Jake and the Dolphin

December 20, 2013December 20, 2013 / Dee / 11 Comments

Thanks to Rochelle for shepherding the Friday Fictioneers throughout the year. I have thoroughly enjoyed posting a story almost every week, and thanks to constructive comments from some very talented writers, I feel my writing has improved a great deal. The lovely photo this week is courtesy of Jean Hays – I seem to remember having another of her beautiful stained glass panes as a previous prompt.

Not long now until Christmas, only five sleeps as youngest son told me (he is 36). So, may I take this opportunity, whether you celebrate Christmas or your own particular special celebration, to wish you all peace and happiness and a wonderful holiday with friends and loved ones.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Jake and the Dolphin

Every year Jake’s parents took him to Florida for Christmas, hoping the holiday sunshine would help him.

‘We’re going to swim with dolphins this trip.’

Jake didn’t react; that wasn’t unusual.

Late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, as they splashed about, a dolphin appeared alongside. Gently nudging Jake, it guided him through the water. Jake held him tightly. People stopped to watch the boy with the dolphin, seemingly playing together.

When he was put to bed, Jake turned to his mother and whispered ‘Love you’

She stared momentarily, not believing her ears, then hugged him.

‘Jake, you can talk.’

This is based on something that happened to a friend’s son. He was diagnosed with autism, a most cruel affliction, when he was two years old. He had no speech at all and although seemingly happy in all other ways, his frustration at not being able to make himself understood, gave rise to terrible temper tantrums that affected all the family. It got so bad that at times they just couldn’t take him anywhere.

When he was nine, he went swimming with dolphins and a short time afterwards, he was able to speak. Not fluently, but enough to make himself understood. The medical team was very doubtful that the dolphin had anything to do with it. His mother believed that the dolphin had helped her son and I like to think so too.
for more stories from the Fictioneers click the little blue froggy

Happy Birthday Dad

December 11, 2013December 11, 2013 / Dee / 32 Comments

Thanks as ever to Rochelle for guiding us towards another challenge and to Adam for his great photo this week.

Today would have been my father’s 90^th birthday. Due to the date, he has been in and out of my mind all day, when I saw the prompt this week, I knew I had to write about him and so I crave your indulgence.

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

Happy Birthday Dad

Some weekends he would take off on his motorbike, heading for the Lake District and the hills he had roamed since boyhood. He knew the places untouched by tourism, and would lose himself in the majestic beauty of the scenery; whatever worries he took with him, vanished into the clean, fresh, air.

After the accident, his motorbike was sold. He was 58 and my mother judged him too old to be in charge of such a powerful machine.

He sulked.

He died at 67; we scattered his ashes into the wind on Scafell Pike.

I’m sure I heard him laughing.

I wrote more about my father here, I still miss him. https://40again.com/2010/06/20/thinking-about-my-father-today/

Making a Scene

November 6, 2013November 6, 2013 / Dee / 46 Comments

Greek mythology has always been of great interest, I love the way the stories that have been handed down through the generations, are part myth, part magic and part history. The photo this week, courtesy of Al Forbes was always going to inspire one Greek tragedy or another. I decided to take a slightly different view, but I think I have managed to get some of the attributes of Hermes into my effort this week. So, a fanfare for the goddess of Friday Fictioneers Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, as she summons us all once more to the podium.

Courtesy of Al Forbes

Fleeing the Scene

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Waking from a deep sleep I stretch feline-like

And then relax into the deep comforting mattress

Unbidden the memory returns.

The words cut deep, wounding us both,

Hateful bile spilled out of our mouths as we paced the room,

I cursed you for taking my love and trampling it underfoot,

For cheating and betraying me.

You grabbed my arms and roughly twisted one behind me

Trying to force me down onto the floor,

I felt excitement first then fury, that sheer strength could overcome me

Where words had failed

Shaken by your intentions you ran, fleeing the scene

And me

I’ve just found out that this is my 200th post and I have to admit I’m rather chuffed to have got this far.

