Tides

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

Beautifully ugly

Dress: £50 from Dorothy Perkins

Shoes: £18 from Next

Coat: £50 from River Island

Jewellery: £20 from New look

Perfume: Chanel No 5 (a gift from dad)

Total: £138

She walked through the door all poised and calm. Her name was Twin A. She asked how my day had been and wished me a lovely night. I held her coat as delicately as she had treated my position.

Dress: £50 from House of Frasier

Shoes: £20 from Next

Coat: £60 from M & S

Jewellery: £20 from New look

Perfume: Carolina Herrera (gift from dad)

Total: £150

She walked through the door all poised and calm. Her name was Twin B. She gave me her coat, and walked through to the other guests. I held her coat as impersonally as she treated me. 

It’s as ma said, “we’re all the same, the heart is all that makes us different. It don’t matter what you wear, or where you sleep, with a bit of cash you might find yourself a happy neighbour to professor Higgins.”


Written for Flash fiction for aspiring writers challenge. Hope it makes sense. Click on the link to read other stories and on this link to join in.

Fallen bridges.

“So, which do you think I should pick? You reckon she will like the yellow one?”

“Maybe.” Walking right past the vase without so much as a glance.

“Come on, you didn’t even look at it. What’s with you?”

“You know very well the answer to that question.”

“Why can’t you leave things well alone?”

“I would if you stopped dragging me into the middle. She doesn’t want these silly gifts, she wants you, her daughter back home.” 

“You know that’s not possible besides she has you.”

“Have it your way, do consider postage charges this time.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”


I do apologise for my absence the last couple of months, life has been ….. anything but interesting.

For every comment not replied, for every like not acknowledged please bear no grudges for in a few days or so I shall hopefully explain myself properly.

This story is written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely Sarah Ann Hall, the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.

 

Piercing the darkness

They ran fast as they could, the darkness suffocating every array of hope. Her steps became laboured, Molly’s wriggling wearing tiny on her tiny hip. 

They had only tonight or it was goodnight forever. Slowly her legs bowed to gravity, seeking to calm her baby, she sang her favourite lullaby as she embraced the inevitable.

Cosy, cosy, snug as a bunny

my precious Molly, honey suckle

rest on mummy’s bosom

as the night time worries fade away.

Springing upright, Agnes focused on the bathroom light as it pierced the darkness. 

Molly sighed.

No night time worries here.

Agnes relaxed.


Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.

Curiosity kills the …..

Him: Prepare the meal as I have told you and at midnight sit beneath the rock and eat it. After a fortnight watch for the bountiful harvest.

Them: bow in awe while exiting the tent.

……….

Him: take a white chicken, a piece of white cloth and chalk at high noon to the rock. Write your enemy’s name on the rock cover it the white cloth, kill the chicken and spray its blood on the cloth. By evening your enemy shall be no more.

Me smiling: does that really work?

Him: stares unamused.

Me: just wandering how the rock does it?


Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely CEAyr, the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.

Tandem or sociable?

I like the tandem bike.

Two people in synch, well hopefully in synch enjoying the view around them, taking in the fresh air, exercising their muscles.

People think it slows you down, others expect it should double your speed.

And me?

Well I just say what’s the point of getting to the finish line with a corpse over your shoulder or a zombie in front?

Learn to enjoy the journey, I say to my daughter, but she’s having none of it.

She prefers the sociable bike.

she says side by side is better, each one sees the same thing, each one sees the other. No room for deception, each one pedals. No room for any misconceptions.

Better than one in front and one behind.

I smile for the journey is far and fear makes the heart forget that better a single room with open doors than a palace with guarded courts.

If you can’t trust them out of sight, or pardon their shortcomings perhaps it is safer to cycle alone.


In response to the writing challenge flash fiction for aspiring writers hosted by Priceless Joy click on the link to visit the blog. The photograph is from the lovely Dorothy (interesting photo can’t wait to see all the stories it inspires) and the challenge is to write a 100 – 150 words (+/- 25 words) story inspired by it. Do click on the link for other stories.

 

It’s not just the thought …..

There are fresh flowers sitting on the table, not really my favourite kinds but they will have to do for now.

Will I ever get them picked from the garden again?

The boxes are stacked to the roofs, I really don’t know where to start. I can’t find the strength to go forward right now. Everything just feels surreal.

The mantle is bare just like my arms.

Should I put the pictures up?

Are ghosts ever a good part of the present?

The flowers are actually lovely, they smell divine but I miss tiny hands handing them to me.


Written for Friday fictioneers a writing challenge hosted by Rochelle. The picture was provided by the lovely Dale Rogerson, the task is to write a 100 words story inspired by it. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge. Thank you for stopping by… do click on the link to read other stories.