Weathering Our Storm (2)


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.

(I love this photograph and am so grateful to Rochelle for using it as the re-run this week and I have posted my original story. At present my ship is a bit wobbly, due in part to OH not being well, but we will be back on course very soon).

24 January 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.’

 

For more stories click here 

 

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Free Spirits


Thanks to Roger Bultot for the photo this week and huge thanks to Rochelle who continues her amazing balancing act – author, artist, Fairy Blogmother…

6 May

Copyright Roger Bultot

Genre: Family History

Word Count: 100

Free Spirits

‘Will you catch one for me Fred, please?’

‘They’re wild birds Florrie, I can’t catch them.’

‘Oh, please get me one Fred, please.’

That night he made a small cage and hung it from a branch of the apple tree.

‘That’s as close as I get to catching one for you, sis.’

The soldiers lined up early next morning. Fred looked very smart; my ma cried at the sight of him marching away.

‘Don’t forget to check the cage Florrie,’ he shouted.

‘I’ll check it every day till you’re home.’

I never caught a bird.

Fred never came home.

 

 click Mr Frog for more stories.

Throwing the switch


I haven’t been around for a while as my life has taken several twists and turns, nothing bad, but time consuming and I have missed my friends.  I will try and keep up, thank you for being patient.  Thanks to Rochelle for never missing a beat and to Stephen Baum for the photo this week.

Copyright Stephen Baum

Copyright Stephen Baum

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Throwing the Switch

Martha looked pale and small in the hospital bed.  Was she breathing?  Harold held her hand; the realisation of his need for her overwhelmed him. It seemed she had always been with him, even before they met. Before the dream became a reality.

As the nursing team carried out their checks, he paced the room, willing her to stay, to come back to him.

‘She’s resting, Mr Jackson, do you want anything?’

I want to stay with her forever

No, thank you.’

Martha slowly opened her eyes.

‘Harold?’

Her voice threw the switch and Harold’s smile lit up the room.

 click here for more great stories

Shabby Love


Happy New Year!!  Hope you are all well and keeping warm and dry as we battle this dreadful weather.

Welcome to another year of Friday Fictioneers, hosted as always by the one and only Rochelle. You can get more information about how to join our happy band, the rules and regulations etc., by going along to her website here. Thanks for the photo this week to Dawn Quyle Landau

Copyright Dawn Q Landau

Copyright Dawn Quyle Landau

.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 100

Shabby Love

Our meeting place has lost its charm.

I happened there by chance, and remembered

How much I loved you, once.

We met often, making plans for ‘sometime later’

Until the day you pressured me for things I could not do.

You lashed out, calling me prude and names

I’d never heard nor understood.

I ran from you in tears, upset and hurt,

Much later realising the valuable lesson learned.

Love is not always kind, or what you hoped for.

True love comes when you are least prepared for it.

The little hut is shabby now, like your supposed love for me.

———–

Click on the little blue froggy thing for more stories

Fearful Symmetry – S is for Strangers


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

small-heart0011.gif

(Read more about Symmetry here )

Timeless


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.

    

Copyright - Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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.”

 

 

 

Life’s Cycle


It’s Wednesday it must be time for Friday Fictioneers. The photo this week is courtesy of AnElephanCant – (an elephant obviously can)  and we Fictioneers are following the yellow jersey of our tour leader Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  Join us and meet new and interesting writers from all over the globe, we have fun but be warned, it is very addictive and your Wednesdays will never be the same again.

 

anelephantcant

 

Genre: Poetry

Word Count: 100

Life’s Cycle

We rode side by side in silence lost in thought

Happy in companionable silence

Our love was new in that early carefree time

When you looked at me and saw perfection

And I looked at you in adoration

The years unfolded bringing joy and heartache

At times it seemed in equal measure

We rode out less as our children came

And interrupted our treasured togetherness

We argued and fought like any married couple

Until we found our new direction and grew close again

The same but stronger

Now too old to ride, our cycles gather dust and hold

Our memories

 

A Story of Love


On the merry-go-round of the Friday Fictioneers, we spin our stories, tell our tales;  climb to the heights or sink to the depths of the human condition. The photo to challenge us this week, comes courtesy of David Stewart, you can climb his Green Walled Tower to read more from him, and you can read more from Rochelle, who leads the Fictioneers up and down and round and round each week.

rescuers D Stewart

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

A Story of Love

I believed your promises of love and forever

I left my friends and family behind

They didn’t see what I saw

Couldn’t bask in the glow of the love you gave me.

I walked beside you

Your confidence soared

You matured

Saw a different world

A world of opportunity

 Endless possibilities

For an unencumbered man.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

 Heartbroken desolate abandoned

Unable to dull the pain

I returned to my safe haven

Loving arms held me tight

Unquestioning support and solace

Nurtured the Me you had destroyed

Watched the smile I’d lost return

Saw me climb back to my place in the sun.

Footprints in the Sand


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)

 

wasp-nest

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)

 

Waiting


As a little white rabbit said “I’m late, I’m late…”

But I managed to pull something together eventually.  The thing about Friday Fictioneers is the big hook, once you’re on you just don’t want to wriggle off!  The photo this week is courtesy of Lora Mitchell and the Friday Fictioneers are lovingly corralled each week by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

lilies-lora-mitchell

Genre: Fiction

Word Count:  100

Waiting

Martha stares out at the city one last time.

Seems she is always waiting.

She had waited for a husband to love.

She had waited a while for their first child.

She had waited in vain for their second.

She had waited for her husband to love her as she loved him.

 

She waits for the bus, holding one bag and one silent child, ‘can’t have any more that don’t speak’

She waits at her mother’s door for the comforting arms that will hold them both; for the heart that is bigger than the ocean, to envelop them in love.