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One Last Job
It’s Friday Fictioneers time again, hosted by Rochelle! Today’s photo prompt, to which we attempt to write a 100 word story or poem or such, is provided by John Nixon. To view all the entries for this week click here – check back often as more are added through the week!
Copyright John Nixon
The old man tottered into the shop and pointed his walking stick at the sales girl.
“This is a hold up. Hand over the wedding dress in the window!”
“That’s a walking stick, Sir,” said the girl, unimpressed.
“Is it? Wanna bet your life on that?”
A security guard joined the debate.
“Please lower your walking stick and leave the store, Sir.”
A moment later the old man left the shop, dress over one shoulder. Former master armourer to the notorious Gianni family, he blew a little smoke from the end of his stick and walked off down the street.
The Curse
The late autumn wind howled around the old cottage, shaking the chimney stack and blowing the branches of the old oak tree against the window. Esme sank deeper into her favourite armchair and pulled the blanket up around her chin, her mind in turmoil. Tonight. After all these years, it would be tonight.
Esme had inherited the cottage after her mother had passed on, some sixty years ago. Her mother had been – to put it tactfully – “odd”. She had “seen” things, things that hadn’t happened yet. Esme hadn’t understood until she’d moved into the cottage. Now the Gift was hers.
People had come to her in the early years. Will this be a good harvest? Will the village fête be rained off? Will it be a boy or a girl? Now only the kids came – the world had moved on and nobody believed any more. Of course, she never told the kids what she really saw. How could she tell little Nathan from the village post office that the pain in his tummy wasn’t just stomach ache? Or bubbly blond-haired eight-year-old Stacy that she would outlive her kids?
No, she told them that they would find their prince or princess, live in a big house with two point four children and live a long and happy life. She wasn’t a monster.
Boat Trip
It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again – the weekly 100 word photo prompt hosted by Rochelle! This week’s photo comes to us courtesy of Jan Wayne Fields. You can view other entries here. Why not have a go, it’s fun!
Photo copyright Jan Wayne Fields
The little boat tossed on the choppy waters of the bay as the old man demonstrated a simple reef knot to his grandson. The young lad watched entranced as the old man’s gnarled fingers once again worked their magic.
Scant yards away the shark, lost and hungry after a long journey through unknown waters, tracked the large beast. It had broken such beasts before. Hard and tasteless on the outside, it knew that these beasts always contained tasty morsels of flesh within. It had only to break the shell.
The shark altered its course towards the boat and increased speed.
Puppetmaster
Here is my submission for this week’s 100 word Friday Fictioneers photo prompt! This week our host Rochelle has submitted one of her own photos. Here goes!
Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Garvin stood back, admiring his collection. A toy car, a pram – he had spent years gathering these trinkets, though none held any meaning for him.
Anyone who had ever hurt him, anyone who’d treated him like dirt – he’d stolen something of great sentimental value to them. Seventh Son of a Seventh Son, none had known the power running through his veins.
The power to control others.
Where to start… yes! He fetched the photograph belonging to the boy who’d treated him like a slave at school and began to chant.
Now it was Garvin’s turn to be the Puppetmaster.
Denied
Here is my entry for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle! This week the photo was taken by Dawn M. Miller.
Copyright Dawn M. Miller
With barely a sound the skylight slid open and a dark figure slipped down on a harness to hover just above the display cases. A bead of sweat escaped from underneath his balaclava to drop with a splash on the toughened glass covering the priceless jewellery.
The rope jerked, making the figure look up to see his associates gesticulating – “Hurry up”! He reached down tentatively, carefully, when suddenly…
… the scene changed to a cartoon rabbit.
“Hey, I was watching that!”
“You’ve seen it before, love.”
“No, this is Jewellery Heist Seven – One Last Job!”
“WATCH THE CARTOON!”
“Yes dear.”
You can check out other entries for this week’s Friday Fictioneers here.
