Thursday, March 23, 2017

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Post 1484.  Thursday March 23

Friday Fictioneers



Before the food-laden breakfast table, a log fire crackled. Maids fetched and carried, servants moved discreetly. A chauffeur readied a gleaming limousine for his master's trip to the factory. 

His workers tugged their forelocks as he walked twixt the clanking machines, a handkerchief pressed to his face.

Times were good.

*

A chill wind whistled through broken windows. Five scruffy urchins played on the filthy floor. Their mother, large with child, struggled to feed them. Hopefully, her husband would earn a shilling today to buy food tomorrow.

Recently a child died and was buried in a pauper’s grave. They couldn't pay a doctor.

Soon their eldest would be six and sweeping chimneys at the mansion.

Times were dark.


Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to J Hardy Carroll for the picture.











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Tuesday, March 21, 2017

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Post 1483. Tuesday March 21

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers





A know a guy called Stuart. He calls himself Styler because his hero is Steven Tyler, but whereas the Aerosmith play stadiums, he shrieks and strums in the street. He’s tried to get the look right; hairy, baggy shirts, mile long scarves and skinny jeans.

I was walking down a scruffy backstreet. It was blustery. Rubbish bowled along the pavement. Stuart – sorry, Styler came walking towards me leaning into the wind, hand on head. “Hi Sty”.  I went to shake his hand. He took his hand from his head, and suddenly his hair took off and flew down the street!  I turned to see where it was heading (pardon the pun!) and it saw darting back towards us with four tiny legs poking out of it! Just behind, an old fellow was tottering along. “Tinkerbelle, heel girl”

I don’t know what was funnier.; Styler’s expression, his never-before-seen shiny bald head, the hapless dog owner, or the animated wig. Styler suddenly took off in pursuit of his crowning glory. I haven’t seen him since. I wonder if he got it back!




Inspired by Sunayana MoiPensieve's picture at Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. 


Monday, March 20, 2017

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Post 1483. Monday March 20


This week are writing to someone we hurt.



To whom it may concern

I’ve lived with the guilt for forty years. I still wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat, thinking about it.

I was the person that ran into you on my bicycle in the park at two forty-seven on the afternoon of August the sixth 1977. I sent you flying backwards into the middle of a family’s picnic splattering them with sticky trifle and cream cakes. I veered into a rose bush and went head-first into the pond splashing a torrent of dirty water all over you and the picnickers. I startled a swan which leapt out of the pond flapping its wings knocking you senseless. The children started screaming, the father cursed and the mother burst into tears. I dragged my bike out of the water and rode off as fast as I could.

Sorry!


Ahhhh, I feel better now!


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Sunday, March 19, 2017

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A-Z Challenge 2017 Theme Reveal 

Genre - Flash Fiction




Hello and welcome to Amble Bay, a small coastal village of about a hundred dwellings, a couple of farms and a little over two hundred and eighty souls who live in perfect peace and harmony, at least, for most of the time! 

Over the next few weeks I will be looking back at some of the events that have shaped our lives; some enjoyable, some tragic, but in the main amusing! I’ll introduce you to several of our residents. We’ll visit the Fish Inn, the shops, the church and the village hall. I’ll take you down to the beach, and along the coastal path. Depending on how much time we have, we may even catch the bus into Bustleton our nearest town. We’ll see.

I was born here. I left for a while, but as they say, home is where the heart is and mine beats right here.

I scribbled you a map so you can get your bearings. It's not very good, but it may help. Right, I’m off for a pint. I’ll see you on the first of April... bye for now.


Click on pic to enlarge



To discover more about the A-Z Challenge 2017 and to join the many hundreds of bloggers taking part, click HERE


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Post 1481. Sunday March 19

Sunday Photo Fiction.

I should be content. Happy.  After all, I have it all. But I didn’t choose this life, it chose me. Lured me, tempted me. I am envied by many, resented by some. After all, why me? What did I ever do to disserve all this? A wealthy beau, this mansion. Opulence, extravagance.

Decadence, vulgarity.

I often stand here. I watch the life I left played out below me. The hustle and bustle, Chatter and laughter. Nods winks and cheeky grins.

He touches my arm. I shudder. Come away he says. He sees the longing in my eyes, senses the envy I feel as I gaze downward. I shouldn’t blame him. After all, I allowed him to him sweep me off my feet. Tempt me. Take me away. Isolate me.

They begged me not to go. They warned me, told me I belonged with them. Not him. Anybody but him they said. I laughed. Mocked them. Accused them of jealousy. They disowned me, cast me aside. If only I had heeded their warnings. Why did I not see what they saw?

I miss you Mummy. Please forgive me.





A story inspired by the picture at Sunday Photo Fiction


Saturday, March 18, 2017

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Post 1480.  Sunday March 19

This week’s given words at the Sunday’s Whirligig are point, pitied, pack, sex, shop, sang, dildos, dog, drives, hot, hit, hundred and sang. I employed all but the last one one so I’ll sing a song to make up for it!



CONTAINS ADULT HUMOUR



The most ambitious thing she’d ever made was a hot dog! After all, what's the point of making food when surrounded by takeaways? I quite pitied her. After all, homemade food is so much nicer. So I gave her a cookery book, a saucepan and a spoon to get her started.

Yesterday she decided to drive the local supermarket and buy some stuff for her hitherto barren cupboards. Packs of this, tins of that and quite a bit of the other!

There were hundreds of things in the cookery book to choose from, but after careful consideration, she hit on the idea of double chocolate chip cup cakes.  She tipped everything into a bowl. ‘Whisk it together’ the recipe said. Problem; she didn’t have a whisk. Then she had an idea. Use the dildo she bought on the way home as a reward for trudging around that boring shop. But it didn't work. Perhaps her vibrator might shake it into a chocolaty goo, it has that effect on her! It didn't, so no chocolate cupcakes. But sex has never been as sweet!
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Post 1479. Saturday March 18

The Sunday Whirl


I moved here yesterday. Nice, isn’t it? Très petit et chic as the say en France! A pretty view across the village green to the church, see? The clock bell woke me every hour last night but I’ll soon get used to it. That path down there leads to the pub. They’re holding a disco tonight, so I thought I might pop down and boogie with my new neighbours. Yea!

I took off my shoes when I arrived yesterday. Unwise. I got a splinter from a floor board in my left foot then soon after, trod on a mouse trap with my left one. So if you wonder why I’m waddling like a penguin you know why. Whatever happens. I must not wear my white and orange sweater tonight!

I need to arrange the furniture this morning and unpack my bags. Fancy giving me a hand?



This week's words at The Sunday Whirl are penguin, after, bag, green, board, furnish (furniture), mouse, tray (très), lead, disc (disco), bell, and orange.