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MFTS – Proud to be Different
Here is my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get a photo and an opening sentence to write 100-150 words. The supplied sentence is in bold in my story.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
She lived in a mango tree. She was shunned for it. Others turned their noses up, crossed the street when they saw her coming.
She’d known she was different from an early age. She didn’t feel she belonged. Nothing seemed quite… right.
It hadn’t always been this way, of course. When she was little she’d lived with her parents in an apple tree, just like everyone else. But when she came of age, she’d found herself a nice mango tree to call her own.
During the Great Apple Blight of 1973, people came from all around. They were happy for her mangoes then, oh yes. But once the blight passed they went right back to spurning her.
Every year she participated in the Mango Pride March. Times were changing, every year there were more marching with her. One day apple and mango-dwellers would stand together. But until then, she was proud to be different.
Friday Fictioneers – Dead End Street
Here is my story for Fridy Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The photo was contributed by David Stewart.
This week I went for “gritty reality”. It’s a bit clunky but it’s good to try something other than “humorous dialogue” once in a while.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright David Stewart
Rusted cars line the curb-side, burnt-out shells long abandoned. A starving tabby scrabbles for morsels in the long grass, forgotten by apathetic owners. Half-dressed women stand on the corner promising excitement with dead eyes while their watchers, dressed in leather and gold, control their next fix, their lives. A young man staggers against an ageing fence, his pockmarked face and spider-veined arms mute testimony to his addiction, the infection in his lungs only hastening his demise.
People look but don’t see.
People hear but don’t listen.
People speak but say nothing.
This is life on Dead End Street.
MFTS – Accept No Substitutions!
Here is my little story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. The supplied sentence is in bold in my story. To read this week’s other contributions, click on the little blue froggy!
Copyright Barbara W. Beacham
From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by.
She had no choice, actually. And the world went by really really fast. In fact, mostly it was just a blur. She could make out details, sometimes. When she’d cast the spell, people had clippity-clopped by on horses. Now they shot past in horse-less chariots!
It was that “time in a bottle” spell. Maybe she shouldn’t have substituted grapes for eye of newt? But eye of newt was awfully expensive, and grapes looked, well, roughly similar. She didn’t think the Goddess would notice, She was always so busy. And now the witch was the one trapped in time, her house the bottle.
Today, at last, the reversal spell was ready! She raised her hands, chanted… and with a thunderclap four hundred years caught up with her all at once.
It was weeks before someone found the little pile of dust where the witch used to be. Evidently, substituting cheap cotton for expensive silk in the “protection” element of the reversal spell was a no-no.
Friday Fictioneers – Carpe Diem
Here’s my story for Friday Fictioneers, a weekly photo challenge hosted by Rochelle. The photograph this week was contributed by Jennifer Pendergast.
To view the other stories for this week, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Jennifer Pendergast
Pete, designated “Team Leader”, read the instructions.
“Row across Doom Lake, navigate the Rapids of Certain Death and finally enter the Canyon of Damnation.”
“Um,” said Charles, “this sounds awfully dangerous.”
“These team-building exercises always sound like that,” chipped in Nancy. “It’s fine!”
“Well,” said Charles, “I don’t like the sound of it. I’m not going.” He watched his workmates sail off before going back to his room. He popped a beer, tripped over his slippers and broke his neck.
The moral of this story? Seize life. Because that bullet with your name on it? You’ll never see it coming.
MFTS – What Goes Around…
Here is my story for Barbara Beacham’s Monday’s Finish the Story. This week’s photo was provided by Marcy B. Ayanian. She also provided the opening sentence! The opening sentence is in bold in my story, and to view this week’s other contributions, click the blue froggy.
I spent all day yesterday holding on to a comedy story with grim determination, but couldn’t think of a decent ending so I’ve written this instead.
Copyright 2015 Marcy B. Ayanian
As her mount shifted uneasily under her, she grasped the brim of her old felt Stetson, gazed upwards and remembered Jean Pierre.
The way his eyes flashed with amusement at some joke. The way his body moved while playing tennis at their Paris manor. The smile on his face when he repeated “I do” at their wedding, the smile which remained throughout the reception, and later, when they were alone…
The way his beautiful eyes opened wide as saucers as the laced brandy took effect, the poison causing his heart to falter, then stop.
She even spared a thought (however briefly) for the maid, eyes streaming tears as she was lead to the gallows, lips protesting her innocence of a crime she didn’t commit.
Lady Genevieve smiled as she rode back to the manor – her manor now – and looked out over Paris.
In the shadows lurked her butler, sometime lover of the maid, a grim smile on his face as he watched her sip the cocktail he’d so carefully prepared.
Literary Lion – Skool Dayz
Here is my contribution for Laura’s fortnightly Literary Lion challenge. The Literary Lion has spoken, and this week’s prompt word is “limerick“.
The photograph was taken by Christopher Web (flikr) and supplied under a Creative Commons licence.
Mr Glass looked around the class.
“Right everyone, I hope you’ve done your homework. Randall, we’ll start with you.”
Randall stood up and began reading.
