next, we have long straight strands, the colour of golden straw. Throw in radish pink, for sparkly lips. Then top it all up with some sheets the colour of purple cabbage.

Lobster red strings, this time tightly wound. Emboldened by sea weed green orbs. Layer it with golden sheets. Et voila perfection.

The buffet certainly dimmed in comparism to the beautiful women traipsing across the hall.

Variety was indeed the spice of life.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday fictioneers. Click the previous link to visit her blog. And click on this link to upload your story.

Healthy pirates; history preserved

Rum, rum,

Tis the chant of a rolling drum.

Run, run,

Beat the feet of a wandering drunk.

Clip-clop, clip -clop,

the thumbing of a pirate’s limp.

Clink, clink,

coins steadily rain into our coffers.

We sail our ship. Chests puffed up; heads held high. No brazen storms or monsters roar will turn our ships or heart ashore. Our anchor holds for golden woods.

Raise your tankards, peel ya oranges. We haven’t conquered demons to die at the feet of an unhealthy diet.

Drink one glass of Zit’s orange juice a day to keep your skin healthy.

Photo prompt courtsey of Rochelle Wisoff-fields

I had no clue where i was going with the story.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge friday fictioneers. Click the link to visit her site and join in. Click the link to read other stories and submit yours.

Words without voices

She giggled … “mommmm, you have to finish the story. What did great-grandpa sayyy….”

“Well, he said, you better leave this place you big for nothing oaf.” She laughed and tickled Sarah.

“That’s not what you said last time mummy,” Sarah replied trying so hard to be coherent.

“Ohhh? What did I say last time?””

“You said he told the man to leave his Island or he would send his soul to the devil.”

“I told you that?” Oh my God. Marlene thought.

“Yes, you did mum, you change it every time. I wish great-grandpa wrote his stories down.”

So this is a long short, but the graffiti inspired my story. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday Fictioneers. Click the link to visit her blog.

And click on the link to read other stories.

Fractured people

“Does this remind you of anything?”

“Does what ‘remind’ me of anything?”

“That,” pointing ahead, he continued “the castle there”.

“Ohh. Hmmm not really. What does it remind you of?”

“You know, the scripture, a city set on a hill cannot be hidden.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Unfortunately, this one is broken, and relatively disused.”

“Indeed, it is, a pile of rocks on top a hill”

“A pile that serves as a tourist attraction.”

“True, but, a broken city no matter it’s history or filter applied cannot hide its cracks.”

“Not every crack must be hidden or examined.” She concluded.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday fictiooners.

Click the link to read further stories.

Vantage point.

She had the vantage point at the end of the cul-de-sac. She saw all evil,
she heard all evil. She passed them along when it suited her.
Today was no different.
Hidden by the tree, her view tinted marginally by cigarette smoke. She watched.
She should call the police; she should do something.
Maybe after this last puff. No, she would wait, tomorrow was soon enough.
The danger electrified her clouded senses.
She watched them.
Stealthily she reached for the door, silently the slash cut her off.
They had thought of every contingency, she hadn’t.

Photo prompt provided by Dale Rogerson.

Thanks Rochelle for hosting the writing challenge Friday Fictionners. Click the link in her name if you would like to take part.

And click this link to read more stories.

	creatingahome on Lands & times.
	starsinclayjars on One foot in the grave
	msjadeli on Lands & times.
	granonine on Lands & times.
	creatingahome on Lands & times.

Tag: short stories