Flash Fiction

Neither a Doffer nor a Doffee be

/ michaelwynnauthor / 51 Comments

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

Carl was a stubborn man. He refused to doff his cap and inexorably, a situation would arise requiring such an act. Carl never lasted long in employment after one of these episodes.

Crazily, he didn’t need the work. His family was big in business and his inheritance was enough to support him dining on the finest, five lifetimes over.

But he rejected the money. He wouldn’t be doffed to either. If you decline to be doffed to and refuse to doff, you find yourself in a kind of a no man’s land.

Tough for the heir to a millinery empire.

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

A Breath of Understanding

/ michaelwynnauthor / 53 Comments

Hi all, I’m pleased to announce, my latest book, Outsiders, is now available for Kindle pre-order from Amazon.
Due to the coronavirus lockdown the paperback proofs haven’t arrived yet, so whilst a physical copy can be ordered immediately, I’m asking people to hold off until I’ve had a chance to make sure the formatting etc is correct.

Now, onto today’s prompt, an old fridge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“We can’t just dump it here.”
“Why not, the tip’s closed, what else are we supposed to do?”
“Keep it until the tip opens.”
“But that’s not until tomorrow.”
“Hardly the longest wait you’ll ever have.”
“But I like to get things done.”
“Can’t you see how selfish that is? You’re despoiling the countryside and it’s a danger to children and wildlife.”
“How’s it a danger to children?”
“They might climb in and suffocate.”
“Huh, you don’t need to be Houdini to escape that.”
“OK, show me.”
George smiled as he let the muffled cries subside before freeing his gasping friend.

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

DIY Private Investigation is not for the fainthearted. What could the inhabitants of a rural Essex village possibly know about hunting down and defeating a violent drugs gang?
Where do you start? Why would you even contemplate starting?
Unfortunately, for Julian Ashton and his tramp friend Wordsworth, they have no choice. Innocently embarking on a search for the missing teenage son of a friend, they become unwittingly drawn into a situation, which threatens their lives and more importantly, the lives of those close to them.
Suddenly, in too deep, there is no option to turn back.

Grand Opening

/ michaelwynnauthor / 50 Comments

 

 

 

 

Copyright Dale Rogerson

Today was bound to be all go, but it’s more like impetigo, a sore rash of a day, seemingly without end.

I’m all for perfectionism, but hospital corners on table cloths for heaven’s sake? It’s snowed, so suddenly they’re not white enough. I had to reorder the centrepieces because a couple wilted overnight and poor chef has binned all he’d prepared. The soup’s over seasoned, the vegetables are cut too small, the spinach and ricotta ravioli not uniform enough.

Still, it’s her opening night, everything must be right.

But please, please stop snowing; God preserve us, if no one turns up.

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

A Tramp’s Trip to Paris

/ michaelwynnauthor / 35 Comments

 

 

 

 

 

PROMPT © C.E.Ayr

Bruno rummaged through the supermarket bins. “What have we got today? More ruddy tuna mayonnaise!” Delving deeper, he salvaged a baguette, “That’s better. Brie and cornichons. Dated just yesterday.” Pocketing the sandwich, he headed for the off-licence, but passing more bins, couldn’t resist another rummage, “Wow!”

Returning to the spot later with a bottle of red wine, he retrieved his find, a panoramic print of Paris by night. Propping it against the wall, he sat before it, uncorked the bottle and tucked into his meal.

Smiling, he announced to nobody, “But for the want of a Gauloise, we could be there.”

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

 

The Problems of the World

/ michaelwynnauthor / 2 Comments

This was a flash fiction written to a prompt, which didn’t get published originally, as I decided it was maybe too daft. However, I have a category on here, Strange Brew, just for such abominations and whimsy and as I quite like it now, here it is:

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

The moon in aspic was entering the solar plexus. The sun rose a day ahead of schedule and beavers abounded; if anything should abound it ought to be bluebells or rats.
A worry gnawed at The World like another beaver. His design was in chaos.
He scratched his Norwich, a tethered goat slipped down the crack of a mild earthquake and a crossdressing partridge squawked “plastic” from somewhere north of Ushuaia.
The World pondered the drawing board.
He’d used colours before but they’d assimilated all sorts of unintended baggage.
“Perhaps if I went back to monochrome and jettisoned the oil.”