The Hesitant Stonemason
I thought I’d have a go at “Friday Fictioneers”. This is hosted by Rochelle and is a photo prompt. The kicker – it has to be as close to 100 words as possible! I started writing and after the opening paragraph it was already over 50 words! Some rewriting was required.
I had to do something similar when I was at school. My mini-story made perfect sense – to me. And no-one else! So I’m having another go after all these years. The prompt this week is a beautiful picture of a church, supplied by Claire Fuller.
Copyright Claire Fuller
Edelric walked hesitantly up to the church’s door. A stonemason, he appreciated the workmanship of the Norman invaders, even as he hated them for their recently enforced rule.
“Don’t go into the church! You’re evil, son! You’ll be struck down!” his Mother had said.
Was that true? He was mean when drunk, but every man beat his wife, didn’t he? He’d once enjoyed torturing the village cat, but surely that didn’t count?
His hand hovered over the latch. He began to sweat.
Edelric trusted his Mother. He turned and walked back to the village.
“Not today,” he decided. “Not today.”
Laughter Lost
Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 Words (or more or less!) – write a post based on this image.
Picture courtesy of Michelle Weber
For a while she watches the children playing on the merry-go-round. They laugh as they spin around, over and over, faster and faster. She feels a little pang of fear as every so often one jumps off, but they always land safely. The others laugh as they watch their friend stagger around, dizzy and giggling.
After a while the children leave, heading back to their homes for dinner. Although still a child herself, she doesn’t feel one of them. She no longer joins in their games, no longer laughs with the others. It has been so long since she has laughed.
On the Edge
L’appel du vide is French and translates to “Call of the Void”. It is the unexplainable urge to jump when standing on the edge of a cliff, or tall height. It can be considered a form of self-destructive ideation, or a protective instinct to let the brain play out what the body should not. It’s definition has been expanded to describe responding mentally to the call of the siren song– whether that means the desire to reach into a fire, drive into a wall, or walk into the eye of the storm.
He struggles to remember the early days, the good times. The times when drinking was fun, sociable, relaxing. The days when he and his friends met at the bar after work for a few drinks, to laugh and joke and relieve the stress of the day.
He can’t quite remember those days.
All he has now are memories of darkness. Hazy, muddled memories of fights with his friends. Vague recollections of arguments with his wife. The knowledge that he’d swapped his beautiful house and family for a tiny, grotty bedsit. A dank, dark little room to match his mood.
He remembers two days when he hadn’t drunk, when he’d tried to stay off the booze so he could see his kids. Two horrific days of misery until the siren’s song of alcohol drew him inexorably back.
His memory vaguely recalls a time when he had friends, friends he could rely on, but now his friends could no longer rely on him and they’d done their best but now they were gone. He’d pushed them away because they didn’t understand, couldn’t understand what he was going through. Those days feel like a dream, a different life.
Darkness, emptiness, helplessness, shame. Home, wife, kids, friends, job, self respect all gone.
And now his mind drags itself back to the present, as he stands on the cliff. He can’t go on like this, it has to end. He stands on the edge of the cliff, his mind remarkably clear, and stares out into the void.
The Beast of Drali Moor
Prompts for the Promptless – Cryptozoology is the search for legendary animals, usually in an attempt to evaluate or confirm the possibility of existence. This includes looking for living examples of animals that are considered extinct, such as dinosaurs; animals whose existence lacks physical evidence but which appear in myths, legends, or are reported, such as Bigfoot and Chupacabra; and wild animals dramatically outside their normal geographic ranges, such as phantom cats. The animals cryptozoologists study are often referred to as cryptids, a term coined by John Wall in 1983.
Drali Moor. A wide expanse of moorland, marshes and woodland stretching from the centre of the land across to the small coastal village of Drali-On-Sea. An area of outstanding natural beauty (if you like that sort of thing), it is home to a scattering of farmers, sheep and, some say, the “Beast of Drali Moor”.
Few have caught a glimpse of the beast; no pictures exist. However, those who claim to have seen it swear it is real.
Artist’s impression of the Beast.
It looked way scarier in my head.
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