Archive
Progress
Here is my story for Adam Ickes’ “Storybook Corner“. This month I am literally down to the final few hours before the deadline! Maybe one month I will get this sorted out a bit earlier.
The idea is to write 300-500 words to a photo prompt. To read the other entries, click Bracken, the little froggy. Coincidentally, this month’s (well May’s) prompt is also of a frog.
(After a bit of Googling I’m adding this disclaimer: all company names used in this story are entirely fictitious and any similarity to actual company names is entirely coincidental.)
That wasn’t the prompt picture, that was the logo. The prompt picture is below.
Hoppy jumped up to the brow of the hill to look around.
(Frogs don’t have names as humans understand them, they refer to each other based on description. “Hoppy” is more succinct than “He Who Is Mostly Green With A Little Brown And Lives Next To The Second Lily Pad On The Left”.)
The noise was coming from a series of – Hoppy could hardly believe his buggy little eyes – monsters! Huge beasts of destruction! Great gouts of smoke blew from blow holes, great mashing jaws destroyed everything in sight. Trees exploded into splinters. Small hillocks disintegrated.
They were moving fast, and moving directly towards him!
Hoppy jumped away as fast as he could, his little back legs propelling him high into the air.
Glancing back, he could see the monsters, gaining on him. His little heart pounded faster and faster as he fled. All around him other creatures, some of them his friends, ran past, terror in their eyes. From behind Hoppy heard a voice – “Wait up! Wait for me!” It sounds like “He Who Is Green With A Bit Of Orange And Talks Too Much But Is Generally A Nice Enough Fellow”, thought Hoppy.
The cries suddenly cut off. Hoppy didn’t want to stop and look – he knew the monsters had caught up to his friend. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he raced on with renewed energy.
He knew the monsters were gaining.
Just up ahead he could see a large structure. It was made of the same stuff as trees, but a different colour, and stretched to left and right as far as he could see. If he could only reach it, and slip underneath, surely he would find safety!
The fence (as humans call it) was close, but the monsters were closer, and gaining. Hoppy bounded as fast as he could, but the dreadful maw of one of the monsters caught his back leg and flung him through the air.
His lifeless little body splattered across a sign which proudly proclaimed:
“Coming soon – Woodland Pines! Two hundred environmentally friendly homes for the eco-conscious. 20% already sold. Phone now for details! [Eco-Homes Ltd: protecting the ecosystem so you don’t have to]”
Built To Last
It’s time for Friday Fictioneers! This week our lovely hostess Rochelle is taking a break so the prompt is from long ago – long before my time at Friday Fictioneers as well.
The photo has apparently defied all attempts at enlargement, but appears to be of a house under construction or renovation, and was contributed by Mary Shipman. I managed to resist my first urge, which was to have a body discovered in the wall.
To read all the other stories this week, click on Bracken, the little blue frog.
Copyright Mary Shipman
Work at the construction site was in full swing. Carpenters, plumbers, electricians – all scurried around with planks, pipes and wires.
“Two inch planks here, Frank.” The contractor pointed at a doorway.
“That’s not really up to code…”
“I’m not made of money!” joked the contractor.
“Uh, boss?” asked the plumber. “There’s some mistake, this pipe is lead-lined…”
“Got a great deal on that pipe!” laughed the contractor.
“Ten gauge wire into this fuse box,” the contractor told the electrician.
“Twelve, boss, surely?”
“Ten, Mark.”
The contractor was pleased. The new children’s home would be completed on time, and well under budget.
Blurred Reality
Here is my Friday Fictioneers submission for this week, hosted as always by the talented Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ted Strutz, to which we need to write a story of roughly 100 words.
This week’s photo appears to feature some dentistry tools. Sorry to be a bit obvious in my story, but I’m not passing this one up.
To read this week’s other submissions, click on the little blue froggy (whose name is Bracken).
Copyright Ted Strutz
The whirring of the drill rang in Simon’s ears as The Dentist’s leering face loomed before his eyes.
“Pain!” laughed The Dentist, chief “agony technician” of the Vekta Crew. “You shall feel… such pain!” Simon closed his eyes in terror and felt…
… someone shaking his shoulder.
“Wake up, honey! You’re having a bad dream!”
Simon opened his eyes to see his wife looking down at him.
“That was a bad one!” he smiled.
His wife’s eyes grew cold. “Or is this the dream?” she snarled, her face morphing into that of The Dentist.
Simon screamed as the drill bore down into the sensitive pulp of his tooth.