A Life in the City

/ michaelwynnauthor / 40 Comments

Today I’m pleased to reveal the cover for the second book in my ‘Wordsworth the Tramp,’ series. I hope you like it, your opinions would be welcome. The book itself should be available for pre-order very soon.

The prompt this week reminded me of a recent phenomenon in our cities and indeed the very town I live in:

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Marcus’ eyes swept the city skyline. All those roofs and all humanity underneath.
Some making love, some killing each other. Marcus sneered at his watch, except most would be glued to the soap, now. He derided the masses’ lack of awareness and imagination.
They never look up, never outwards, insular, missing what lives amongst them. Threat or enrichment.
He might take several shots, but needed just one perfect one.
He arced the scope over the cityscape and suddenly there she was.
Swooping to the cathedral. He pressed the button.
A perfect picture to celebrate the peregrine’s return to the city.

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

Silence Hurts

/ michaelwynnauthor / 47 Comments

This excellent prompt reminded me of an App I have called ‘Birds of Britain,’ which plays bird songs to help identify them in the field. There are others available and undoubtedly American versions. As a lot of us are restricted to our homes, I thought I might let you know there’s a lot of enjoyment to be had playing this app full blast in the garden and watching the birds it attracts. Springtime is obviously the best time, when territories are being fought over and mates sought. Some of them come quite close, especially the Chaffinches and Robins, who take very strongly against intruders to their territory. (They won’t actually fight your phone or I-pad but will shout at it.) It often brings into the open birds, which would be otherwise hard to spot. I hope you get lucky, if you try this.

Now for this week’s entry:

 

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

He checked the phone connection constantly now. It was madness but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything else. He neither ate nor slept.
‘No news is good news,’ they say but no news mauls the nerves; No news twists and blackens the imagination. No news is Hell.
A small bird had taken to joining him at the window, filling the void with its honeyed song. He loved that bird. He loved its trust and sympathy.
But he didn’t want sweet cadences now, he craved the harsh, mechanical shrill of the phone.
A tear fell; ‘no news.’ She wasn’t coming home.

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

Now available to download for just 99p

One Hundred Words of Solitude

/ michaelwynnauthor / 47 Comments

In this time of lockdowns and isolation, the prompt reminded me of a poem I wrote several years ago, about a would be writer with writer’s block. He’s in a very negative  frame of mind, unable to find or see anything worthy of writing about. He calls on the muse to help him and they go for a walk. This is an abridged version, the original was called, ‘None so Blind as a Horse to Water.’ Alternatively, you could call it ‘Spot the Poem.’

 

 

 

I strolled with the muse and took the less travelled path. A poppy-eyed fiend stood ranting on a sailor’s torments at sea, probably collecting for charity and a chap in a clearing championed writing about a wasteland.

There’s nothing there!

Wearying, I would’ve sat down but for the daffodils covering the ground and the loon babbling about burning tigers. Another, demanded to go to the sea again and there on the beach a Walrus and a man named Lear, proposed writing nonsense.

More nonsense?

So, if I should die, think only this of me, I tried to write some decent poetry.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

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

Like Minds

/ michaelwynnauthor / 49 Comments

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Thoughts of guilt and despair crashed through her mind. Radio and daytime TV offered no succour. She needed to get out. She’d take her Kindle and treat herself to a cream tea.
Idling through town, woollen hat and scarf wrapped against the cold, she found herself outside the Diner. Remembering the music, milkshakes and good times, she regretted she couldn’t enter; John might be there. Head bowed, she hurried by. The doorbell tinkled as she stepped into the café, unwinding her scarf.
John looked up from a table, “What are you doing here?”
“Avoiding the diner,” she groaned with resignation.

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

Nazrat of the Owls

/ michaelwynnauthor / 45 Comments

With apologies to Edgar Rice Burroughs

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Ceayr

A family of owls rescued baby Nazrat from the wreckage of his parents’ Cessna and raised him as their own. He grew to be the wise man of the village with a penchant for gobbling rodents, head first and whole.
It was natural Gilbert should consult him on why the tadpoles he studied weren’t metamorphosing.
Nazrat pondered; he rolled a dangling tail to the opposite corner of his mouth before proclaiming, “An extreme result of poor parenting.”
“Poor parenting?”
“If their children are to mature into worthy citizens, the parents shouldn’t spawn in the fountain of youth…that’ll be five bucks.”

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

Now available to download for just 99p