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
FF – Wife Unfazed
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Fatima Fakier Deria.

Copyright Fatima Fakier Deria
“Hey, get outta the way! Yes, you! Where’s that horn…”
Whaaaa wha wha whaaaa!
“What you lookin’ at? You wanna piece ‘a me? YOU WANNA PIECE ‘A ME? Thought not. Coming through! Oy, you with the vegetable boat. SHIFT IT! Full speed ahead…”
Smash crunch sink sink sink
“…screw you and your cabbages…”
Meanwhile, below-decks…
“Yes, Dorothy, on the canals… his stress levels? Not noticeably, no… it was supposed to be a de-stresser for top executives, yes… not working, no…”
“Aaaargh!” splash
“…think he’s fallen in… go back for him? No, I don’t think so… much more enjoyable now, yes…”
FF – SpyBird
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Jean L. Hays.
I’m not all that taken with my story this week, it just seems to amble along, but never mind 🙂

Copyright Jean L. Hays
Inside the truck, Agent Smith describes his new invention to his superiors…
“There’s SpyBird approaching the house, its cunningly situated head-mounted micro-camera transmitting everything it sees to our monitor. See how it sneaks covertly past the window.”
Inside the drug dealers’ house…
“Hey, there’s a bird flapping around outside the window with a great big camera strapped to its head. Kill it!”
And so Agent Smith’s SpyBird was consigned to the bin of espionage history alongside his equally ill-fated MurderPen, ExplosionSoap and ElectrocutionDoorbell. He later died of massive blood loss following an unfortunate incident during development of his ScissorBladeToiletSeat.
Pegman – The Forever Bunker
Here is a story I wrote for What Pegman Saw, which takes us to Palo Duro State Park in Texas.
I seem to drop in and out of Pegman when the muse takes me and when I have time. Hope that’s okay.

Copyright Erik Rathgaber for Google Maps
Jeff checked the environmental seals, as he did every day. The same routine, every day of his life.
Ding dong!
The doorbell! This had never happened before! He ran to the hatch, donned his environmental suit and triggered the release. Outside stood a man… in normal clothes!
“How… how…?”
“Is this bunker 27? What are you all still doing down there? The Earth has been habitable for over 100 years!”
“But… I’ve looked out, every day. There’s nothing… devastation for miles, only scrub…”
“It’s the desert. It’s supposed to look like that.”
“The desert? Why was I not informed?”
“It’s all in the literature.”
“Well, maybe, but who has the time to read all that?”
“Time? Time? You’ve had nothing but time.”
“Hmm. 100 years, you say? I don’t suppose the others’ll be all that happy. Best not tell them. Good day to you.”
Slam.
100 years later…
Ding dong!








