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A Day in the Life
Knock me down with a feather if it isn’t time for Friday Fictioneers once again! As ever this 100 word photo prompt is hosted by the talented Rochelle, and this week the photo has been supplied by Sean Fallon. You can read all the entries here – the list will grow over the next few days, so visit often!
After last week’s shock ending, this week I’ve decided to try a sort of monologue. I have modelled the star of my story after Douglas Adams’ “Marvin the Paranoid Android“, as he has the same depressed, pessimistic “not sure if I care any more” attitude. Here goes!
Copyright Sean Fallon
Well, isn’t this just great. As if it wasn’t enough that some bad-tempered overly-touchy god turned me into a mannequin, now some ne’er-do-well has disassembled me.
Wait, here comes someone!
Madam, hello? Please, stick my legs back on?
No-one can hear me. Figures.
What’s this? No, doggie. No! LEG DOWN… well, isn’t this just the crowning point of my day. I’m wet, I smell and I’m in bits.
Who’s this coming now? They’re coming my way! Straight towards me!
Hello? HELLO? Help?
Oh. It’s the garbage men. Come to collect.
Me.
That’s just made my day, that has.
Bloody marvellous.
Fun and Consequences
It’s Friday Fictioneers time again – on a Wednesday! Are we mad or what? Hosted as always by the talented Rochelle, this week’s photo comes courtesy of Kent Bonham. Our goal – to write roughly 100 words using the photo as our inspiration.
Check out other entries here – more are added throughout the week!
Copyright Kent Bonham
Skateboard ready, line it up. Just look at the length of this alley – this is gonna be a blast! Aim the board at some of those little ramps to keep the speed up. Fly off some of the steps. Is Jeff ready with the camera? Yep, he’s filming. This’ll be an internet sensation!
Here goes nothing!
Bobby thought back on that day as he lay prone, steel pins holding his pelvis together while nurses bustled around. He’d been the lucky one.
Luckier than the woman with the pram who’d suddenly appeared from a half-hidden doorway. Luckier than her orphaned child.
Office Irritations Part 1 – Interruptions
Picture the scene. You’re working away, you’ve just had a great idea and you’re struggling to bring it to fruition. You’re so close, when suddenly…
…there’s someone hanging off your shoulder pestering you for something which only you can provide.
You’ve lost your train of thought! Your mojo’s gone! You were so close to discovering the deepest secrets of the universe, or at least to making Excel do that split-screen thing, and you’ve lost it all because “the printer’s making a funny noise” or “my monitor’s gone all funny”.
An Ill-Timed Joke
It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again! As always it’s hosted by Rochelle, and our task is to write roughly 100 words on a photo prompt, which this week has been supplied by Al Forbes.
I had major word limit problems with this one (plus a lack of ideas, if I’m honest) – hopefully it still makes some sense! It was going to be all dark and spooky (whooo!) but it turned out, well, neither dark nor spooky.
You can read the other entries here – it’s updated all the way through to Tuesday as new posts are added so be sure to check back. You could even have a go yourself!
Copyright Al Forbes
The head gazed out over Athens.
Aethon gazed out from the head. He’d been stuck in that damn head for aeons.
He’d been joking about how Hermes was the “errand boy” of the gods. How, when in important conference, Hermes was the one they sent out for baked pita with extra feta and a side of olives (hold the anchovies).
How was he to know Hermes was two tables over, drinking with Dionysus?
Gods can’t take a joke.
Once he’d adorned Hermes’ greatest temple. Now he adorned the “Parthenon View” guest house.
Aethon almost smiled. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
The Master
It’s time again for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, in which a group of us attempt a 100 word piece inspired by a photo. Hosted as ever by Rochelle, this week’s photo has been supplied by Douglas M. MacIlroy.
To view all the other entries, click here!
Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy
“You have learned well, my pupil,” smiled the old man. “Finally you too have earned the title ‘Master’. Wear it well.”
Yoshi bowed low in respect for his teacher. He straightened slowly, his hand a sudden blur as he sliced his ceremonial dagger cleanly across his mentor’s throat.
“There can of course be but one Master, old friend,” he said regretfully.
Sighing deeply, Yoshi sat cross-legged at the edge of the pond in quiet contemplation, watching as the water turned slowly to the colour of the brightly coloured koi as they swam all unaware through their recently polluted home.
A Costly Mistake
It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again! As ever it is hosted by Rochelle, and this week she has also provided the picture – our task is to write a story, poem or whatnot in 100 words, inspired by said picture.
You can see all the other entries here – more are added all the time – stop by and have a read!
Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Instruments lay smashed about the hotel room – heavy metal band “Iron Biscuit” was well known for such destructive after-gig parties. A young blonde sobbed in a corner amid the wreckage. Her eyes were fixed on the lead singer, his body cold and rigid, his eyes unseeing, the syringe still stuck in his arm.
A few streets away a dealer lay on the floor staring in horror at the gory mess his kneecaps had become. He had forgotten to cut the last shipment and had sold it 100% pure. His boss, an unforgiving man, had not been pleased.
A costly mistake.
