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Post 16. Tuesday January 1616

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

When he was a child he had a plan; a plan to take him to where he wanted to be. But his goal was like buried treasure at the end of a rainbow. With every step forward it moved one step away.

He asked his grandfather for advice. “Lad,” he said, "to reach life’s goals you must run when you can”. But he ran too fast stumbling along the way leaving a trail of failures in his tracks. “Walk if you have to” he’d said. But he walked with head bowed passing so many of the opportunities that life offered him. “Crawl if you must,” his grandfather said. He crawled, he pleaded, he begged, but beseeching gained no favours.

When his grandfather passed away, black clouds of despair covered the blue sky of hope. The last words he’d uttered echoed in his mind. “Never give up lad” he’d said. With that, a rainbow appeared. He gazed heavenward. “I won’t let you down Grandad” he yelled.

This week's picture is provided by @any1mark66

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Post 1615. Sunday January 14

Sunday Photo Fiction

I froze. My blood ran cold. I would never see Mummy and Daddy again. I should have said sorry for breaking the head off my sister's doll and blaming it on her friend. I should have owned up to hiding my other brothers favourite toy soldier. I’d miss my rabbit. I’d miss seeing Bill and Ben on the television tonight and pizza for supper tomorrow. My teddy would miss me. Who would look after him?

I had this book about a jungle. There were pictures of scary animals and one was a huge leopard. I always rushed past it, it really frightened me. And there I was facing one in my own back garden. Daddy said they only lived in zoos here. Why did he tell me a fib? Why was I looking into the eyes of one now? Every night before bed, I had to say my prayers. Something about keeping me safe. So, surely Mr God would shoo the leopard away. But he didn’t. It came closer and closer.

Just then Daddy came out into the garden. “What are you doing here you big fat pussycat?” he laughed. “Mrs Thomas was wondering where you had gone to!”

Word count 199

This week's photo prompt.

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Post 1614. Thursday January 11

Six Sentence Stories

As the faithful few conclude their random rendition of All Things Bright and Beautiful, Miss Pargiter mops her brow after enduring another battle with the wheezing church organ.

Standing in his pulpit, the Reverend Caruthers silently surveys the congregation which braces itself in nervous anticipation. "Beware the temptations of the flesh" he suddenly hisses, then as the veins in his forehead bulge, he explodes, spitting like a venomous snake. “Fornication, drunkenness; let not Satan determine your destiny for the wages of sin are certain death”

Farmer Fred visibly shrinks whilst three rows back, Postmistress Poppy's cheeks glow crimson.

After ten minutes of pointing, thumping, and ranting, the sermon is over and Miss Pargiter valiantly attempts to accompany the final rousing hymn, Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin.

The cue word at this week's Six Sentence Stories is Wage.

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Post 1613. Wednesday January 10

Friday Fictioneers

He suspends a silky thread from a corner of an open window. Crouching unseen, he patiently waits for a breath of breeze to carry it to the other side. It moves, and waves then floats up and across. Perfect.

Slowly, painstaking, he starts to weave his web. Round and round, up and down, in and out. Once done, he admires his work then awaits his unsuspecting prey. Minutes pass, more minutes still. Then from nowhere an unsuspecting insect flies into the web's sticky centre. Panic-stricken, it struggles to break free. Thrashing, spinning. But to no avail.

Dinner is served!

Word count 99

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting, and Victor and Sarah Potter for the photo.

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Post 1602. Sunday January 7

Sunday Photo Fiction

The Chief Inspector cleared his throat as he tapped his glass with a pen. “Here’s to a happy and well-earned retirement Bill” he shouted.

“Inspector Wise” his colleagues yelled banging together their tankards, showering themselves with beer.

“Good riddance!” yelled a jokester to rapturous applause.

William Wise built a career admired by those who worked with and above him. Hardly a case he took on was left unsolved; except of course the last one, his biggest yet which was to remain a mystery.

Later that night, he booked into a bed and breakfast in Dover. He sat with his new passport in one hand, a large malt whisky in the other and a satisfied smile on his face. “Welcome to the world Sam Smart” he muttered. Tomorrow he would head for the docks, the ferry and a new life.

Word count 123

The picture at this week's Sunday Photo Fiction features Castle Street in Dover.

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Post 1601. Thursday January 4

Six Sentence Stories

I came across this piece when I was reading back through my blog this morning. I wrote it eleven years ago. My, how time flies!

Exactly one year ago I set up this blog which was odd because to me folk who used computers as a hobby rather than for work were anoraks, nerds!

It started when I decided not to send holiday postcards but instead, keep a diary and once home, type them out, add some snaps and distribute them.

They went down well, and someone suggested I publish them on one of those bloggy things, then one thing led to another and before long I found myself making stories up.

Now like bloggers the world over, I think in prose and every situation in which I find myself becomes an essay in my mind, carrying me away into a world of words, sentences and paragraphs; I’ve become a nerd!

My first tales were pretty poor and all my efforts during the first couple of months have long since been deleted, but one year on, I am still tapping away on my keyboard at every opportunity and my sleeping hours get shorter and shorter.

So what will the next year bring, will I still be blogging in January 2007; who knows?

This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Start

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