Memories
It’s that time of the week again! What time of the week, I hear you ask? Friday Fictioneers time!
Hosted as always by the talented Rochelle, 100 plus people from around the globe write a story of roughly 100 words in response to a photo, supplied this week by Douglas M. MacIlroy.
To read this week’s other stories, click on Bracken, the little blue froggy.
Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy
“What a beautiful day it was today!” exclaimed Samuel.
“What was that, dear?” asked his wife. She smiled to see him relaxing in his den, cosy slippers warming his feet.
“Sitting by the water, watching the boats. We should go out on one of those boats tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow?” Sheila’s face fell. “Oh, Samuel. That was so long ago.”
“What? Nonsense! Who… who are you?”
Sheila turned away sadly, leaving her husband staring at the picture – a memento of their honeymoon. Maybe tomorrow he’d remember where he was. Who she was. For now, she left him lost in their past.
Ashes to Ashes
It’s Friday today and that means it’s Friday Fictioneers time! As I write this there are already nearly 100 stories of roughly 100 words each up on the link page, can you believe? I was going to post my story yesterday, but I just got a PlayStation 4 so I’ve been a bit distracted 🙂
This week’s photo has been contributed by Friday Fictioneerer Jennifer Pendergast and the whole challenge is ably hosted as always by Rochelle. To read the other stories for this week, click on Bracken (the little blue froggy).
Copyright Jennifer Pendergast
Randolph raced through the shade towards the welcoming light beyond the archway. Three months he’d been a captive. Abused, mistreated. His neck hurt; he rubbed the wounds as he ran.
And the hunger! They’d given him a sickly red liquid to drink, but always the hunger returned.
What had they done to him?
He burst into the sunlight, his shout of triumph becoming a scream as his skin blistered. His pursuers stopped short of the archway, staying in the shade. Flames consumed his body and his view of freedom disappeared as his eyeballs liquefied.
His ashes blew across the field on the summer breeze, free at last.
Counting Sheep
It may not be Friday, but it’s certainly time for Friday Fictioneers! Hosted every week by the talented Rochelle, a whole host of people write a roughly 100 word story in response to a photo, which this week has been contributed by fellow Fictioneerer Sandra Crook.
To read the other stories for this week click on the little blue froggy, whom I have named “Bracken”.
Copyright Sandra Crook
“Look out! Run for your lives and don’t look back!”
“What? Are you not asleep yet? I thought you were counting sheep?”
“Yeah, awesome zombie sheep! They’ve surrounded a car and they’re eating the occupants. There’s blood and body parts everywhere. They’re bleating ‘baa baa baaaarains!’”
“Okay, this isn’t working. Try counting something else.”
“Like what?”
“Something a little more soothing. A little more sedate. Like cows. Try counting cows. I need to sleep myself, I’ve got a meeting tomorrow.”
“Cows it is then.”
Ten minutes later…
“Woah! Run!”
“Ugh. What is it now?!”
“Awesome vampire cows!”
Baby Steps
It’s time for my Friday Fictioneers entry once again!
Friday Fictioneers involves writing a roughly 100 word story in response to a photo prompt, which this week has been provided by B. W. Beacham. It is hosted as always by the lovely and talented Rochelle.
You can read all the other contributions by clicking or tapping the little blue froggy (before you tap, ensure you have a touch screen, otherwise click 🙂 ).
Copyright B. W. Beacham
Little Mikey reached past the detritus in the lake and fished out another trout. He watched it struggle for a while, then carefully taped its gills shut. He replaced it in the water and watched avidly until it stopped moving. Smiling, he placed it carefully next to his previous experiments.
“Still with the fish. At his age I’d already decimated the neighbourhood pet population and was ready to start on the neighbours,” said Meg, sitting nearby with her husband.
“Let him progress at his own rate,” replied Clive. “We’ll find him a cat for his birthday. Baby steps, love. Baby steps.”
Melted
It’s time for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle! My more-or-less 100 words this week have been inspired by a photo contributed by Renee Heath.
It’s a fantastic photo, full of demonic promise. However, I have resisted the temptation to ooze living wax down some poor sod’s throat and have had a shoddy stab at The Romance. I haven’t tried The Romance before and it feels a bit flat, possibly due to a lack of blood and other-wordly creatures. However, it’s good to push one’s boundaries every once in a while.
I’ll see if I can kill off twice as many characters next week to make up for it.
To read other stories for this week, click on the little blue froggy!
[Edit: I would like to thank Judah First and Sustainabilitea for helping me out in the second sentence of the “winter” passage – I just couldn’t find the right word!]