Not drowning, just out of his depth

November 1, 2013 / Dee / 20 Comments

It’s that special time of the week , the post for Friday Fictioneers. This week the colourful photo is courtesy of Doug MacIlroy – a great teller of tales. Each week the one and only Rochelle Wisoff-Fields casts her net and draws in writers from across the world, all eager to accept the challenge of writing 100 words, (no more, no less) inspired by a different photo each week. Join us…

Doug MacIlroy

NOT DROWNING, JUST OUT OF HIS DEPTH

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

One day a man started a job. It was the job he had always dreamed of, but it brought him unhappiness. The job demanded skills he didn’t believe he possessed.

Dejected, he asked his grandfather for advice.

‘A fish set off on a journey. Swimming strongly and steadily, it encountered many problems but stayed on course. The fish found itself in churning water at the foot of a waterfall; it paused not knowing what lay ahead, then plunged in and battled to the top.’

‘If you believe you can, you will, if you believe you’ll fail you will; your choice.’

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Free

October 13, 2013 / Dee / 29 Comments

There has been quite a lot happening in my life just recently and the urge to write just got up and walked out. I had to have the lenses in my eyes replaced – not as horrific as it sounds I assure you – but a worry nevertheless. My work has also taken up too much of my time and I found I didn’t want to write – anything. I have missed Friday Fictioneers very much indeed; missed the contact with people who had become very supportive friends; missed the exchange with people who are kind enough and interested enough to follow my blog, such as it is. I did try to post something for the prompt last week, then deleted it as it was not much good. I am back to try again.

Forgive the out-pouring, but it matters to me that you know why I have been AWOL.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

FREE

Beth found the bones at 6pm.

They lay in a shallow space between the overhanging rock face and the old irrigation channel she was working in; she had been clearing stones and old debris from it for the past two weeks.

Rob came over when she called and casually inspected her find.

‘Looks small, a child perhaps?’

‘No!’ Beth shuddered at the thought.

‘Children worked in places like this; the find is not unusual.’

As he gently moved the bones to one side, a soft sigh whispered past them and floated up on the cool evening air.

Free.

At last

Read other stories here

Fearful Symmetry – S is for Strangers

October 1, 2013 / Dee / 8 Comments

Something in the way he smiles draws my attention

Soft woollen sweater draped casually across broad shoulders

Sunglasses pushed up on his forehead as he reads the menu

Sipping a glass of red wine he looks out across the piazza

Stealing a sly glance I catch his eye

Smiling widely he raises his glass I respond with mine

She walks from behind me and takes the seat beside him

Slow blush flares on my cheeks I lower my head hiding my embarrassment

Soft caresses tenderly whispered words of love

Stabs of jealousy surface and are gone

Sure in his affection wrapped in his arms she turns towards me

Smiling she raises his glass I smile and raise mine to her

Silently acknowledging her youth and beauty

Surprised by the happiness I feel for these two lovers

Strangers yet universally recognised

(Read more about Symmetry here )

Timeless

September 4, 2013 / Dee / 53 Comments

Suddenly, it’s Wednesday again and time for Friday Fictioneers (don’t ask, just accept it, we do) ~Writers from all over the globe come together to submit their 100 word stories or poems, inspired by the weekly prompt sent out by our lovely purple leader Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. It is her birthday today so join me in sending her the warmest of birthday wishes. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROCHELLE. The photo this week comes courtesy of the lady herself, my story follows the photo.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Timeless

“It’s just clutter, nothing of value, why can’t I throw it out?”

“That’s my grandmother’s button tin you’re holding. Remember how we used the big buttons to teach you to count?”

Laura glared at her mother and sighed.

“You don’t need any of it.”

“How do you know what I need?”

“I look after you mother, I think I know.”

Isobel watched as her daughter walked around, calculating how many boxes they’d need.

“Laura, you pop in briefly, collect my prescription, get my groceries, but you can’t give me what I need.”

“And what would that be?”

Isobel smiled

“Time.”

