Sweet Revenge

May 2, 2013May 2, 2013 / Dee / 41 Comments

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

SWEET REVENGE

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.

Footprints in the Sand

April 17, 2013 / Dee / 55 Comments

Once more we gather, we growing band of Fervent Friday Fictioneers, drawn together by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Each Wednesday she posts a photo prompt to tempt us, this week the photo is courtesy of Janet Green. Join us as we try to write a very short story – 100 words, or a poem – same rules apply.

An eternity I was lost at sea in search of your love
Never finding shore nor
seeing one on the horizon
Lost in the vast emptiness that was
everywhere
Your ocean of love eventually giving me life
Binding us
together as husband and wife

(extract from “Sea of Love” – by Bill Turner)

Genre: Romantic fiction

Word Count: 100

Footprints in the Sand

Wandering by the shore, her slender feet leave footprints in the damp, pale sand. The returning tide bubbles into rockpools and swirls over pebbles, she wonders how long it will be until all signs of her are washed away.

Her green dress billows softly on the breeze; a thin strap falls onto a freckled arm, resting there unnoticed as she stares out at the ocean. Reluctantly, she turns back to their rented holiday villa. Has the grey cloud of suspicion and resentment followed them to this tranquil little paradise? Seeing the expression on his face, she rather thinks it has.

(This is an extract from a short story I wrote about marriage; how it can go wrong, what it takes to get it back on track)

Hell Raising

April 10, 2013April 10, 2013 / Dee / 49 Comments

Thanks to Sandra for this week’s photo, and to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for gathering us all together again this week. On seeing the photo, I was initially struck by a farming theme and as I could write what I know about farming on the back of a postage stamp, I quickly decided against even trying to go any further with it.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Hell Raising

Occasionally tourists would stop at the end of the drive, snapping away.

Nicholas didn’t mind. Sometimes if the mood took him, he would get off the porch, wander down the drive and pass the time of day.

“Howdy.”

“Hello, nice to meet you. We’re on holiday from England, mind if we take a few photos?”

“Nope, you go right ahead.”

“We were wondering what on earth it is, that strange thing on your patio.”

“It’s just my trike.”

“You mean you actually ride it?”

Nicholas turned away, eyes blazing red. Should he show them, or would that spoil their holiday?

A Family Tree

April 3, 2013April 3, 2013 / Dee / 63 Comments

Once again we fire up our little grey cells and try to come up with a germ of an idea. An idea that will grow into another piece of fiction fit for Friday Fictioneers.

Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her dedication and time, keeping Friday Fictioneers growing straight and true.

Courtesy Scott Vanatter. Permission-Copyright Indira

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

A Family Tree

After the war we had nothing. Stripped of our possessions, we wandered the land searching for food, shelter, kindness. Maria, mourning her child, lost her mind. Men found her dancing in the field and amused themselves, then fearful of the consequences, tied her to a tree and left her.

“This can’t be true, who would do this?”

We found her after animals and birds had fed, we buried her.

“It happened” said the genealogist, handing me more yellowing pages, “there is a gravestone, with details.”

That night, the dream came again; a tree tied with red ribbons.

Now I understand.

The Lamplighter

March 28, 2013March 28, 2013 / Dee / 45 Comments

I was very late submitting my attempt last week and Friday Fictioneers wait for no woman, or man!

My grandmother told me many tales; some she made up, some she promised were true. In any event she should have written them down. She told me about the lamplighter and that my great grandfather liked to drink …

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields lights the path to Friday Fictioneers and we all follow as best we can. Thanks to her for the photo this week.

Genre: Memoir/Fiction

Word Count: 100

The Lamplighter

Granny told us many stories of the lamplighter. He lit the gas lamps in her town so folks could see their way home, or in her father’s case, to the alehouse. One night her father didn’t stagger home. They found him next morning face down in the stream, his jug still clutched in his hand.

Many supportive neighbours and a few of his drinking friends attended his funeral. My great grandmother baked all night, then lit the parlour lamps and held a wake, relaxing in her new found freedom, released from toil and childbearing.

She never mentioned his name again.

For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;
And oh! before you hurry by with ladder and with light;
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!