A Bureaucratic Mishap
Hello, and welcome to my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted as always by Rochelle. The goal is to write roughly 100 words in response to a photo, which this week has been supplied by fellow Friday Fictioneerer Sandra Crook! It looks like the ruins of a Roman coliseum to me, so I’m going with that.
To view other entries to this week’s prompt, click here.
Copyright Sandra Crook
The roar of the crowd, until now muted and distant, hit Flavius like a slap in the face as the heavy wooden door opened. The long, dark tunnel stretched into the distance, where Flavius could see a square of light – the coliseum.
Flavius had never felt so excited. His life-long dream – to be a gladiator! He strode confidently towards the light, to meet his opponent and find glory.
The gate slammed shut behind him. He glanced around. Wait – where was his sword, his armour?
In front of him, the lions growled hungrily.
Surely there has been some sort of mistake?
West Beach Story
It’s Friday Fictioneers time again, hosted as always by Rochelle. This week’s photo comes to us courtesy of E. A. Wicklund. You can read all the entries here – stop by and take a look!
I was going to write a story entitled “Invasion!” but this morning I decided to turn it on its head and do a sort of Romeo and Juliet type thing instead. Only with seagulls!
Copyright E. A. Wicklund
“Great mating dance, Romero, but this can never work.”
“But I… I love you, Julia!”
“And I love you, but I’m ‘West Beach Raiders’.”
“And I’m ‘Town Gull Massive’. Deadly rivals, always and forever.”
“Yes. But I shall love you from afar, always and forever. Now go, go back to town before you’re missed!”
“I shall be back when I am able, Julia, my love!”
All my thoughts are consumed by her. I can’t think, I can’t eat, I can’t slee… ooh, tourist, ten o’clock high! Zero protective head gear is confirmed. Begin bombing run, bomb bay doors open, attaaaaack!
A Quick Bite
Weekly Writing Challenge: Dialogue – Begin a post with a scene that includes dialogue.
“No way, I get first bite!” snapped the blond-haired vampire, his fangs glistening in the glow of the alley’s single working street light. He crossed his arms and glared at his brown-haired accomplice, a girl who looked no older than twenty but in reality had grown up dancing the Charleston.
“Like, OMG, no way! Greedy much?” she replied. Regardless of her upbringing before she had been “turned”, she had become the eternal student . A college campus was an ideal hunting ground and she had an unfortunate tendency to use the vernacular of her class mates.
“Must you talk like that, Charlotte-Ann?” asked the other vampire, resignation in his voice.
“Like yeah, Samson. And it’s Charlie.”
All the while the girl sat huddled against a dumpster. She was in her mid-twenties, had deep red hair from a bottle and was dressed for the clubs. She clutched her purse to her chest and trembled as she watched the pair arguing. Mascara stained her face as the tears fell.
“Charlotte-Ann, Charlie, whatever, I saw her first!”
“Come on Samson! Man, you got first bite last time. OMG, how unfair is this? You totally suck!”
“Yes,” replied Samson, showing his fangs. “Yes I do.”
“Not suck, suck. Like totally. OMG man, like totally.”
“Sometimes,” said Samson, “you make no sense whatsoever. I so preferred you in the sixties.”
Meanwhile back at the dumpster, the girl’s eyes had opened wide as she watched the strange argument. She had no idea what was happening but this strange pair no longer seemed to be paying any attention to her. Slowly, carefully, she began to edge towards the end of the alley where she could see cars passing by.
“Oh yeah, the sixties!” said Charlie, her eyes unfocusing as she cast her mind back. “Sex, drugs, rock and roll, more sex…”
“So easy to get blood in those days. With all the LSD nobody knew what they were seeing,” remembered Samson. “But, back to the issue at hand. It’s my turn to go first.”
“It so isn’t! You so said it would be my turn this time!”
“Fine,” said Samson, sighing. “We’ll go together. Let’s eat!”
They turned to the dumpster.
“Um,” said Charlie, “like, where’d she go?”
“Idiot!” snarled Samson.
“Moron!” snapped Charlie.
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Friday Fictioneers
draliman on life 
Not Any More
Hello and welcome to this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted as always by Rochelle. This week’s 100 word photo prompt has been supplied by fellow Fictioneerer Janet Webb, and you can check out the other entries here. I’m getting later and later with this, as I have “things on my mind” which I may post about at a later date (except I’m trying not to think about it too much).
I must admit, I’ve trickled over into 102 words this week. However, I’m safe in the knowledge that I could swap my two uses of “any more” for the modernised form “anymore” (which is annoying the spell checker as it’s technically incorrect in UK English), which would cut it down to 100 🙂
Copyright Janet Webb
“Hey Dad, what’s up with Uncle Bert, all alone over there?”
“He’s sulking. He doesn’t like the wet stuff. He doesn’t like getting his wheels wet. He’s worried he’ll rust.”
“Where did all the flesh-things go? Did they rust?”
“Maybe. Or maybe they melted. They never looked very hardy to me.”
“Where did all the wet stuff come from?”
“Full of questions today, aren’t you? I heard it used to be solid. Then everything warmed up and now it’s all wet and it’s everywhere.”
“So why are we here, Dad? Do we have a purpose?”
“Not any more, son. Not any more.”