The Dress

I sneaked off last week, did you miss me?  I spent a week in Spain, just outside Puerto Banus; I found the sun ( must tell Sandra) enjoyed some lovely food and a really relaxing time. I missed Friday Fictioneers due to poor internet connection, so have a lot of catching up to do. Thanks go as usual to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for keeping FF going each week, where would we be without her?

Thanks for the photograph this week go to Janet Webb.  It is  very intriguing and I’m sure it will provide some very imaginitive stories from the great writers who support Friday Fictioneers every week.


Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

The Dress

Larry looked up, the dress was still there. It was magnificent. Molly would look fantastic in it. He imagined her on his arm, walking together into the Annual Dinner; making a great entrance, the talk of the club for once. They were broke, but she deserved something new. If it was still there tomorrow night, he’d climb up and take it.

Antonio looked up at the painting and smiled, he had the perspective just right.  He went back upstairs to his ‘studio’ and added the few brushstrokes needed to finish it.

Larry had never heard of Trompe l’Oeil


Standing Still

Thanks this week go to Sarah Ann Hall for her photograph entitled “Aqueduct” and to the wordsmith Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for continuing the Fabulous Friday Fictioneers.


Genre: Romantic fiction

Word Count: 100

Standing Still

…In the distance, the spectacular Pont du Gard, a reminder of the Romans’ talent for engineering, built centuries ago to carry water from the springs at Uzes to the Roman garrison in Nimes.

I switch off my voice recorder. It’s early and hot, what exactly am I doing here? I should have ignored Sally’s advice to get back to work; she was wrong, I’m not enjoying it!

I enjoyed having a husband. Now I feel directionless, insular, empty, separate.

The air changes, becomes still. I can sense Adam is beside me.

I relax and breathe the sweet fragrance of life.


The photo prompt this week is courtesy of Ted Strutz. His photo of the Icon Grill in Seattle has prompted many stories from the talented group of people who, each week, submit a story or poem to Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted assiduously by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.



Icon Grill courtesy of Ted Strutz

Icon Grill courtesy of Ted Strutz

Genre: Historical fiction

Word Count: 100


Hunched over a glass of absinthe, he listens to des prostituees making their arrangements with the drunks in the corner.

The pain in his head is back again.

He drains the glass, reaches for the small canvas at his feet and hands it to Albert; they also have an arrangement.

His paintings, though brighter than ever, remain unsold.  The allowance from his beloved brother is not enough.

Later, as Albert hangs the new painting of a vase of flowers next to one showing a pipe on a straw chair, he shakes head.

They are worthless, but they brighten the walls.


(Vincent Van Gogh, spent some of his last years in Arles in the South of France. Amongst others, he painted many scenes of café life. One entitled The Night Café, is of the interior of the Café de la Gare, allegedly frequented by prostitutes– des prostituees and drunks. They could stay all night if they had nowhere else to go. It is reported that he gave the picture to the owner in settlement of his debts. Although he painted many hundreds of paintings, he sold only one during his lifetime and was supported by an allowance from his brother Theo. Although these facts have been documented, the story above is entirely from my imagination).



Sweet Revenge

I missed Friday Fictioneers last week. I couldn’t make the deadline and I really missed reading everyone else’s stories. I am back this week in time to submit a story, but then I’m travelling to France for a few days. I will catch up when I get back.  Thanks to Rochelle for never missing a beat, what would we do without her? Thanks to Kent Bonham for the photo this week, I’ve been lucky enough to have seen a lot of Gaudi’s work both in Barcelona and in Palma – totally unforgettable.


Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100


I stand silently in the shadows, waiting.

A taxi pulls up and a man alights. I quickly cross the road and as he opens the door I slip in behind him, heart pounding. He walks on down the hallway without looking back.

I scan the names on the mailboxes. Elena Avila – Penthouse. My former friend has come a long way indeed.

I slide the small, instantly recognisable gold box inside. It’s been resealed; she will see the expensive chocolates nothing else. She has always taken other people’s things, this time it’s my husband.

I’ve decided she can’t have him.