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FFfAW – Punishment
Here is my story for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, hosted by Priceless Joy. It has a similar theme to a Friday Fictioneers story I wrote a couple of weeks ago, sorry about that.
Click on the blue froggy to see this week’s other stories.
Copyright Ady
Simon Watson yelled as he went sailing across the playground to land in an unceremonious heap on the hard ground, his books scattered around him. Billy Masters’ growl of delight was cut off by an angry adult voice.
“Billy Masters! Stop right there! What have you been told about fighting? Go and sit on the red bench. Well? Go on!”
Billy went and sat on the red bench. The “punishment” bench. He was used to it. He ended up here most break-times. Finally the bell for classes went – freedom!
Simon worked hard, made the most of his education. Billy went from detention to young offenders to…
“The court will rise.”
“Mr Masters, for this crime, there can be only one punishment. You will spend the rest of your life in prison. Take him down.”
Judge Simon Watson shook his head sadly as Billy was led past. “Back on the red bench, Billy. This time it’s for good. No bell this time. Sorry.”
FF – This Land (is) Mine
Here is my story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted as always by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by The Reclining Gentleman.
The photo is quite a lovely scene, therefore my story will not be bwahaha :-).
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright The Reclining Gentleman
Albert finished planting the last flower and stood up gingerly, his old bones making the task a chore. He shook his head angrily.
Thirty-seven years he’d worked this allotment, his little patch of England. Now it was destined for pointless “luxury housing”, but who was going to listen to a sickly old man, even one who’d fought for King and Country in Belgium and France?
He tottered away as quickly as he could. He could hear the bulldozers approaching and wanted to be far away when they encountered his war “mementos”, carefully buried and primed under the flower bed.
FFftPP – Oh Deer
Here is my (very short!) story for Roger’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. The optional opening sentence is “Are you lookin’ at me?”, and you can read all the other stories by clicking on the blue froggy. The image is from the public domain archive.
Image public domain
Are you lookin’ at me?
“What did you say?”
“Eh? Nothing.”
Or chewin’ a brick?
“What was that?”
“Huh? I didn’t say anything…”
Either way you’ll lose your teeth.
“Right, that’s it! Take that!”
BOP!
“Ow! By dose. You broke by dose!”
Heh heh. Who said being shot, decapitated and mounted on a wall wasn’t going to be any fun. Ah, here comes another pair of likely victims.
“Oh look, what a darling room! All these old things.”
“Yes, it is rather snug.”
Are you lookin’ at me…?
FF – Sinking
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Erin Leary. To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
I shot wildly over the word limit this week, I hope it still reads okay now that I’ve cut it all back to sub-100 :-).
Copyright Erin Leary
Tears of grief stung his eyes as he traversed the swamp. Though a virtually featureless expanse of water and plant-life, he found the spot easily.
This is where he dumped them, watched them sink slowly into the mire – his wife, always so critical, so exhausting; his daughter, always Mummy’s girl.
No longer able to bear the guilt, he stood in that spot, sinking, drowning, until darkness overcame him.
Almost immediately he opened his eyes, blinking. Is this Heaven, he thought? The extreme heat, strong smell of sulphur and the pitchfork poking him in the ribs said otherwise.
FFftPP – Terry McGraw, Idiot Thief
Here is my story for Roger’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner challenge. To read this week’s other stories click on the blue frog.
The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story. Since I wanted a sort of lead-in, I’ve popped it in a little further down. The image is public domain and was sourced here.
Public domain image
Gather round, dear friends, and listen to the sad story of Terry McGraw, Idiot Thief…
The last time, everything fit in three duffels.
This time it took five.
If he hadn’t been disturbed mid-burgle, he wouldn’t have had to leave the duffels hidden at the back of the conference room of the hotel. He was going back for them.
If he hadn’t been in such a rush, he would have done his research. If he had half a brain he wouldn’t have gone back tonight of all nights.
Because he went in the back he didn’t see the banners.
Because he crept through the bushes he didn’t see the cars.
Because he snuck in through a service door he didn’t get a good look at the arrivals.
If he’d stopped to listen he wouldn’t have burst through the service door.
If he’d taken a moment to stop and take notice he would have seen the banner above the stage – ‘New York Police Department Annual Awards Ceremony’.
If he’d had an ounce of sense he wouldn’t have drawn his gun.
And here ends the story, dear friends, of the late unlamented Terry McGraw, Idiot Thief, RIP.
FF – Rough Justice
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo comes courtesy of ceayr.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
After a bit of Google translate action I determined that “Chateau de sable” means “sand castle”. I already knew what “chateau” meant, mind :-).
