FF – The Bigger Sin
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo comes from Rochelle as well. I hope it wasn’t her car 😦
(Just in case non-Brits are not aware, a shopping “trolley” is called a “cart” in the US.)
Click on the blue froggy for this week’s other stories.

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
“I’m waiting, Son.”
“Well, Dad, I went grocery shopping, see, and someone crashed into it with their trolley.”
“So, someone rammed their trolley into the car at… what? 50, 60 miles per hour?”
“That’s about the size of it, Dad.”
“The Hulk, was it? And this isn’t you on the camera sneaking out at 11pm?”
“Hmm, looks like me but isn’t. Weird.”
“Son…?”
“Okay, I snuck out on a date with Suzy and had a ding.”
“Cheerleader Suzy? Straight-A-student Suzy? Hot Suzy?”
“Yep!”
“Woo, nice one, Son! High five!”
High five slap.
“But you’re grounded for lying. ‘Til you’re 50.”
FF – Their Future in Our Hands
Here is my quirky not-really-a-story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo comes from Fictioneers stalwart Sandra Crook.
For this week’s other stories click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Sandra Crook
Picture the scene. A sleepy English village. Ignore the French flag. The French flag is unimportant. This is a sleepy English village.
Concentrate instead on the loving couple, hand in hand, oblivious to anything but each other.
But what’s this? Suddenly a hundred Friday Fictioneererers Fictioneerrers Fiction Writers appear!
Maybe our couple will wander safely home for tea and crumpets. Maybe they will become innocent bystanders of a drive-by shooting. Or imagine, if you will, hordes of undead boiling forth to feast on their flesh.
We don’t know. We just don’t know.
Their future is in OUR hands.
Don’t cock it up.
FF – On the Thoughts of Ghosts
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Liz Young.
I had no real ideas this week, so fair warning – you need a really weird sense of humour to see anything in this, and even then, it’s likely to be “huh?” It’s a wee bit surreal 🙂

Copyright Liz Young
Typical. With all the “space-saving grave relocations” going on, his coffin had to be on the one plane which blew up mid-air.
His tombstone had landed in a public park. The rest of him was scattered the length and breadth of Wiltshire.
When he’d been alive he’d often needed to be in several places at once. Now he was. It was rubbish.
He supposed he’d better start haunting someone now he was no longer stuck in a coffin.
Or several someones. The length and breadth of Wiltshire.
That tenacious dog playing with his shin-bone could be his first victim.
Boo!
FF – No Pain No Gain
Here is my story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Magaly Guerrero.
Click on the blue froggy for this week’s other stories.

Copyright Magaly Guerrero
“So what’s all this gubbins for, again?”
“The heels are for my night out.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“The art book reminds me of the suffering endured through the ages for the sake of beauty. Like me in my heels.”
“Okay…”
“The red book is a medical reference so I know everything that’s gone wrong with my feet after my night out in my heels.”
“And the little suitcase?”
“Antiseptic, plasters and whatnot. To fix my feet up ready for my next night out. In my heels.”
“I’d switch to flats if I were you.”
“Dad, don’t you know anything? Men!”
FF – Senseless Waste
Here is my contribution to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo is from Dale Rogerson. Thanks, Dale! I have a very clear image in my mind of my two protagonists 🙂
(In case it’s not used where you are, a “copper” is a police office. I guess, thinking about it, that’s where the American word “cop” comes from.)
To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Dale Rogerson
“I can’t believe it, Jenkins.”
“Nor me, Sarge.”
“All my years as a copper, to see this.”
“Frightful, Sarge.”
“In his own home, his own home!”
“His castle, Sarge.”
“Safely locked away from the stinking, all-encompassing evil out there.”
“Evil, Sarge. All-encompassing.”
“What a waste, Jenkins, a stupid, senseless, waste!”
“Senseless, Sarge.”
“His safe haven, away from prying eyes, and he still couldn’t bring himself to eat the whole pizza.”
“Pathetic, Sarge.”
“I’ll be ripping the piss out of him when he gets back from the shops. And Jenkins? No need to call me ‘Sarge’ when we’re off duty.”
“Understood, Sarge.”













