FF – Tales From The Battlefield
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Todd Foltz.
I’ve been working my way through the “Sharpe” films recently. Based on the novels of Bernard Cornwell, they tell the tale of a soldier during the Napoleonic wars of the early 19th century, raised from the ranks to become an officer (but not a Gentleman, obviously).

“I say, by Jove, it’s hot enough to fry an egg out here!”
“Think I’ll try.”
Sizzle.
“I say, Sir, you may not be a Gentleman but by the Devil’s beard you shall act like one!”
“Calm down.”
“The cheek! Fetch your musket, Sir, we go to decimate the village yonder!”
“It’s farmers. Women and children.”
“They have defied the British Empire, Sir, and they shall pay, Sir!”
“I have a better idea.”
BANG!
“Ugh. You’ve killed me, Sir!”
“Yep. I’m off to warn them the English are coming. Fancy a fried egg while you bleed out?”
Fling! Splat!
“Urgghhhhhhh…”
FF – Nobody’s Fool
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by herself!

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Simon waits until the window cleaner advances up the ladder, safely away, before opening his concealed safe.
Simon is nobody’s fool.
The window cleaner smiles as he checks his phone app, streaming footage from the camera concealed in his boot. It shows the location of the safe, the positions of the fingers on the keypad. Once the safe is closed, he will retreat, to return that night.
Simon fancies some fresh air. He opens the window, knocking the window cleaner from his ladder to a messy death far below.
An unfortunate accident?
Simon is nobody’s fool.
FF – Natter Natter
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ronda Del Boccio.

Copyright Ronda Del Boccio
“Ooh, look down there!”
“Yes, look down there!”
“Take a selfie!”
“I will take a selfie!”
Click
“Ooh, such fun, more Champagne?”
“Ooh, yes please…”
Natter natter chitter chatter blah blah…
The burners exchanged a look through their empty, soulless eyes. An unspoken agreement passed between them. As one, they tilted forward. As one, their valves rotated. As one, they belched forth cleansing flame, incinerating the noisy humans.
Lacking pilot, rudderless, the balloon floated on.
It would likely crash soon. And it was somewhat charred and smelled of barbecue.
The burners didn’t seem to mind.
They liked the quiet.
FF – Attack
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ted Strutz.

Copyright Ted Strutz
Jeff twisted and turned, but still they came. They were getting closer now, braver. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out.
Sensing movement, he ducked towards a wall. Too late. A rush of steely wings slammed into his face. Onwards he ran. Safety, so close. Only 20 metres away he could see his wife, beckoning.
Too slow.
Something crashed into him, scratching his hand. He looked down sadly. Two crinkle-cut crisps and half a picked gherkin where once had been an entire Happy Meal.
He raised his face to the skies and screamed.
“BLOODY SEAGULLS!”
FF – Angry Crowd!
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by David Stewart.

Copyright David Stewart
The angry crowd moved down the mall towards the Presidential Palace, smashing as they went. Doors, windows – smashed. The freaky purple modern art installation, which had cost the starving country millions, exploded into shards.
Shouts of “kill the murderer!” and “food for the starving!” echoed through the streets.
The blood-thirsty crowd reached the main entrance, murder on their minds. A note was taped to the door.
“Due to the current COVID crisis, this residence is closed. Please call back in July, or email dictator_fernando69@autocrats.absolutepower.com.”
Disheartened, the angry mob made a note in their diaries and went down the pub instead.

