Copyright ceayr
Jonas started to cry as the bully kicked his sandcastle, spraying fragments into his eyes. The bully’s father approached, but his hopes for swift justice were dashed at the parent’s next words.
“Alan, come on, you can mess with pathetic nerdy wimps another time.”
So it was that years later Jonas was delighted to see both bully and bully’s father standing before him, to see their dismay as they recalled him from that day so long ago.
“I, Jonas pathetic nerdy wimp Jenkins, sentence you both to life. Bailiff, take them down.” He smiled as their castle of sand crumbled to dust.
FFfAW – The Sacred Seal
Here is my story for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. This week’s photo was contributed by Sonya from Only 100 Words.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Sonya
“There it is!” cried Maglatosh, rushing forward.
“Yes, yes, on the pavement next to that ugly yellow plant life,” replied Gringadesh. “We are so close, Maglatosh!”
Maglatosh bent over for a closer look. “These symbols on the cover, they must be the ancient glyphs of Gragnok, The Destroyer.”
“Indeed,” replied Gringadesh. “I’ve never seen them myself, but they must be, yes!”
The companions stared at each other for a moment, scarcely able to believe that after so many years they had finally found it. The key to the destruction of Earth.
Gringadesh bent down, levered the hatch open and peered inside. “Look! As prophesied, the Sacred Valve of Gragnok!”
“Turn it, turn it!” yelled Maglatosh. “The Earth shall die!”
Gringadesh turned the valve. From the other side of the wall, a frustrated voice called out.
“Miriam, my hose pipe’s stopped working! Did you turn off the water?”
“Hmm,” mused Gringadesh. “Maybe this isn’t the Sacred Valve of Gragnok after all.”
“I concur,” said Maglatosh. “Our search continues!”
FFftPP – Time to Go
Here is my story for Roger’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. The opening sentence is in bold, and to read this week’s other stories click on the blue froggy. The photo was supplied by the pubic domain archive.
Picture public domain
Enough is enough. Things had gone entirely too far. He’d decided he wasn’t going to stand for this any longer.
He settled the rucksack on his back and began walking, heading for the woods behind the house. He’d packed everything he might need and had money in his pocket.
As he walked, the sun beat down, merciless, making him sweat. Sitting on a fallen tree trunk, he took a long drink from his bottle. He was doing the right thing, wasn’t he? Of course he was. Standing up, he continued deeper into the woods…
… the woods which were beginning to look quite dark and forbidding. No, he couldn’t start having second thoughts, although… things weren’t really that bad, were they? They’d had such an argument, but when he thought about it, he wasn’t entirely blameless. He hadn’t done what had been asked. He’d lied about it. Maybe he should turn back? His feet hurt, he was running out of drink, he’d eaten all his chocolate and he’d already been gone nearly an hour.
Besides, Mummy would be starting to worry and it was nearly dinner time!
FFfAW – Yellow
Here’s my story for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, hosted by Priceless Joy. This week’s picture was provided by Louise from The Storyteller’s Abode.
To read this week’s other stories, click the blue froggy.
Copyright Lousie at The Storyteller’s Abode
“What… what… what’s going on? It’s yellow. It’s all… yellow! The chair, the walls, even you… I have to get out of here…”
“Mr Jenkins, please calm down…”
“Out here, the sky, yellow! The buildings, yellow! The beach… okay, the beach was always yellow. But the rest…”
“Mr Jenkins, please come back inside!”
“Never again to see the blue of the sky, the blue-green of the sea. All is tinged, spoiled, tainted… oh, woe is me, woe is me!”
“Mr Jenkins, please, you’re overreacting!”
“Easy for you to say, easy for you with your reds, your blues, your greens. My life is yellow now! Yellow, yellow, yellow…”
“As I’ve already explained, Mr Jenkins, you need the dye in your eyes so we can check for scratches to your cornea. It will wear off in a few minutes.”
“… yellow, yellow… huh? Oh, right, you did say that, didn’t you? Well, come on then, check for scratches. I haven’t got all day, I’m a busy man.”
FF – The Gift
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly 100 word challenge hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by her husband, Jan W. Fields.
Click on the blue froggy for this week’s other stories.
Copyright Jan W. Fields
Gerald stared wistfully at the piano, remembering the spotlight, how the audience faded away as he lost himself in the music. The approach of light footsteps shook him from his reverie as his granddaughter ran up and gave him a hug before sitting on the stool.
He moved around to stand behind her and cupped his hands, gnarled and stiff with age, around a mug of cocoa. He made encouraging noises as the little girl moved her fingers, tentatively at first, then with more confidence, across the keys.
He smiled. Yes, little Masie had the gift.
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