Archive
FF – The Great Mafesto
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Priya Bajpal.

Copyright Priya Bajpal
The Great Mafesto growled. The sink was full of shells again and his favourite cocktail had transformed into an ornament. Those damn pixies, always causing trouble!
The Great Mafesto looked high and low and found the pixie hiding in a corner giggling. He clicked his fingers and the pixie shrieked, bursting into flames. No-one makes fun of the Great…
TOMMY! The toilet’s blocked! If you’ve been shoving shells down the sink again, young man, so help me I’ll…
The Great Mafesto made a hasty exit through the French windows, cleverly escaping the wrath of the Monumentous Magnificent Mother…
FF – Dust Storm
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Russell Gayer.

Copyright Russell Gayer
Jerry stared at the deadly, yet immobile, dust storm. The stasis field, a miracle of temporal engineering, had kept them safe all these years, freezing them in time.
Trapped inside, they had struggled to survive as supplies ran low. Taboos were broken, terrible sacrifices made. People died.
“Can’t stay here alone no more, better off dead,” he murmured, switching off the stasis field, trembling, waiting for the dust to shred him.
There was a whoomp. The dust fell to the ground, the storm long since spent.
“Well, bugger. Could’ve done that months ago. Guess I didn’t need to eat Frank after all.”
FF – Prayers to the Dark Lord
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo was contributed by Randy Mazie.
Since it’s a reboot photo from July 2013 I was going to just rewrite my story from last time but it appears I joined the FF crew in August 2013. So thinking cap on!

Copyright Randy Mazie
“Consult the Satanists’ Handbook. Midnight?”
“Check.”
“Graveyard?”
“Check.”
“Goat?”
Bleat.
“Check.”
“Ceremonial Dagger of the Night Mother?”
“Check. What’s next… chant prayer to Dark Lord, use ceremonial dagger, have goat for dinner.”
Bleeeeat.
“Hand me the dagger.”
Bleeeeeeeeeeeat!
Twenty minutes later…
“Seems weird using a ceremonial dagger to make sandwiches. More mayo?”
“Please.”
“Never had a goat over for dinner either. More sandwich, goat?”
Bleat!
“I can’t help thinking we’re doing this wrong.”
“Yeah. I always thought Satanism would involve more blood. Like a sacrifice or… oh.”
Bleeeat?
“Hey ho, it should have been more explicit, crappy instructions. Pass the salt.”
FF – A Newer Life
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Adam Ickes.
This photo is a re-run from December 2013. I have used the same basic story idea I wrote back then but have completely rewritten it.

Copyright Adam Ickes
They’d broken away from their tribes, leaving the modern world behind to live as their ancestors had. Hunting, fishing, camp fires. No electricity. No computers.
But the modern world has demands and those demands usually involve money. Some things cannot be hunted or fished. A small income was required.
From time to time backpackers wandered into their valley. In the traditional way, every part of the poor unfortunate was used.
Waste not, want not.
The slogan for their best-selling line ran…
“Hard-wearing hiking boots. Made by men, for men!”
And of course, their biggest secret, from men.
FF – Eggnog Overkill
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Douglas M. MacIlroy.

Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy
Cleevus finished the code and hit enter. The globe rose into the air, spinning, spewing blinding extra-dimensional energy. Lamps flickered. Outside, the sound of car alarms, people screaming, explosions.
“Yes, my beauty!” laughed Cleevus maniacally as the globe’s light reached a crescendo. Plaster fell from the ceiling and the globe dimmed and settled on the podium. It opened.
“Oh yes, YES!” he cackled.
He reached in, took out a glass and sipped.
“Ahhhhh. Eggnog, interdimensionally-mixed to perfection!”
His upstairs neighbour fell through the ceiling, landing in a crumpled heap. The house next door collapsed.
“Collateral damage… eh, who cares! Mmm, eggnog.”










