Author: michaelwynnauthor

Chapter 22 – Sacrifice kills the Future

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“I can’t do it, he needs me.”
John nuzzled her bowed head, breathed in the scent of her hair.
“What about your needs?”
“They’re not important.” He sucked in a deep breath of disapproval.
“No one should ever say that. I’ll accept a parent sacrificing their lives for their offspring, a lover for their love’s life but you don’t love him, you owe him nothing, certainly not your life’s fulfilment.
“I owe him respect.”
“Then give him respect but, take the love you need.”
He tasted her tears on her open lips as they kissed. “Please don’t sacrifice your happiness.”

A tale of love and conscience written in 100 word chapters. If you wish to read prior episodes please open the category, “The Whole of the Moon”

Perfect Resistance

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Image courtesy of Jellico’s Stationhouse

The late evening sun seemed to beam approval. Marie-Anne saw a large OK in the shadow of her bicycle wheel and its angular frame, projected on a whitewashed wall.
Antoine sprawled in his chair, eyes closed, legs stretched out in front of him.
He’d been magnificent, so calm as he blew the bridge, killing some of the bastards in the process and avenging her brother’s death.
“Do you want to sleep with me?”
“Because there’s a war on?” He asked, “Would you want to otherwise?”
She smiled and knew she loved him. “Because a perfect day needs a perfect close.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Memories are a Different Place

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copyright © Fatima Fakier Deria

As the feisty tugboats heaved and nudged the great liner into harbour, Henry felt the sun’s heat bounce off the swell, to welcome him back to a port that had known him well.
It was a long time ago, he’d never envisaged returning.
As anchors and hawsers clanked into place, memories as rich as the verdant island vegetation consumed him.
He sighed and returned to his cabin. “It will have changed,” he thought.
“Been spoiled. My friends will be older, maybe dead. They won’t recognise me.”
Sitting by the porthole, he opened a heavy book and awaited the liner’s leaving.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Only Way to be Sure

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Copyright J Hardy Carroll

Helen stood muffled against the wind and dark memories; peering through the iron railings, at the desolate house beyond the naked trees. Rain lingered on the windows like tears on the faces of the bereaved.
She fancied she saw a figure moving inside, a flicker of light tracing its progress. She heard terrifying screams as an evil hand knifed the innocents asleep in each room.
Holding her head tightly against the pain and noise, she asked herself unanswerable questions, “Who was I? Am I really changed?”
Weeping her distrust she raised her hand; this time the knife was for her.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Ramifications of Murder and Parenthood

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Inspector Tandy is my detective creation who features in numerous short stories and one novel to date. This is one of his shorter cases.

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

Inspector Tandy studied the broken fob watch and scanned the field. “Hit so hard it stopped time.”
“And shattered his internal organs,” replied the doctor examining the body.
Tandy ruminated, “Why come here to kill him?” He wandered to the ridge where the field fell away.
A lamb tottered from the dip, its mother bleating alarm. Another movement behind him caused his smile to flip over.
“Get out!” He called to colleagues as he ran, knees pumping and lungs bellowing their finest performance.
Nonetheless, the ram’s horns connected, Tandy sailed over the fence, landing sorely, dignity dissolved but case solved.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

I Don’t Like Spiders and Snakes but that Ain’t What it Takes to Love You – Jim Stafford

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PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

“Your mother can’t get downstairs. She says there’s something on the banister looking at her funny.”
Gerry pulled a slowworm from his trousers and a disgruntled snake from his jacket. Sludge and Sylvia were safe.
He went to investigate. “That’s Kafka, my locust. He’s looking at her funny because he has compound eyes. You see…”
“Skip the optometry lecture, please.”
“Dad, the football’s starting, it clashes with mum’s soap; you sure you want it sorted just yet?”
A bellow boomed from above, “If you have thoughts of eating tonight, squash that bug!”
Dad smiled, “Tempting son, but we’d better cooperate.”

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

Birth, Hope, Beginning

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First of all apologies to everyone for not commenting last week, I was abroad in one of those foreign countries without the equipment to do so, I shall make amends this week. Below is my offering for this week, I know what I was trying to do but I’m not sure I achieved it, so be as constructive or brutal as you feel appropriate.

2017-03-03

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Blazered children gather in playgrounds like rattling rooks milling against a pale sky before tumbling to warming fields of emergent worms and leather-jackets.
A short-trousered season of raw knees and mucky hands grows from eggs and pencils; vibrating hedgerows glow with nascent green, classrooms gleam with new term paint.
Buds unfurl along the lane trudged with jam jars on strings, full of fizzing tadpoles.
Armed with whittled sticks for hunting and fishing, pens and rulers for Miss Bryan who scolds like the woodpecker at the chatter, children throng to school, pink-tinged skeins glide into feeding grounds; the world starts again.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here

Amateur Assassins

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january-snowfall-nighttime Photo prompt courtesy of Sarah Potter

 

The landscape gave the impression a confectionery chef with a cause, had turned rogue. Garden hedges resembled iced muffins, and old tree stumps, a tier of wedding cake.
“We’ll have to wait for the thaw,” proclaimed Kurtz.
“Why?” asked Rudy.
Kurtz sighed as though addressing a simpleton, “The idea’s to do the job cleanly. Not leave tracks.”
“Evidence is only as good as its interpretation. I came prepared. Try these on.”
Kurtz examined the oversized socks with paw prints on their soles and the gloves with bladed fingers.
“Tomorrow’s headlines: ‘Warlord savaged by bear!'” Rudy declared triumphantly.
“In bearless Britain?”

Written for Friday Fictioneers- a 100 word story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle.
Read the other entries here.

Chapter 21 – Deceit’s A Warm Blanket

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what-have-i-done-2 Alison hesitated on the doorstep, quaking at the rigour of her own rules.
“Darling, how were your friends?” Stuart beamed.
She winced. That lie again.
“I’ve something to tell you,” they exclaimed together.
A “You go first” standoff followed, before Stuart led her to the sofa.
“I’ve been diagnosed with kidney disease. It will deteriorate. It’s likely I’ll need a transplant.”
Her eyes moistened. He held her tight, “Don’t worry, it’ll be alright. What do you have to tell me?” He asked lovingly.
“Nothing,” she cried, “I was thinking of joining the WI, that’s all.” Deceit returned like welcome succour.

A tale of love and conscience written in 100 word chapters. If you wish to read prior episodes open the category, “The Whole of the Moon”

Chapter 20 – Breaking Up is Hard to Do

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leaving-home-2 John inserted his key almost apologetically. Amy greeted him, hair towel-turbaned. “There you are.”
He expected more. “I had to go away.”
Her laugh held no humour, “To get your head straight?”
She turned the hair dryer on full. After a brief blow through, she flung it down.
“I’m moving out.” He knew anything he said would be weak.
“It’s not working. Is that what you want to hear?” She railed.
“I love you…” the words seemed to come from outside him.
“And it’s not me, it’s you.”
The rest was weighted silence as he helped her load her car.