Archive
Underbelly
Here we are on Thursday with Friday Fictioneers, the prompt for which was posted on Wednesday. Confused? Never mind, because it’s story time, hosted as always by Rochelle.
The photo which prompts our 100-ish word story this week was contributed by Kelly Sands and features big clouds over houses. But are they clouds? ARE THEY? Or are they actually Something More Sinister (dum dum dummmm)? My story this week is a bit nuts, so bear with me.
The other stories this week can be found by clicking on Bracken, the little blue froggy, below.
Here’s the photo of the clouds. OR ARE THEY CLOUDS? etc etc.
Copyright Kelly Sands
It came from Outer Space. NASA had pictures and everything.
One evening in late May it had appeared over the sleepy hamlet of Little Frimpton. The residents took it in their stride, as country folk often do.
“What be that, Jed? Looks loike clouds. But not clouds.”
“That be the underbelly o’ one o’ them giant aliens, Jethro.”
“Oh. ‘Nother ale?”
In June it broke wind, hospitalising several members of the Little Frimpton Knitting Circle during a particularly complicated crochet demonstration. Gas masks were distributed to the villagers.
They could only hope that nothing more solid would follow. Though as one pragmatic farmer noted, “It would be good fer moi fields.”
From Now Until Eternity
It’s Friday Fictioneers time! Our lovely host Rochelle is back at the helm, and this week’s photo has been contributed by Claire Fuller. Thanks, Claire!
To read this week’s other contributions, click on Bracken, the blue froggy, below.
Copyright Claire Fuller
Prince Ionus smiled to himself as the little band of adventurers crested the hill and crossed the plain. Excellent, he thought. It has been an age since I made new friends!
He watched as they approached the cave. Their triumphant yells became screams of terror as Medusa, emerging from the darkness, froze their limbs with her terrible gaze. Their screams now echoed only within the depths of his mind.
Ionus projected his thoughts outwards. Calm yourselves, my new friends. Learn to accept your situation. Soon we will exchange stories, but there is no rush. We have from now until eternity!
In the Name of Progress
It’s Friday Fictioneers time! Our host Rochelle is taking a break, but the show must go on and this week’s photo (originally a prompt from August 2012) has been contributed by Madison Woods.
To read all the other contributions click on Bracken, the little blue froggy.
Copyright Madison Woods
It had stood for countless ages. Wars had been fought around its trunk. Lovers had embraced beneath its branches. Countless generations of forest creatures had lived and died high in its canopy.
It had seen sunshine and rain, peacetime and dreadful war. It had witnessed good times and bad, famine and prosperity. It had survived the hottest of suns, the harshest of winters and the most furious of gales.
Centuries of memories lay embedded within its massive trunk. Rock, bone, metal.
The earth shook and the tree wept chlorophyll tears as the bulldozers drew closer.
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.
Get Orf Moi Laaand!
It’s fake Friday and therefore time for Friday Fictioneers! This week’s photo, to which we are challenged to write roughly 100 words, has been contributed by Erin Leary and the whole shebang is hosted as always by the talented Rochelle.
The story I wrote for this week was nearly 200 words even once edited so I’ve done an altered cut-down version. I’ll keep the original and maybe post it some other time. No depth to this one, just a bit of silliness 🙂 .
To read others’ contributions, click on Bracken (the little blue froggy).
Copyright Erin Leary
“Don’t even think about it,” warned the farmer as he saw Bobby eying the fence. “That land belongs to Mad Frank.”
Bobby laughed and leapt over. “Hey, the grass really is greener over here!”
The farmer shook his head sadly.
A hillock opened, a device shot up and there was a loud roar. Bobby’s head exploded, spraying gore in all directions. As his lifeless body toppled over, a second hillock opened and a loudspeaker appeared.
“Get orf moi laaand!” it roared. “You have ten seconds to comply!”
“Classy. Missile first, then the warning,” mused the farmer, wiping brain matter from his face. “Real nutter, that Mad Frank.”
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.”
Click for a random post!
Woohoo!
I totally didn't win!
Share Your World
Friday Fictioneers
draliman on life 