FF – Perfect Town
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ted Strutz.
I may be a little late reading stories this week as I’m very busy with work stuff so bear with me. I’m currently typing this on my personal laptop while running something on my work laptop while watching Luke Cage on Netflix. Multitasking is my thing 🙂

Copyright Ted Strutz
Frankie smiled as he cast his eyes over the neighbourhood. Gardens, clean and tidy, The road, perfectly maintained, The pavements, pristine, clear of any litter. A small group of people stepping onto the pavement, going… where? To a restaurant, perhaps, or maybe to the marina? Frankie gazed down on his world and it was…
A shadow, falling! Crash! Crunch! Smash!
“Oh, shit. Sorry, kid.”
“Daaaaaad, that was my class project! The perfect town!”
“Don’t worry, son. Grab some papier mache and baking soda, I’ll show you how to make a cool volcano!”
“Aw, hell.”
FF – A Hell of a Day
Here is my little story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Dale Rogerson.
I had to cut 39 words out this week so it’s not quite the epic I initially imagined 😦

Copyright Dale Rogerson
Jimbo watched the sun, or what passed for the sun, rising. Everything, as usual, looked a bit grainy. It must be all the sulphur and damnation, he supposed.
Tuesday today. A bit of light torture, lunch, then to finish, something truly horrific.
He’d had a postcard from his mate yesterday. He’d gone “up there”. He was having a marvellous afterlife sitting on a cloud, strumming a harp.
Jimbo hadn’t been a bad man in life. But apparently there was a limit to the number of paper clips you could steal from your place of work and keep your soul intact.
FF – Devourers
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Liz Young.
This story comes with special exclusive bonus content!

Copyright Liz Young
Locked in a cage. Swathed in bandages, covering… best not look. A body become toxic waste, ravaged by… see those silken threads?… arachnids of alien origin.
They devour; flesh, bones, organs, brain liquified, not quickly, oh no! slow, painful, excruciating. Is that a house spider above your bed or a devourer of flesh? How to tell?
Or is the scene a student prank? Ill-conceived perhaps, yet ultimately harmless. We choose to believe this so that we may sleep at night, yet wilful ignorance will not save us.
They are coming. They are here. Our end is assured.

Click here to Fear The Spiders!
FF – Party Time
Here is my sorry excuse for a poem for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo was contributed by J Hardy Carroll.
All the rules of poetry are out the window, people! Imagine one of those open-mic clubs, chap sits on a stool onstage, hat and coat, growls this pseudo-poem into the microphone, thanks everyone, drops the mic on the stage and walks off.

Copyright J Hardy Carroll
What a night!
High as a kite
So much booze
How to choose?
So drink it all
Legless
Headless
What a mess
No way home
I’ve lost my phone
In a skip
What a trip
This is it
I think I’m gonna
Throw up
Daylight’s grace
On my face
Thumping head
Think I’m dead
Where’s my bed?
Not here
I fear
NEVER AGAIN
My head hurts
Off to work
To pay my way
Until tonight
The clock hits nine
Party time!
FF – The Music of Life
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Rochelle as well!
I popped a little musical glossary at the end in case you know as little about music as me 🙂

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Bran dropped the duster and stared at the instruments, seeing his life written in music. The ebb and flow of the melody, at times allegro, others adagio. His early years, the rise and swell of a rousing march. The loss of his parents, a slow, melancholy dirge in a minor key.
His adoption by the Maestro? What music represented such misery?
“Bran! Stop dreaming! Clean! Clean, you worthless idiot!”
The belt cracked across his back. He choked back the tears and eyed the tuba, gauging its weight. Truly a blunt instrument.
The music was about to get messily, violently fortissimo.
allegro: played very quickly
adagio: a slow passage
fortissimo: played very loud












