John, ‘The Immigrant’


It was a lovely surprise to see that our intrepid leader Rochelle had used my photo as the prompt for Friday Fictioneers this week. It was taken in Barcelona, walking from Port Vell towards the Monument to Columbus.  I love the feel of Barcelona, the bustle and atmosphere, we had a very enjoyable time there, though as you can see the weather could have been better…

Copyright - Dee Lovering

                                                   Copyright – Dee Lovering

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

John, ‘The Immigrant’

‘She’s with her family, leave her be.’

‘They took her from me, but I’ll find her.’

‘John, it’s been a year, she could be married.  Please, we need you. ‘

‘No! I need her!’

The pursuit of religious freedom led many Puritans to the shores of New England. It wasn’t religion that sent John westwards, though the long journey afforded him time to reflect on it and the argument with his parents.  He had defied them and left them to struggle.  But the moment he had laid eyes on Dorcas Coleman, he wanted her; nothing would stand in his way.

 

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A brief note on my story. One of my ancestors sailed to New England in 1625 to join the colony of English Puritans who had settled there.  He was one of the first settlers of Rowley Mass. and did marry Dorcas Coleman in 1648.  I have used some poetic licence with their meeting, but I feel it goes someway to explain why he made the journey alone. Although another ancestor, also called John, settled in Virginia,  in all the research the man in my story is called ‘John, The Immigrant’ hence my title.

Home at Last


Copyright Douglas MacIlroy

                                            Copyright Douglas MacIlroy

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Home at Last

The ties that bound me were severed so long ago, I have forgotten why. The cold seeps into my bones, forming a brittle frost. The gnawing emptiness in my stomach would signal hunger to a brain able to care or respond.

The light surprises me, it’s intense and blinding. A flashlight means police and an order to ‘move on, get out of here.’  But this light is too strong and never wavers. As a whisper of summer fills my nostrils and glides sweetly over my tongue, I think I am smiling.

 I am held tight.

 I am home, at last.

 

 

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My thanks to Doug MacIlroy for the photo prompt that sent chills this week and to Rochelle for continuing to lead the Friday Fictioneers whilst getting her novel edited and now ready for publication, many congratulations. You can read more below and on her website

‘Beginning on April 20 Please Say Kaddish For Me will be available to preorder from Kindle in ebook form and to preorder from http://www.a-argusbooks.com/GalleryComing.htm in print form. Release date scheduled for May 8′.

 

Leaving


The photo this week, courtesy of Jen Pendergast, reminded me of a visit to Canada a few year ago.  We wanted to take a train back from Edmonton to Calgary and were told that no passenger trains ran from north to south, only west to east.  On the drive back, we watched the longest freight train we have ever seen, mile, after mile, after mile and reflected that Canada was indeed a vast country.

Thanks to Jen for the photo and to Rochelle the conductor of Friday Fictioneers, collecting more and more writers each week.

Copyright Jen Pendergast

Copyright Jen Pendergast

 

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

LEAVING

Stella took the subway. Seeking the protection of strangers, she slowly made her way through the crowd. People grew restless as the train approached; she felt pressure in the small of her back, then heard the familiar menacing voice near her ear. As she was forced forward the crowd parted, as she stumbled they watched in horror as a figure tripped over her.

Stella watched impassively as the remains of her husband were collected and bagged. She remembered his threats, what he would do to her if ever she tried to leave him, and smiled at the vagaries of fate.

 

 

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And The Band Played On


Thanks to Rochelle for continuing to keep the Fictioneers in tune and to David Stewart for his photo this week, there was a bandstand like this one, in the park near where I grew up, those were the days…

Copyright David Stewart

                        Copyright David Stewart

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

And The Band Played On

‘When we’re married, you won’t go away to sea anymore will you, Wallace?’

‘No love, I promise. But these jobs bring in more money than I was earning in the orchestra.  I get to see more of the world too.’

Maria smiled, sensing it was best to leave things there. He had promised.

The letter telling him the band had been transferred to the White Star Line came three days later.

‘Look, I’ve been assigned as the new bandleader love, I could make some good contacts for the future.’

With Maria’s blessing he boarded RMS Titanic on 10th April 1912

♫ ♫ ♫

Wallace Hartley was born in my home town of Colne in Lancashire.  A large bust of him stood outside the library and I used to pass it most Saturdays when I went shopping with my mother. The story of how the band played on as the Titanic sank, was told to every pupil. The town is very proud of its famous son. You can read more about him here

Wallace_Hartley wikipedia

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

 

180px-Wallace_Hartley_memorial

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

 

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Making Tracks


I’m late, I’m late… thanks Rochelle for keeping us on the straight and narrow and to Dawn for a lovely photo from her trek to Machu Picchu – it’s on my list…

Copyright Dawn Q.

Copyright Dawn Q. Landau

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Making Tracks

The juiciest blackberries grew alongside the tracks; with a sick husband and five children to feed, Anna happily accepted nature’s help. Becky snatched the pail from her mother, furious the others were never sent picking.

At lunchtime Anna set off to look for her. Though her eldest child might have womanly curves, she was still a child. Anna found the half-filled pail, but no sign of her daughter.