Copyright Renee Heath
As the wind whistled through the trees and shook tiles from the roofs he gave her his best line. She blew past him and was gone.
Snow lay thick on the ground when he invited her to share mulled wine. Her frosty mien belied the interest in her eyes.
When the first flowers appeared and the apple trees blossomed he enticed her to coffee. Hope grew within him.
In the warmth of a summer evening they shared a meal. He opened his heart to her and in the flickering light of the candles she melted.
Going Solo
A bit later than usual this week, but here is my submission for Friday Fictioneers. Hosted by Rochelle, the goal is to write roughly 100 words in response to a photo which this week has been contributed by regular Fictioneerer Björn Rudberg. To see all of this week’s contributions, click the little blue froggy.
Copyright Björn Rudberg
World-renowned guitarists and best friends Frank Marks and Barry Strykes, 10 year anniversary tour here tonight. One night only! Sold out!
*****
Frank
Look at him sitting there with his stupid oversized banjo. Ten years I’ve had to listen to his amateurish plucking. Let’s see how well he strums after his brakes fail and he goes over the cliff. I’m going solo!
*****
Barry
A whole decade of sitting here covering his asinine mistakes. He missed that chord, the talentless little shit. Let’s see how well he strums when the strychnine in his nightcap rips him apart. I’m going solo!
The Patient Ones
It’s Storybook Corner time again! As usual, I’m getting this in just under the wire.
This is a 300-500 word story based on a photo prompt, and is hosted by Adam Ickes. This week’s photo is quite open – just a door – where could it lead?
But first, the logo!
You can read the other stories for this month (March) by clicking on the little blue froggy below.
And here’s the photo for this month’s prompt.
Marcus took a deep breath and walked through the door, shaking the snow from his boots. It was warmer inside, and warmer too at his ultimate destination, he hoped.
They had arrived twenty-two years ago amid world-wide panic. “Invasion!” was the word on everyone’s lips. “Aliens!” followed close behind.
After a few days nothing untoward had happened. Contact was made.
The Vonotvi, they called themselves. A peaceful race from the far side of the galaxy, their planet had died when their sun exploded. These two hundred were the last of their race.
They brought new culture, new technology. Technology like Space Fold Unlimited Travel allowing almost instantaneous travel across the planet between any two terminals. Operated by SFUTlinkTM under the guidance of the Vonotvi, this building held one such terminal.
Today Marcus was travelling to warmer climes. The last of his family lost in a flaming mass of twisted metal, he was leaving familiar shores and painful memories behind.
He’d heard the stories, of course. People disappearing, walking in one end and never seen again. Nobody was particularly worried. Did they really disappear? No-one had reported them missing. Most were transients. Who knew if they were missing or not?
The Vonotvi had been on Earth for decades with never a problem and besides, there weren’t enough of them to cause trouble. Conspiracy theorists, they’ll always find something. Everyone used SFUT. Commuters, celebrities, hell, even world leaders. Perfectly safe!
And so Marcus walked up to the desk, swiped his ID and joined the queue of travellers. Men, women, children. Families. Families like the one he’d lost.
He swallowed to clear the lump in his throat and approached the Threshold. A swirling, pulsating mass of colours, the Threshold was everything popular science fiction had promised. One by one the travellers entered, to emerge on the other side of the planet. Marcus closed his eyes and crossed into the “tunnel”.
Immediately the air exploded from his body. He felt weightless. He opened his eyes but had no air in his lungs to scream as his eyeballs threatened to burst from his skull. He was floating in blackness, unable to breathe. Something had gone horribly wrong!
As consciousness left him, he imagined he saw a dark shape approaching.
When he opened his eyes again, everything was clear. He stood in a large metal bay, a hanger maybe, amidst many others. A huge screen flashed images of a planet – clear blue seas, huge cities, open countryside, somehow familiar? – his enhanced brain absorbed the information. Power generation centres, transport hubs, seats of power. Tactics. Mission parameters. The vicious pincers at the ends of his arms, bonded to his flesh, felt wrong somehow. Everything felt a little wrong, but he put that thought aside as he screeched the Vonotvi battle cry, echoed by thousands of others in the hanger.
Ka Vonotvi kee’ash! “For Vonotvi to the death!”
In the gallery above, two Vonotvi, or “Patient Ones”, smiled in grim satisfaction.
Soon.
Click for a random post!
Woohoo!
I totally didn't win!
Share Your World
Friday Fictioneers
draliman on life 