Danger From Above


This was my post the first time round.  Sadly, similar scenes are still being played out and the lives of many children are in danger every day.  Thanks to Sandra and Rochelle for the re-run.

8 July 2016

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Danger From Above

The whitewashed walls reflected the sun’s glare. Alice adjusted her sunglasses.

Small stones skittered and bounced down a wall then, with a wail, a boy landed at her feet. He was small, dirty and frightened. Alice saw blood running down his left leg. She took off her rucksack, pulled out a bottle of water and some tissue.  She bathed his leg while he stared defiantly up at her. A battered car screeched to a halt, Alice stared in disbelief as the driver pulled out a gun. She screamed as a shot rang out. Pocketing his gun the boy hobbled away.

Thanks to Jan Morrill for the photograph and to Madison Woods for “Friday Fictioneers”. http://www.madison-woods.com/Wordpress/index-of-stories/101212-2/

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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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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The Entertainment


Another photo prompt this week for the wonderful group of writers, who make up the Friday Fictioneers Family.  Mother Hen Rochelle Wisoff-Fields takes charge every week, posting the photo – this week courtesy of Adam Ickes – and urging us all to ‘write what we see’.  This is what I saw…

Copyright - Adam Ickes

Copyright – Adam Ickes

Genre: Horror

Word Count: 100

The Entertainment

Silence as the numbers are called. Nervous boys go to their allotted place, although challenged, no-one refuses. My number is called last. For one brief moment, as I join the other ninety-nine, I consider the challenge. My mother is ill and Mary’s pregnant, but The Glory will change everything, forever.

Outside, we line up shoulder to shoulder. The General reads the rules of ‘The Entertainment’.

You will walk until only one remains; to him will be awarded The Glory – anything he wants for the rest of his life.

Those who stop walking will be ‘removed’.

We walk.

The crowd roars.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Inspired by ‘The Long Walk’ a novel by Stephen King – his first, published under a pseudonym Richard Bachman. Set in a future United State of America, the story tells of the annual event called The Long Walk.  On 1 May each year 100 teenage boys are drafted into taking part; the idea is that they all walk until there is only one left standing.The walking never stops. If anyone does stop they get a warning, three warnings and they are ‘ticketed’ which eventually you realise means they are shot. Read more about his novel here –  http://stephenking.wikia.com/wiki/The_Long_Walk

 

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Falling Apart


Time for Friday Fictioneers again.  Thanks as always to Rochelle for keeping us all together (see what I’ve done there?) and thanks for the photo prompt this week to Sean Fallon, what an intriguing photo it is too.

My story this week, follows on from the one I wrote last week.  A few of you Fictioneers kindly asked what was going to happen to ‘Tom’ and I have to admit I wasn’t sure.  A few people were very annoyed at his attitude to Maggie, I thought I would revisit them this week.

Copyright Sean Fallon

Copyright Sean Fallon

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Falling Apart

Tom can’t understand why friends ask, ‘everything OK now?’

The attack on his wife was an attack on him too.  Why can’t they see that?

The thoughts about what happened replay over and over. Maggie tries to reassure him that the attack, though violent, was brief, but his imagination runs riot.

He watches every man he sees, ‘Is it him?’ ‘Did he do it?’

Waiting, for the police to make an arrest; waiting, for THAT phone call; if they don’t charge someone soon he fears he will fall apart.

And it’s still affecting Maggie.  Her behaviour has been odd lately.

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Maggie’s Choice


My story is rather bleak as that is how most things have seemed to me this week, though I have tried for a hopeful ending.

Thanks go as usual to Rochelle for continuing to host Friday Fictioneers. I must admit to slight envy when I read in her post that she will be meeting up with some Fictioneers this weekend, it must be so good to meet up in person with the people whose stories we read each week. I can dream…

Thanks also to Kent Bonham for the intriguing photograph this week.

Copyright -  Kent Bonham

Copyright – Kent Bonham

 

Genre: Fiction

Word Count 100

Maggie’s Choice

Maggie walked carefully down the dimly lit back street. Her small bag contained the items she was told she would need, afterwards. The house in the back street was her only option, no-one must ever find out about ‘It.’

The bright room smelled strongly of antiseptic; the strange array of equipment on the starched white cloth, looked alien and frightening. Though her body had healed after the violent assault, the nightmare continued. Tom still could not bring himself to touch her and now, this.

She endured the pain and, with her body cleansed, at last felt ready to move on.

 

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