In a car heading out of town, Becky smoothed her new dress.  She felt the driver’s eyes on her body and smiled.  She could handle him, just like the boys in school.

 

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Sending warmest congratulations to Rochelle on having her second book accepted and to Claire Fuller whose debut novel ‘Our Endless Numbered Days’ has received some great reviews.  I am full of admiration for them both, it is lovely to share their company and their well deserved success, they have set the bar very high for us lesser mortals…

Thoughts of Home


I sneaked off last week to Tenerife which was very relaxing, doing nothing was great for recharging my batteries.  I missed you all, and only managed to see a few stories, intermittent Wi-Fi is my excuse.  Thanks as always to Rochelle, a great wordsmith and leader and also to Marie Gail Stratford for her photo this week.

Copyright Marie Gail Stratford

Copyright Marie Gail Stratford

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Thoughts of Home

Bright lights lured her to the city.

Dreams of being feted as the next Supermodel filled every waking moment.

With other hopefuls, she pouted, strutted and posed on demand.

Her leather portfolio bought with birthday money, stuffed with photos so lovingly captured by Charlie, began to look scruffy as it was pawed over and scrutinised by agent after agent.

Two weeks without work, two weeks with little money left.

A photographer called her; she had something quite special.

Posing naked in a cellar, positioned like a piece of meat, she stared out through his bright lights and thought of home.

 

Read lots more great stories here 

Keep Turning Right


It’s funny how some stories just jump into your head and almost write themselves.  That’s what happened when I saw the prompt for this week. Thanks to our Tour Guide Rochelle for never leading us astray and to Melanie Greenwood for supplying the photo this week. So pleased to have posted earlier this week in at Number 10 – wow.

6 February

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

Keep Turning Right

‘Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please’

The assembled group fell silent, listening intently as Harris read the remainder of their itinerary.

‘I’ll lead you into the maze, although it is absurd to call it a maze, but you’ll be able to tell everyone that you have been.’

‘Why absurd sir?’

‘Not a proper maze, you just keep taking the first turning to the right. We’ll walk around for ten minutes, then go and get some lunch. After lunch, we’ll take a short walk back to the river, where you will board the boat that will take you back to London.’

 ****************

If you have read Jerome K. Jerome’s ‘Three Men in a Boat’ you will know that the tourists Harris led into the maze at Hampton Court got lost for hours.

Hampton Court Palace

‘Three Men in a Boat’

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DIY – A Shorcut


Copyright - Ted Strutz

Copyright – Ted Strutz

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

DIY – A Shortcut

John stepped back into the water trough a second time.

‘I hate bloody DIY! And why soak the paper? What’s wrong with old fashioned wallpaper paste?’

‘I thought it would be quicker and hopefully less messy.’

‘You thought. Here, make yourself useful, hold the brush.’

‘It seemed a better idea to do this while the boys were away.’

He grabbed the brush, held the paper off the wall and in one angry movement swept it down to the skirting board.

‘Careful, you’ve covered up the socket.’

‘Just shut up,’ he said, jabbing the point of the scissors through the paper.

 

*******************

The socket reminded me of the fiasco we had when we decided to decorate the bedroom our boys shared when they were small. It’s all true, apart from the scissors in the socket…but it could well have happened that night!

Thank you to Ted Strutz for the photo prompt and to Rochelle for continuing to light the way.

Weathering Our Storm


Thanks to Georgia Koch for the lovely photo for our prompt this week and to our intrepid Captain Rochelle for navigating our good ship Friday Fictioneers  through all kinds of seas.

Copyright - Georgia Koch

Copyright – Georgia Koch

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Weathering Our Storm

Will you come with me, to Venice?’

An invitation to the place where we began would once have sent my heart soaring. Dare I allow it to do so again?

‘I’ll think about it, if that’s alright?’

Oh, the care we take with one another.   I couldn’t ride out the maelstrom of his affair.  I had to scream it out, to hit back verbally against the waves of pain and sadness that engulfed and threatened to overpower me.

But somehow the storm abated, he chose to stay. How ambitious we are, how determined to keep our precious ship afloat.

‘Yes.’

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Setting The Scene


The photo reminds me of a house we once rented in France. We had a very enjoyable holiday but as we left I mentioned to the owner that she should really tell prospective holiday makers that part of the house is overlooked by the neighbours.

With a Gallic shrug she replied ‘but Madame, that means the house stays cool in the summer, why is this a problem?’  Hmm…

Copyright Jan Wayne Fields

Copyright Jan Wayne Fields

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Setting The Scene

‘Darling, the Meissen table centre.’

Not again

‘We had to sell the Meissen.’

‘Who?’

‘Mother, we had to sell it all.’

‘Sell what?  Oh poor darling, put out the Lalique the one with fairies.’

How many times will we have to do this?

‘That’s gone too. James has been ‘investing’ your money, hardly anything left.’

If I could get my hands on the bastard

She stares at me, narrowing her eyes.

‘My dinner table must look beautiful.’

We wait for imaginary dinner guests. When she sleeps, I put away the remnants of her golden days, praying she will soon forget them.

 

 

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Thanks to Rochelle for overseeing production and to Jan Wayne Fields for setting the scene. (See what I’ve done there, of course you do)