draliman on life

Here is my little (slightly plagiarised) story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Sarah Potter.

To read the other stories for this week, click on the blue froggy. The blue froggy who has upset me as he won’t allow me to upload my picture to the link-up. If anyone knows what “increase post_max_size and upload_max_filesize to 5M” means, let me know!

Copyright Sarah Potter

“The plants ruled all, encroaching on all civilisation, their vines, tentacle-like, wrapped around human and animal alike, sucking them dry. The few humans who could still see, those who hadn’t witnessed the blinding meteor shower…”

“Whoa! That’s ‘The Day of the Triffids’. You can’t write that.”

“Okay, fine, I have another idea anyway. There’s these warriors with freaky mind powers who use glowing swords, and they’re betrayed by one of their own who gets killed by his long-lost son who grew up on planet Tartrazine…”

“Does it take place in a ‘galaxy far, far away’?”

“Hey! Stop stealing my stories!”

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was provided by Karuna.

We have an election coming up in the UK next week, and I urge you guys to give this bunch a chance!

To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Karuna

“My fur, my lovely fur, gone, gone…”

“This will not do!”

“Maybe it was an accident, Furry?”

“So little Tommy accidentally siphoned petrol out of his dad’s car, inadvertently doused us with it and then carelessly dropped a match on us? No, Cuddly.”

“What about me? My head’s all twisted backwards!”

“Indeed, Dolly. Shocking! We must take action.”

“Yeah!” broke in Cuddly. “Maim, kill, destroy!”

“No, we stand for government. We have one direction, united!”

Vote for justice for our cuddly friends. Vote Stuffed Toys – One Direction!

“Isn’t that a pop group?”

“Hush, Dolly.”

“Doesn’t that shorten to ‘STOneD’?”

“Hush, Dolly.”

Here is my little story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by J Hardy Carroll.

After struggling the last few weeks, I had this story written within 15 minutes of seeing the photo. Doesn’t mean it’s any good, though 🙂

To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright J Hardy Carroll

“Aagh! My flat! What’ve you done to my lovely home?”

“I’ve converted it.”

“Into what? A war zone? I was only away three days…”

“It’s for my art. It’s ‘Trash Chic’.”

“That isn’t a thing.”

“But it will be! Please, take a seat…”

“Aargh!”

“… not there, and take in your surroundings…”

“My ass, my ass, something stabbed me in the ass!”

“I call that piece ‘needle couch’.”

“My couch, my beautiful couch… what have you done to the bathroom?”

“Ah yes, ‘Druggie’s Toilet’. A masterpiece.”

“Oh yeah?”

Heave. Smash. Aaaargh! Thump.

“Well, I call this piece ‘Murder Window, Splattered Pavement’.”

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.”

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.

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!

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!”

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.”

Here is my contribution to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was sent in by Jellico’s Stationhouse.

To read this week’s other entries, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Jellico’s Stationhouse

A bicycle, yet not; a shadow, a merest thought of what was once a bicycle; an imagining, if you will, a suspicion of shape, of purpose, not yet formed in the mind of… whom? May we even dare to imagine this being, this shadow, this merest hint…

“Oh, good God, will you ever shut UP!”

“I’m channelling my inner poet.”

“Well, I’ve had enough. I’m off down town. I’m taking my bike.”

“No, wait, my muse, ridden away… hmm…”

Never more to cast the merest hint of shadow, a void where once the thought of a maybe-bicycle enters one’s imaginings…