The Train

August 31, 2013September 2, 2013 / Dee / 25 Comments

This week’s photo comes courtesy of Dawn Miller and is taken inside Union Station, Washington D.C. The marble and columns speak of times gone by and thinking of this led me to my story for Friday Fictioneers. I was delighted to have at least come up with something this week, I failed miserably last week as I was so involved with work, I never seemed to find time to myself to write. Thanks as always to Rochelle 🙂

The Train

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Bathed in silvery moonlight, the train waits in the siding. It is empty, except for the ghosts. Their fingers linger over highly polished mahogany. Fine silks and satins glide over heavily carpeted corridors. Thousands of stories have unfolded in the confines of these sumptuously elegant carriages.

It is morning. Highly trained staff will soon board, the ghosts will vanish and the magic will begin. Windows will gleam, crystal will sparkle, silver will shine and crisp table linen bearing the world-famous cypher will be laid. The Venice Simplon-Orient Express will be made ready to beguile and charm; another adventure will begin

http://www.orient-express.com/web/vsoe/cabins.jsp

PS I have just realised that I ‘liked’ this post – I did think it was alright, but never intended to ‘like’ it publicly. Please excuse my arthritic fingers attempting to get to grips with the new mobile App for WordPress, I promise to take more care in future and only ‘like’ your posts. (02/09/13)

Where trees are fallen

August 16, 2013 / Dee / 26 Comments

Another week, another post for Friday Fictioneers. Follow our leader Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, then join our merry band. Thanks this week for the photo go to Roger Bultot.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Where Trees Are Fallen

“Jarvis,the car! Get me away from these people.”

“They’ve just returned you as their MP, for a second time sir.”

“And what happened to my previous majority?”

“Yes that’s odd, especially as you were born here sir.”

“We don’t mention that, remember?

“Sorry sir, I thought….”

“You didn’t think, otherwise you wouldn’t have allowed that moron in to rant at me”

“But you altered the route of the new railway. The land had been in his family for years.”

“Tough. It’s called progress.”

“Surely you could have listened sir?”

“I did. Now get the bloody car!

“Sir, about the car…”

Give me a land of boughs in leaf,
A land of trees that stand;
Where trees are fallen there is grief;
I love no leafless land.”
– A.E. Housman

At the moment we have great arguments raging here about the new HS2 train which, if it goes ahead, will cut a swathe through huge chunks of the English countryside. The photo made me think of all the trees that are in danger, the ancient woodlands that will disappear.

Click on Mr Froggy for more stories

Mistaken Identity

August 10, 2013 / Dee / 18 Comments

A little later than usual, here is my effort for Friday Fictioneers this week. A big thank you to the lovely Renee Heath for the photograph this week and to Rochelle for all the time and effort she devotes to FF – we are all truly grateful. Bow, curtsey…

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

Mistaken Identity

“Stop, stop. Stop!”

My son tightens his grip, his little nails dig into my hand.

“What’s the matter Sam, whatever’s wrong?”

I pick him up. His face is ashen. Two perfectly shaped teardrops hover in the corners of his brilliant blue eyes, threatening to spill over any moment.

I hold him tight.

“What is it? Tell me what’s wrong. Do you have a pain? Just tell me.”

Removing one arm from around my neck and a wet cheek from mine, he points at the fire hydrant and, in the smallest voice, whispers

“There’s a Dalek and I don’t like him.”

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By way of explanation…

We don’t have fire hydrants in the UK like the ones in the photograph.

In the mid-eighties we made our first visit to America. My husband is a film buff and a Western fanatic; the thought that he could see Monument Valley and walk in the steps of John Wayne had a lot to do with planning our vacation. In the event we never got to Monument Valley, but did see some amazing and wonderful places on that first trip.

During the stopover in San Francisco, which was much cooler than the weather we had left behind in Los Angeles, our youngest son complained that his legs were cold. My husband and elder son went off to find a shop where we could get him some trousers instead of the shorts we had with us, and we trailed somewhere behind. I think we were approaching Union Square when the incident I have written about happened.

A new series of Dr Who had just been screened at home and while my eldest loved it, my younger son and I would hide behind the sofa when there was a scene with the Daleks. They could be pretty scary.