(from The Lamplighter – Robert Louis Stevenson)

The Dancing Horse

March 25, 2013March 25, 2013 / Dee / 14 Comments

Friday Fictioneers are riding high! Lots of writers from all over the world race to join our group each week. Marshalled by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, we trot, canter and gallop along to the finish line with our interpretation of the prompt for each week.
The photo this week is courtesy of Doug McIlroy, a great fictioneer.

Genre: fiction

Word Count: 100

The Dancing Horse

In the high pasture hidden away, the old grey horse raises his head. Ears pricked, he hears the music drifting up from the valley below. Memories stir, the crowds and applause come back to him.

He sways in time with the music, then very slowly lifts his front legs off the ground, the muscles in his hind quarters rippling and straining with the effort to keep them in the air. He attempts a Levade, learned in a different life, long ago.

In the stables in Vienna, the name Maestoso Portia shines bright above his stall and fresh straw is waiting.

—-00—-

I saw the famous Lipizzaner horses at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna performing their Airs Above the Ground a few years ago, it was a magical experience. Then later, I heard stories about how some of these magnificent horses had been stolen and just disappeared, I wondered what happened to them. For more information on Lipizzaner Horses visit http://www.lipizzaner.com/

Riding on the curb. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My Gift

March 6, 2013March 6, 2013 / Dee / 63 Comments

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again. Time to join the great group of writers who plot,edit, rewrite, tear out their hair, swear, lose sleep and patience all in an effort to get out 100 words for the challenge each week. Join us, we don’t bite – well, not all of us!

The photo prompt this week comes courtesy of Jennifer Pendegast.

Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100

My Gift

I am still here, you did not destroy me.

I fought my way out from beneath the horror of your overpowering ‘love’ into the light of normality and reason. I am not ashamed. I feel clean.

Not my fault, not my fault, not my fault, no shame.

I’m waiting for you. Waiting here at the top of the stairs; when I remove the bulb, you won’t see the wire you like so much, tightly stretched across the top step.

Your fall to oblivion will be my gift to you.

And the gift of others, who never broke free of you.

A Fresh Start

March 2, 2013March 4, 2013 / Dee / 23 Comments

Friday 1st March, St David’s Day and time for more Friday Fictioneers. Thanks for the photo prompt this week go to Beth Carter, and thanks for continuing to inspire the Friday Fictioneers go to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Genre: Literary Fiction

Word Count: 100 words

The Fresh Start

Photo – Beth Carter

He looked out at the yard.

Not much stuff left now. Some cookery books, the unused ‘zigzag action’ sewing machine, a red boudoir chair, some photo albums, a few shoes. All her castoffs.

He saw the red-haired woman again. She had walked passed a couple of times. Now she crossed the street and stood looking at the car. He had hated women, one woman, for too long.

He came outside, she smiled.

“Seems I’ve moved to an interesting neighbourhood, is the car in the sale too?”

He grinned, it wasn’t a sale, just a clear out.

He got the keys.

See other stories here

(Late entry this week. I tried to post last night, but for some reason I couldn’t load the photo and there’s never an intergeek around when you need one! So this is my Saturday Submission)

Still Living at Bankside Farm

February 22, 2013 / Dee / 42 Comments

Another week, another photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for Friday Fictioneers. The photo this week is courtesy of Janet Webb and you can see how others have interpreted the prompt here

Still Living at Bankside Farm

“I did find it mum, it’s a ruin though. Look. I took a photo for you.”

She smiles up at me

“I’ve found your old home, it’s a ruin.”

She takes the photo and stares

“My room looks out over the bottom meadow, towards the mill.”

I sink down beside her, taking her hand

“Mum, remember. You live here now, not Bankside Farm. You haven’t lived there for years.”

She giggles then whispers,

“I saw Jed with the cows this morning, he blew me a kiss.”

My plan didn’t work.

I look up at the face I love, and smile.

( I am researching my family tree, and Bankside Farm was once home to some of my ancestors. It does look a bit like place in the photo now)

Remembering the Song

February 14, 2013February 25, 2013 / Dee / 40 Comments

Another week, another photo prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for Friday Fictioneers. This amazing photo is courtesy of David Stewart and you can see how others have interpreted the prompt here