No Free Ride

October 7, 2015 / Dee / 29 Comments

Happy retirement to our busy leader Rochelle – more time for writing now… Thanks for the photo this week go to Ted Strutz

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

No Free Ride

In the small, shabby dressing room, Louise tries to pull up the straps of the outfit her mother has made for her debut.

‘Louise, quit messing with your dress. Hold your head up, smile sweetie.’

‘It’s hard to smile mama, please don’t make me do this.’

‘Baby don’t be so selfish, your sister and I have supported you, now it’s your turn. There’s no such thing as a free ride in this world sweetie. God’s given you a beautiful face and a great body; get out there and show ‘em what you’ve got.’

Terrified, Louise steps into the spotlight …

http://www.lifetimetv.co.uk/biography/biography-gypsy-rose-lee

Waiting Room

October 1, 2015 / Dee / 34 Comments

Thanks to Marie Gail Stratford for the unusual photo for the prompt this week and to Rochelle for her unswerving dedication to Friday Fictioneers.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Waiting Room

Children play quietly with toys in the corner, they look up as a parent or grandparent walks from a consulting room to the x-ray department. I watch them as I wait for you to come back to me.

Not able to sit still, I join a line of worried relatives at the coffee bar. We buy coffee, tea, cake – anything to fill our minds, to give us a moment free from doubt and fear. No-one mentions the word we all dread, but ‘what if’ is whispered and hands are clasped tight.

Then suddenly, you’re walking towards me.

And you’re smiling.

A Bridge Trip

September 23, 2015 / Dee / 48 Comments

Thanks as always to Rochelle for her sterling work and thanks to The Reclining Gentleman for the photo this week.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

A Bridge Trip

Jerry limped into the bar on North Street and hauled himself onto a stool.

‘You got money this time Jerry?’

‘Not ‘xactly.’

‘You know the rules, NO credit.’

Lowering his voice Jerry leant in, ‘Ben, listen, there’s a hole in the pavement on Murray Bridge. No sign. Nothing. I sorta tripped and hurt myself. A guy helped me and said I’ll get comperation, that’s cash aint it?’’

He wiped a grubby hand across his mouth, watching Ben pour a beer for a paying customer.

Ben laughed, then pushed a beer towards him, ‘Jerry, you’re unbelievable. Get a job, it’s safer.’

Prussia Cove

September 11, 2015 / Dee / 27 Comments

Thank you to Rochelle, the hard-working captain of the good ship Friday Fictioneers and thanks also to Jen Pendergast for the lovely photo this week, I’ve kept the connection with boats…

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

Prussia Cove

‘Come away from the window Alice.’

‘Mother, I heard their horses.’

‘You know it’s not safe, come away.’

Alice climbed back into her bed. She drifted back to sleep cuddling Charlotte, her new rag doll. As she slept, her mother lit the torches in the network of tunnels below their house, before running out to help her husband and the other men from the village. Rolls of silk, packets of tobacco, barrels of brandy were swiftly hidden from sight.

‘The King of Prussia’s’ men had relieved another wreck of its cargo, before the customs men came galloping along the beach.

The house above Prussia Cove

For more information on the self-styled King of Prussia and his family

… and an extract from ‘A Smuggler’s Song’ by Rudyard Kipling

‘IF you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,

Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street,

Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie.

Watch the wall my darling while the Gentlemen go by.’

Past Imperfect

September 4, 2015 / Dee / 37 Comments

It’s a lovely morning here, the sun is streaming in though the windows as I write, it looks more like spring than autumn. In any event, it’s a lovely day to wish a very Happy Birthday to Rochelle and to my sister, who also celebrates today.

I watched a building, much older than the one pictured, being pulled down a few days ago, and wondered…

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Past Forgiving

From a safe distance, I watch the demolition team start work. A small group of people gather at the safety barrier; I recognise a few of them, but doubt many would recognise me, now.

The place that was once my home but became my prison, is reduced to piles of rubble. A workman in the basement shouts something to his supervisor who runs across the street.

Mrs Goodman leaves the group of onlookers; she glances in my direction, a half smile forming on her thin lips as she walks away. We both know what’s been found; no point hanging around.

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Madam, do you trust him?

August 26, 2015August 26, 2015 / Dee / 34 Comments

Good to be back. The photo this week is from Claire Fuller, I have just finished reading her brilliant book ‘Our Endless Numbered Days’ which certainly stays with you quite a while after you finish reading.Thank you to Rochelle for her continued captaincy of the good ship ‘FF’ and for her latest book ‘Please Say Kaddish For Me’ which I have just started to read. I feel humble to be in such talented company.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

‘Madam, do you trust him?’

‘I have a mind to. Anthony has been a loyal page and is also a good friend of John Ballard, both seem set upon my release. The letter sets out a plan so daring, it takes my breath away, but with God’s help it will succeed. Bring me paper, I will reply.’

Imprisoned at Chartley, Mary’s letters were encrypted by her secretary Gilbert Curle and smuggled out in casks of ale, only to be intercepted by Sir Francis Walsingham. Her eager reply to Babington’s letter sealed the fate of both herself and the plotters.

The Babington Plot

Courtesy of National Archives

Mary,Queen of Scots Courtesy of Wikipedia

Bonding on a Summer Night

June 24, 2015June 24, 2015 / Dee / 32 Comments

Thanks to Rochelle for continuing to host this wonderful group which I have missed these past few weeks. Thanks also to Kent Bonham for the intriguing photo.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Bonding on a Summer Night

Harry likes the freedom of the road, and the freedom to play his games miles away from Linda and arguments about D-I-Y. He likes overnighting in the foreign lorry parks, better equipped than ones at home. Tonight, he can’t choose between John Travolta and James Bond, but the redhead sitting at the bar can’t resist him. Anticipating the night ahead, he takes the drink she offers and leans in.

The truck, a bit heavier than expected, takes the early Channel crossing. In the Centre Hospitalier de Calais, the gendarme repeats his questions, Harry stares at him, his mind totally blank.

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John, ‘The Immigrant’

April 29, 2015 / Dee / 60 Comments

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…

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

April 22, 2015 / Dee / 40 Comments

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

April 9, 2015April 9, 2015 / Dee / 41 Comments

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.

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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