Weed Killer


It’s that time again when we Friday Fictioneers are sharpening our wits and our pencils, trying to come up with a suitable story to satisfy our dynamic leader, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (she who must be obeyed).  Great photo this week courtesy of Roger Bultot.

I may miss the ‘Call for Submissions’ next week as we are taking a family holiday in Majorca. I’ll miss you and will do my best to catch up. Take care of yourselves x

 22 AugustGenre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Weed Killer

‘Can’t we have something other than weeds?’

‘I like weeds, they’re different’

‘I’d like some flowers Charlie’

‘Weeds are easy to grow; flowers aren’t macho’

‘And weeds are?’

‘I trim them, keep them in check’…

Sally went indoors.  They’d had the same argument for months, Charlie wouldn’t listen and she’d had enough.

She picked up the phone, it really was the only way to stop him.  And besides, neighbours had started complaining about the sickly smell emanating from the shed whenever he and Joe were in there, having a smoke.

She only wanted a few flowers.

Not much to ask.

 

More stories to delight you here -

An Invitation


I love the old desk in the photo this week and wonder how many ‘letters’ we will receive…

Thanks to Mr Fields for the photo and for Mrs Fields for continuing to mark our work and support our efforts.

Copyright Jan Fields

Copyright Jan Wayne Fields

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

An Invitation

Dearest Ellen

My words will be a shock to you and I beg you be seated whilst you read them.

When I refused Henry’s proposal, I know you were saddened as you wanted us to be sisters.  My disposition would not have suited your brother and I believed the wedded state was not for me.

I write to you to confess that I was wrong in my belief and have accepted the proposal of marriage from Arthur Nicholls. The wedding will be in June, my dearest wish is that you will be my witness.  

Your loving and devoted friend

Charlotte

 

Read more Friday Fictioneers stories – I insist 

 

This letter could have been written by Charlotte Bronte to her dear friend Ellen Nussey. Ellen’s brother Henry did propose to Charlotte and she did refuse him citing her disposition as the main reason they would not get on.  Charlotte married her father’s curate Arthur Bell Nicholls in June 1854.  Sadly the marriage was happy but short, Charlotte died on 31 March 1855 in the early stages of pregnancy.

If you would like to read more the link will take you to the website of the  Bronte Society

Bronte Society

Bronte Society – Ellen Nussey

 

 

 

 

Thank you for teaching us to whistle…RIP Lauren Bacall


Copyright- Getty

copyright Getty Images

It was with great sadness that I learned this morning of the death of Lauren Bacall. I grew up listening to my mother talk about her films, her love for Bogart, her voice and just how wonderful she was.

During a weekend stay in London many years ago, we were walking back from a restaurant to our hotel, when we saw her walking towards us. We were in Park Lane and it was quite late. She was all alone, hands thrust into the deep pockets of her raincoat, just walking down the road in the rain.

‘Look’ I said in a louder than expected whisper to my husband, ‘it’s Lauren Bacall.’

She turned toward us and said in that amazing voice of hers, ‘Yes it is, but keep it under your hat.’

 

 

Almost A Family


Copyright – Bjorn Rudberg

 

Almost A Family

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

They stood facing each other in the bare, dimly lit room.

‘Do you want this?’

‘Yes, they are my family.’

He tossed the album into the box labelled ‘’Irina”.

“What about this?

He held up a grubby blue teddy bear, waving it menacingly from side to side as he walked towards her.

‘Don’t, please not again.’ The blow knocked her to the floor.

‘I would have had a family too, if you hadn’t lost him. Now you’re trying to leave. You were very careless Irina, what shall I do with you?’

He lunged for her.

And never saw the knife.

 

Read more stories here 

The dark cloud from last week has lifted – yay!  However, the photo from Bjorn reminded me of a story I read in the press a while ago, about a body being discovered in an abandoned, almost derelict house. The authorities had a very tangled web to unravel to discover what happened.  So colour me ‘dark’ again this week.

Thank you to our ever patient Chef de Mission - Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and to all the other Friday Fictioneers who write such brilliant stories each week.

 

In Harms Way


My thanks to Rochelle for her photograph this week and for the continued support she gives to all the Friday Fictioneers.  Each week she posts a photo prompt and urges us all to ‘say what we see’ – I apologise in advance for my mood this week. The news stories and film clips from the many war-torn regions of the world have occupied my thoughts for most of the week, to write anything in a lighter vein has proved difficult.

 

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

Genre: Creative nonfiction

Word Count: 100

In Harms Way

In the early morning we claw at the overnight rubble and debris searching  for the missing. The children are terrified, the women distraught.  The angry and patriotic young men talk of taking up arms, while their mothers weep.

What rains down on us from the heavens is making our land barren, what little food we had is almost gone. Clean water is rationed and in short supply. Cats and dogs lie dying in our streets; it is only a matter of time.

War mongers and posturing politicians lie safe in their homes; their strategy reduces ours to dust, to memories.

++++++++

 

Man was made to Mourn: A Dirge – Robert Burns

Many and sharp the num’rous ills
Inwoven with our frame!
More pointed still we make ourselves
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And man, whose heav’n-erected face
The smiles of love adorn, -
Man’s inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!

 

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A Response to ‘Women Against Feminism.’


Originally posted on iwantedwings:

Imagine this:

The year is 2014. You are a white Western woman. You wake up in the morning in a comfortably sized house or flat. You have a full or part-time job that enables you to pay your rent or mortgage. You have been to school and maybe even college or university as well. You can read and write and count. You own a car or have a driver’s licence. You have enough money in your own bank account to feed and clothe yourself. You have access to the Internet. You can vote. You have a boyfriend or girlfriend of your choosing, who you can also marry if you want to, and raise a family with. You walk down the street wearing whatever you feel like wearing. You can go to bars and clubs and sleep with whomever you want.

Your world is full of freedom and possibility.

Then you…

View original 1,400 more words

No Forks Needed


I’m pleased to say we are having a mini heatwave here in Wales; it happens so rarely I feel completely justified in revelling in it. It is also the week of the Royal Welsh Show, last year both exhibitors and visitors were up to their armpits in mud, slush and mire, so I am really pleased they can enjoy the sunshine too.

Glad to be able to submit an FF story this week and my thanks to our top chef Rochelle for selecting such an unusual photograph to tempt us with.  Thanks also to Marie Gail Stratford for taking it.

25 July 2014

No Forks Needed

Genre: Crime

Word Count: 100

Mary sat at her usual table, her laptop open and ready. The story she was writing was going well, but now she was stuck. Did she kill off the character giving her problems, or try to rework the plot? She was watching the street, waiting for her muse to return, when two strangers came in.

One man went to the kitchen. She heard a blood curdling scream and saw Wu Tan stagger out, clutching the knife embedded in his chest. The men ran into the street and disappeared.

Mary stared at Wu and flexed her fingers, her muse was back.

 

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