Sunday, June 26, 2016

The Sunday Whirl

Posted Sunday June 26

Wee Ping was trudging along the muddy trail. She was not a happy girl. “Either rain or don’t rain” she shouted heavenward. “Don’t just drizzle. I hate drizzle” She darn't stop for fear her boots would take root in the sludge. If she didn’t get home and dry off soon, she was sure she would dissolve or shrink or rot or something. Swift progress was essential.

She flew through her front door only to be confronted by her boyfriend. Big Bob couldn’t contain his amusement as she slung her sodden coat on the floor and headed for her ‘medicine cupboard’ to grab a glass and a bottle of wine.

He went to put his arms around her but she pushed him away adding a splosh of Chateau Saint Pierre to the ever-growing puddle of water on the floor. "Don’t you want a hug from your best friend?” he asked. “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend” she huffed. “Which reminds me; how much longer are you expecting me to wait...” She stopped in her tracks as Big Bob dropped to one knee and held out his hand. A little black box sat his palm. 

“Ping, will you do me the honour.......  

The Sunday Whirl. I used all but one of this week's given words which are  - weeping, drizzle, rot, roots, diamonds, trail, tunnel,swift, heaven, peak, medicine and saint


Thursday, June 23, 2016

Friday Fictioneers

Posted Wednesday June23

Trussed into tiny spaces, we sit shoulder to shoulder in the cramped cabin. The crew impassively perform their emergency ritual, arms flailing hither and thither. The mighty engines roar. I am pressed against my seat as the giant silver bird thunders and shudders down the runway, then quiet calm as we climb skyward leaving my stomach below.

Steeply banking, the plane stands on a wingtip. I stare down at a monopoly
of shrinking streets below. Higher and higher we soar. Wisps of clouds rush by my window then shafts of brilliant sunlight illuminate the cabin.

‘A  gin and tonic please’

Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host is Rochelle and the photo prompt is supplied by Rich Voza


Monday, June 20, 2016

Wordless Wednesday

Posted Monday June 20

Pevensey Levels twixt Bexhill on Sea and Eastbourne, England

Click on photos to enlarge and improve


Saturday, June 18, 2016

Six Word Saturday

Posted Saturday June 18

Speculation, exaggeration, and downright lies. 

Roll on Thursday - let's get the referendum over and done with.

Que sera, sera!


My Sunday Threesome!

Posted Saturday June 18

Where am I? What loathsome sin have I committed to deserve this? Somebody, anybody, help me, please. Why do my pleas go unheeded? Run, yes run. Fast. Faster. Water, water all around me. Where am I? Rushing, boiling, foaming water erupting from nowhere, everywhere, sweeping me along. I crack me head against a jagged rock. Help me, please. Where am I? Here’s the bank rising up and up. Climb. Clamber. Shadows taunt me, crows torment me. Swarming. Flapping. Pecking. Squawking. I scramble through mud. It sucks me, pulls me. Angry thorns tug me, snag me, slow me... slower.... slower..... slower. I fall.

Where am I? I am in a different place, a quiet and peaceful place. The thorns release me, and as I watch them retreat, pale leaves unfurl and a rose bud appears, its little pink petals unfolding. I sense the sweetest aroma as a gentle breeze caresses my face, and a songbird serenades me. Look, over there; a shimmering pool, its ripples gleaming gold in the sunlight. Warm rays cosset me, embrace me, comfort me. I love this place.

I feel a bump on my head. My eyes spring open as a little boy runs past.  Sorry mister he shouts as he chases his ball across the park.

Of this week's twenty-five given words, I have used all but two.

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Six Sentence Stories

Posted Thursday June 16

'Everybody on deck, now' yelled the frantic voice.

Minutes earlier the decadent playgoers in the flower-decked lounge were gyrating to deafening sound from the deejay's spinning deck. They were placing bets on the poker dealers deck of clicking cards whilst swigging Ch√Ęteau Deconte '89 from overflowing crystal decanters as if it was to be their last ever drink. Little did they know.

'Life jackets on' screamed the captain as the ailing yacht listed to port sending its' terrified passengers slithering and sliding downward and into the ocean's unforgiving waves.

And so it was the murder-maids scored another victory over the land-dwellers who had dared to enter their waterdom.

Six Sentence Stories


Wednesday, June 15, 2016

My 100 word story!

Posted Wednesday June 15

‘It has to be there somewhere’ said Percy. Percy was a pianist of note, and he was performing at the Pig in the Pulpit Piano Bar when things went wonbly-woo. ‘Come out come out wherever you are’ he yelled as he searched through the piano strings. He had been playing The Flight of the Bumble Bee when B flat went missing. Plinkity-plonk-plinkity-plonk-plinkity... nothing... plonkity-plink-plonkity... nothing!  

C hadn’t seen it; neither had A. F told him that it had, erm, gone off!

In fact, halfway through the piece B flat realised that being a bumble bee would be far more fun so off he buzzed off to make honey.

Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and John Nixon for the mad photo prompt!