Flash Fiction

Birth, Hope, Beginning

/ michaelwynnauthor / 58 Comments

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

/ michaelwynnauthor / 38 Comments

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.

Suicide’s Not Painless

/ michaelwynnauthor / 66 Comments

broken-face-liz

 

 

 

 

copyright – Liz Young

Company rules be damned, Sean wouldn’t do this job without a bottle in hand. He’d signed to maintain railway lines, there wasn’t mention of collecting body parts.
At least they’d found the head today. He stared through death’s pallor at the wide eyes, the freshly applied make-up. “Were you trying to look your best? Presumably, nobody told you how pretty you were.”
He took a swig before, grabbing hair and avoiding the ragged scarlet ring of decapitation, he placed the head into a sack.
His thoughts turned to the driver, “Poor Larry’s just returned from the stress of the last one.”

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

 

Mother Warned Me About You, Harold Halfsharp!

/ michaelwynnauthor / 59 Comments

loneliness

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Eileen Halfsharp stood arms crossed, biceps like hams, her bottom lip assaulting her nose.
“What’s that look for?” stammered Halfsharp.
“It seemed appropriate for the occasion. Why is one of my chairs in the river?”
“Thought I’d catch us dinner, you like a nice trout. When the fish are used to the chair, I’ll get on it and pull ‘em out”
Eileen’s brow creased menacingly, “In all these forty years, you’ve never got it quite right,” she rumbled.
“It’s the thought that counts?” Halfsharp offered nervously.
“And if I catch the bugger that coined that phrase, I’ll swing for him!”

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

 

Blooming Through the Morass

/ michaelwynnauthor / 56 Comments

roger-bultot-flower

 

 

 

 

copyright – Roger Bultot

An eccentric professor could have been comfortable, a charlady would have demanded a bonus up front even to contemplate the room; a chaos of piled-high dusty files, books and dirty coffee cups.
Bamford pondered the young woman seated client-side of his littered desk. He hunted clues to her character. He followed her gaze to the windowsill.
“You like my flower.”
“It’s an elegant light in dismal surroundings,” she answered freely and unselfconsciously.
He smiled at the result of his examination.
“It’s a white orchid, it symbolises innocence and beauty. I shall be very happy to take your case, Miss Stevens.”

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

The Wrong Tool For the Job

/ michaelwynnauthor / 66 Comments

al_forbes

 

 

 

 

Image courtesy of Al Forbes

“Fancy a ride?” Matt gambled.
Kayleigh beamed at the sports car, a faint blush shading her heavy make-up.
She tingled as the engine throbbed; the wind exciting her hair.
As he changed gear, she took his hand, “Stuart’s got a boring hatchback.”
Matt jerked into Lovers’ lane, stopping abruptly.
She dragged him to her, ardently kissing then burying his face in her cleavage, to suffocation point.
“Put the roof up, I’ll get in the back.”
Struggling with the mechanism, his ardour withered,
“Forget it,” she bawled, “it’s too small, just take me home!”
“Hatchbacks have their moments,” Matt bemoaned limply.

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

Heroes and Arch Villians

/ michaelwynnauthor / 38 Comments

dale-rogerson2

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Screeching alarms split his head, flashing lights blared but it was immaterial now, he’d taken out all of his captors. Their futile attempts to stop him were no match for his deadly combination of karate and cunning.
Blood flowed from his shoulder, one of them had got lucky but that was no impediment, he’d stitch it up with the thread concealed in his teeth.
The last corridor to negotiate; he strode down it confidently; the enemy had nothing left.
“Davies! What are you doing dawdling here? The lesson’s started.”
“Damn! A survivor!” He was caught. “Another afternoon of double maths.”

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

Just Got to Keep Moving

/ michaelwynnauthor / 55 Comments

ceayr3

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

He’d lit the fuse of yet another city. Standing on the bridge, Jake contemplated the rails disappearing in every direction, over mysterious horizons to unnumbered tempting futures.
He sighed, “How many times before I run out of track?”
Kicking the heavy canvas bag at his feet he smiled, “They’ll come after me, alright.” The first train hissed to a halt.
“How long can I continue? Perhaps this time I’ll find honest employment, make a proper new start.”
Slumping into his seat, he thought again, “But let’s not be hasty, maybe this track, is the beautiful one headed to rainbow’s end.”

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

 

 

 

Grist to the Mill

/ michaelwynnauthor / 38 Comments

the-mill-pillar

 

 

 

 

© Sandra Crook
“He was odd, but we’re all our own shape,” Toby sighed. “Kept this place going, mind.”
Josh stood absorbing the yesterday aspect of the old mill, the sadness in the dust, cracked beams and rodent tracks.
“What happened?”
“After his missus left, he shut himself away grinding flour for a market he didn’t have.” Toby pointed at the swollen sacks, “Full o’ weevils.”
Josh poked one that bulged unevenly; his curiosity drew a knife down it. Grain and a cold arm spilled from the slit.
“Oh, it appears his wife left without her arm.”
Toby eyed the other sacks ruefully.

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

Who Killed Cock Robin?

/ michaelwynnauthor / 39 Comments

horses-in-snow

 

 

 

 

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The land wears the snow like a starched business shirt, crisp and bright. If writing a poem today, I’ll need more words for white.
Looking out the window, I follow the spiky tracks of a bird to a point up the garden where presumably it took flight.
But, wait a minute…other sinister tracks converge. Precise paw prints like Clubs on a suit of cards. There’s the serpentine drag of a tail, a hollow that held a crouch and a spray released with a spring.
Then a small speck of red; forensic evidence of the outcome.
The neighbour’s bloody cat again!

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