“Limerick is a town in Ireland, innit. It is in the province of Munster, yo. It…”
“Let me stop you there, Randall,” interrupted Mr Glass. “The assignment was to write a limerick, not to write about the town of Limerick.” The class tittered.
“Woah dere. I has spent hours…”
“… minutes at most…” broke in Mr Glass,
“… on dis!” finished Randall.
“I’m sorry, Randall, but…”
“Right! Here is a limerick den, yo!” Randall began to make boom-box noises.
“I does da homework on time,
But Mr Glass he wants a rhyme,
I was doin’ jus’ fine,
All dahn the line,
An’ I don’ do drugs,
‘Cos I ain’t no mug,
Rub-a-dubba-dub. Pshhhhhhh… the Word. Yo.”
The class burst into appreciative applause.
“Randall,” said the long-suffering Glass, “two things. One, that barely makes sense. Two, that’s a rap, not a limerick.”
“Oh man, it’s like I can’t do nuffin’ right!” exclaimed Randall. “Okay den, here’s a limerick for ya!
“Dere once wuz a teacher named Glass,
Who always had trouble in class,
He hates all da kidz,
Now his life’s on da skidz,
He could do wiv a kick up da…”
“RANDALL!”
Friday Fictioneers – Flicker
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was also supplied by our hostess!
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Samson looked up at the lights in the window and reached for his walkie-talkie.
“They’re flickering, man.”
“But you can’t hear anything?”
“Nope. All quiet.”
“Good.”
“I’m coming down.”
He trudged down to the basement. “I told you we should’a used car batteries,” he grumbled.
“D’ya know how much they cost? It’s an old building. Dodgy electrics. It’ll be fine.” Mason walked over to the table and looked at the man strapped there.
“So, snitch, let’s try this again, shall we? Who’s your contact?”
He twisted a knob and the man screamed, his back arching. Upstairs, the lights flickered.
MFTS – The Origin of Hell on Earth
Here’s my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. It’s slightly over the word count but I’ve already chopped out 40 words!
The supplied sentence is in bold in my story, and you can see all the other contributions by clicking on the blue froggy.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
The cemetery spread along the area known as Devils Abode.
However, the Devil was away on business and the minions were having a party! There was jelly and ice cream, little sausages on sticks and, of course, unspeakable torments.
All the best demons had turned up. All the worst demons too. Chamblezook, Defiler of Small Animals, had accidentally marked the invite “public” on FaceScroll.
Chamblezook watched in horror as the demons… “tore up the joint”, he believed was the “in” term. He gasped as he looked out the window to see Grigglebarg, Corrupter of Kitty-Cats, taking a leak on the Master’s prize-winning geraniums.
Then he heard a voice. “He’s mine, she’s mine, missed him…” The Master was coming, reading the graveyard headstones. He would not be pleased.
He was not pleased. In his rage the Master created Hell on Earth. He later admitted he may have gone too far, but billions of humans would now be subjected to the worst torment ever devised.
And thus the Reality Show was born.
Friday Fictioneers – Poorly Thought Out
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle at Addicted to Purple. This week’s photo was contributed by Claire Fuller.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Claire Fuller
“So what’s this you’re demonstrating, then?”
“Well, you know how the little bastar… darlings from Class 7B are always tipping the lockers over?”
“Yeeesssss…”
“I’ve retro-fitted them with special bars that automatically slam down to steady them the moment any tipping movement is detected.”
“Riigghttt… one problem I can see…”
“I’ll give them a shove and you’ll see it in action.”
“…is that there’s a busy corridor right behind…”
Shove.
Creak.
Clunk.
SPLAT!
“Yay! The anti-tipping mechanism deployed beautifully.”
“On top of Class 5C.”
“Some sort of pre-deployment alarm system, perhaps?”
“Go away now, please. Somebody call an ambulance!”
MFTS – Chad and Brad Go Vamp
Here is my contribution to Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. Today we find out what Chad and Brad, our favourite stoners, have been up to since last we saw them.
The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story, and this week’s other stories can be found by clicking on the blue froggy.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
The family had no idea that little Luigi would grow up to be… prematurely dead.
Neither did Chad and Brad when they visited their old friend hoping to score some weed. Everyone knew Luigi had the best in town.
While waiting for Luigi to fetch his stash, Brad stumbled across an old photograph.
“Dude!” said Brad. “Come look! It’s little Luigi!”
“Digging the cool retro costumes, Luigi,” said Chad, puffing on his spliff. “When was this taken?”
Luigi’s face turned dark. “1874,” he said. “Now my secret is out and you both must join me… in death. Bwahahahaha!” Luigi’s fangs extended and he attacked.
“Not again,” grumbled Brad, taking an extended puff of annoyance. “Ghosts, vampires…”
“Dude!” exclaimed Chad as Luigi leapt straight into the lit end of his joint.
As everyone knows, vampires and flames don’t mix. Luigi burst into flames.
“Oh man!” said Chad. “I torched Luigi! Sorry, dude.”
Luigi screamed and exploded.
“Not cool,” said Brad, wiping Luigi-ashes off his coat. “Come on, let’s find his stash. Finders keepers!”
“Dude.”
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