FF – All That’s Gold Doesn’t Glitter
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Sandra Crook.
Boy, this week I had to cut out 47 words. And it shows đŚ But I’ve been horribly busy all day and I’m too tired to think. I hope I haven’t insulted Sandra’s gardening supplies.
Baz entered his grandfatherâs yard. The old coot was dead. Britainâs Most Wanted, heâd called himself. True, the coppers had never found his last heist. So⌠where to look?
What had grandfather always said? âTat⌠or treasure?â And nothing said âtatâ quite like old pallets full of weeds and flowerpots. Baz reached in, pulled out a small bag and emptied its contents –  misshapen brown stones â into his hand.
He screamed. âWhaaaat! Old rocks?â Angrily he flung them away. As his car roared off it began to snow, the flakes covering the fortune in uncut diamonds heâd so carelessly discarded.
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 đ

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 wasâŚ
A shadow, falling! Crash! Crunch! Smash!
âOh, shit. Sorry, kid.â
âDaaaaaad, that was my class project! The perfect town!â
âDonât worry, son. Grab some papier mache and baking soda, Iâll show you how to make a cool volcano!â
âAw, hell.â
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 đŚ

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.
Heâd had a postcard from his mate yesterday. Heâd gone âup thereâ. He was having a marvellous afterlife sitting on a cloud, strumming a harp.
Jimbo hadnât 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
Iâve lost my phone
In a skip
What a trip
This is it
I think Iâm gonna
Throw up
Daylightâs grace
On my face
Thumping head
Think I’m dead
Whereâs 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!













