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Friday Fictioneers – Something New
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, which marks Rochelle’s third anniversary as FF host! To celebrate, in a break to usual draliman fare, my story this week is unashamedly a sort of tribute to this landmark. In a sort of analogous way. With the name changed. And the gender. And there’s a bus. But I’m sure you get the idea!
The photo was contributed by Ron Pruitt. Click on the blue froggy for this week’s other stories.
Copyright Ron Pruitt
Fielding thought back to that sunny afternoon, three years ago almost to the day. His life had been good but change is good too, right? So he’d decided to mix things up a bit, take on something new.
He’d boarded that bus back in 2012, ready to visit new territory, meet the challenge. Since that time he’d seen murder and intrigue, philosophy, comedy, pathos, even horror (though he had to admit he wasn’t so keen on the zombies).
Looking back, he knew he’d made the right decision. He’d done good. Everyone said so, and his new undertaking was thriving. Congratulations, Fielding!
MFTS – A Bad Job for Rambo
Here is my story for Barbara’s Mondays Finish the Story. I had trouble thinking of a story for this one. Or rather, I could think of too many stories, none of which “floated my boat”.
The supplied sentence is in bold in my story, and to read this week’s other contributions click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Barbara W. Beacham
Not knowing what to expect, he made his way into the dark of the forest.
He wore simple training shoes, a thin t-shirt and shorts. He was prepared for nothing. Had he compass, map, water, rations, even a viciously-sharp machete?
No! He had none of these things.
The trees closed in around him as it began to get dark, and he decided to make camp. Had he matches, tent, sleeping bag?
No! He had none of these things.
The sounds of the forest caused him to shiver in terror, and for good reason. Suddenly, out of the darkness leapt a gaggle of forest creatures. They tore at his stomach, slicing, rending, eating his intestines before his eyes. They clawed at his face, ripping his eyeballs from their sockets. The feeding frenzy continued until, mercifully, he passed away.
BE PREPARED OR RISK A HORRIBLE DEATH
We hope you enjoy your visit to beautiful Bluebell Forest and Honeysuckle picnic spot
Park Ranger Rambo, J
Green Beret (Ret.)
Friday Fictioneers – Stakeout
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. She also contributed this week’s photo. Click on the blue froggy to see all the other contributions.
Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
“Nasty night. This is going nowhere. Wait… eight hours and you haven’t taken a leak! What are you, Officer Iron Bladder?”
“Adult nappy!”
“Adult… wait, I don’t wanna know. Christ.”
“Always prepared, Sarge! Look – camera, spare camera, spare batteries, phone charger, spare phone, sat nav…”
“Christ.”
“No sign of this drug deal going down, Sarge.”
“Stupid place for it anyway. Too much foot traffic on Winslade Avenue.”
“Um, Winslade Avenue? Not Street?”
“What are you telling me, Mr ‘Always Prepared’?”
“Well, it’s been fun, right? So, philosophically speaking, we’re right where we need to be!”
“Christ.”
MFTS – Mittens
Here’s my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get a photo, an opening sentence (in bold in my story) and then 150 words to finish the story.
Click on the blue froggy for all this week’s contributions. Here is a silly little piece from me for this week.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
Now this is living the life of Riley.
He didn’t know exactly who this “Riley” was, nor whether Riley was upset that he’d had his life hijacked. He only cared that he was living it. Cuddles, food and water courtesy of his human servants, naps whenever he liked, he could pretty much do as he wanted. This “Riley” fellow could get stuffed.
That was fine by Mittens, because Mittens, like all cats, was pretty self-centred. He had his humans wrapped around his little paw. A purr here, some ball-chasing hijinks there and they’d do exactly what he wanted.
The life of Riley indeed! This was a summer that would never end!
Or would it? OR WOULD IT?
Across the street, a dark shape lurked in the undergrowth. It glared at the distant shape of little Mittens and growled. Black tabby Riley wanted his life back and Mittens would pay for living it.
Oh yes, Mittens would pay.
(Dum dum DUM)
Friday Fictioneers – The Weight of the World
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly 100 word photo prompt hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ted Strutz, and you can read the other stories by clicking on the blue froggy.
I decided not to take such a literal view of the photo this week. If it doesn’t make sense, hopefully my tags will help.
Copyright Ted Strutz
Shuddering, he closed his eyes. How could he make this decision? He couldn’t think.
But the People relied on him. They had elected him to make the Big Decisions. His thoughts whirled, spinning, too fast to grasp. He hoped that at any moment the ride might stop and he could get off, but it only span faster.
At last he took a breath and opened his eyes. Before him stood his Chief of Staff and senior General, standing six feet apart, hands on the console. He nodded solemnly. “The word is given. God forgive us.”
As one they turned the keys.
MFTS – Prince Brian
Here is my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. The photo was also taken by Barbara, and the supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story. On top of that we get roughly 150 words to finish the story!
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
Few knew about the castle hidden inside the island.
Prince Brian, Lord of the Island Isles, Protector of the Weak, preferred it that way. But now he crouched, hidden within the castle, listening intently.
There it was again!
A faint voice, distant but getting closer. His arch-nemesis, Grayvon. She’d found him! He huddled deeper into the corner of his castle, fear creeping through his body. This was it. This was the end.
“Brian!” screamed the voice.
Grayvon was approaching! Brian, brave and strong though he may be, was no match for her. He closed his eyes and waited for the end. Suddenly he was bathed in light as the castle roof was ripped off! He gritted his teeth.
“Brian!” snapped Grayvon. “I’ve been shouting for hours! Your dinner’s ready. And when you’re done, put all these cushions and blankets back where you found them, please.”
“Yes, Mum,” muttered Prince Brian, Lord of the Island Isles, Protector of the Weak, as he shuffled off to wash his hands.
Friday Fictioneers – Her Broken Heart
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s picture was contributed by Marie Gail Stratford.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Marie Gail Stratford
Sitting slumped at the desk, she looked across at the easy chairs. The one on the left had been his. Empty now. Empty as her broken heart.
He was gone. Gone forever. Her love, her life, her everything.
Wiping a tear from her eye, she grabbed the mouse – his silly, ziggy-zaggy, beautiful mouse (that thought brought a lump to her throat) – and began searching. Chainsaw hire, mini-diggers, concreting and patio services…
If her wonderful, beautiful, perfect Barry and slutty Sally from Accounts Payable enjoyed each other so much, they could bloody well spend eternity in the same hole.
MFTS – The Unexpected House
Here is my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get a photo and an opening sentence, which is in bold in my story. To read all the other contributions, click on the blue froggy.
I’m not sure what my story is supposed to be. Horror? Comedy? Comedy horror? It made me laugh :-).
Copyright B. W. Beacham
The A&B Building was made entirely from driftwood. But no-one in the sleepy town of Little Stickle would ever know the hideous truth. The sudden appearance of the building one morning had been quite a surprise!
The residents were cautiously excited.
The construction crew had horrible, blood-spattered flashbacks.
The police were baffled.
Also in the news that morning was the strange disappearance of a visiting 100-piece Country and Western ensemble. The townsfolk loved their Country and Western, and almost all had turned up to listen. What a disappointment they were!
The residents had booed.
The construction crew had thrown bottles and gotten terribly, terribly drunk.
The police had shaken their heads.
In the morning, there the new house was.
The residents wondered why it smelled faintly of dead animal.
The construction crew wondered what the sticky red substance on their tools was.
The police wondered what had happened to the rubbish Country and Western band “Driftwood”.
Literary Lion – After The Fall
Here is my post for Laura’s fortnightly “Literary Lion” challenge. We get 400 words to write a story relating to a prompt word, which this fortnight is “fall“. Sorry there’s no photo :-(.
Dravik shook his head vigorously.
“No, Crannik! Don’t go out there, it’s dangerous!”
Crannik sighed. He’d heard the stories, told to naughty children right before bedtime. How a rebellious faction of Inlanders had been exiled beyond the Wall. How they were supposedly there still (or at least their descendants, Crannik supposed). All this had happened a long, long time ago, if it had happened at all, and personally Crannik had his doubts about that.
“The Fallen – doomed to life in the Beyond, to eke out a wretched existence, to die in misery for their crimes.” That was how the story, and Crannik was convinced it was just a story, ended. There was some evidence that The Fall was in fact real, but Crannik suspected it had been a minor uprising rather than the hideous deeds of a cannibalistic faction.
“Come on, Dravik,” he urged, “it’ll be fun! Think of the adventure!”
Dravik just shook his head and walked away. Crannik laughed and set out, reaching the boundary of Inland in good time. He’d found the hole in the Wall many weeks earlier and quickly slipped through, walking away from the familiar, deep into the Beyond.
He walked for hours and as darkness fell, he made camp. He huddled closer to the fire as unfamiliar sounds came from the forest around him. He was willing to admit, this was pretty creepy. A night bird, insects… a snapping twig… breathing? Crannik leaped up and ran, crashing through the undergrowth, sobbing with fear. He could clearly hear something following him, and now… in front of him! He slid to a halt as a shadowy figure appeared from behind a tree. He fell to the ground, breathless, shaking. The figure came closer, closer…
“Ha!” laughed Dravik. “So you don’t believe in The Fallen, huh? Certainly ran fast enough, didn’t you! I’ve been tracking you all day!”
“You little…” Crannik’s sigh of relief became a gasp of horror as he saw Dravik’s eyes widen in shock. His friend clutched at the metal-tipped shaft protruding from his chest, blood trickling from his mouth. He slumped to the ground.
“You damaged the meat, fool!” snapped a harsh voice from the darkness.
“Be silent!” barked another. “We’ll eat him first, and put the other in the larder!”
Crannik clawed himself to his feet and ran.
Friday Fictioneers – To Any Lengths
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly flash fiction challenge hosted by Rochelle. The photo this week was contributed by The Reclining Gentleman. My genre for this week is “craziness!” :-).
To read this week’s other stories click on the blue froggy.
Copyright The Reclining Gentleman
Jedd increased speed as his pursuer swerved around another vehicle. Terrified, he threw caution to the winds, flooring the accelerator.
Who could want him so badly?
So preoccupied was he that he missed the brake lights ahead. At the last second, screaming, he swerved into the crash barrier. Legs crushed, terrified, helpless, he saw a shadowy figure approach. It rapped on the side window, which promptly shattered. He saw the face of… his dear old mum!
“Sorry about that, dearie. You forgot your packed lunch!” she said brightly, handing him his sandwiches before roaring off again. Jedd began to cry.
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