The Morning After at Wordsworth’s Glade

A quick note to say ‘From the Edge of an English Summer’ can be downloaded for just 99p/99cents until Sunday. Thanks again to everyone who has already purchased. A special shout out to America, you’re doing me proud. Your support really is flattering, encouraging and humbling all at the same time. The prompt picture has fallen well for me this week, I’ve selected a short episode from one of the several spent round Wordsworth’s camp fire in the book.

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

Despite the tiredness and alcohol, Sunday morning came repeatedly, every hour it seemed. To say I had an interrupted night’s sleep would be uncaringly inaccurate. Sleep punctuated my moments awake. Wordsworth had helped me cobble together a makeshift mattress of bracken and lent me an old jumper but I was cold and uncomfortable.
He stoked the fire back to life, placed a pan of water in the embers and we were soon enjoying a reviving cuppa.
“It wasn’t cold last night and that’s a very comfortable bed. The problem is not with the world, it’s you,” he said, “you’ve grown soft.”

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

First Car

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Luke was aghast. He must have missed something, so he circled the car again.
Nope, it was still a wreck in a wood.
“It’s just a shell,” he complained.
“But the seats are there, a hole for the windscreen. You can practice your driving position, changing gears, indicating.”
“Changing gears in a non-existent gear box, indicating with no clickety-click?”
“Use your tongue to make your own clickety-click.”
“And there’s no engine!”
“Vibrate your lips and go brmm-brmm.”
Luke stomped off as mirth wobbled his father’s belly. “You’re twelve lad, you’re not getting one with an engine until you’re much older.”

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

My Life with Duct Tape Episode 9

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

This house has never been warm. It’s that front door. I should replace it if I had some money. The letterbox flapped so I taped that up, which helped. Then another strip of tape at the bottom of the door cut out a load of draught and we were nearly there, almost cosy.
Until that is, the Incredible Hulk came visiting. Why can’t he knock for heaven’s sake? Or ring the perfectly good bell?
We’re going to need a bigger roll of duct tape…and more words.

Orange rhymes with sporange, a botanical term for a part of a fern. 🙂

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

Of Drink, Games and Remorse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

Just a harmless introduction to the new neighbourhood. A pleasant meal with abundant wine and a game afterwards with more drinks.
Each player drew a paper from a jar and performed the instruction on it. Singing, dancing, spoon balancing.
But the risqué nature of the second jar’s contents had ambushed him.
“Yes, come on, let’s!” he’d screamed drunkenly to each more lurid suggestion.

Now he winced at the images Lydia had sent to his phone from wherever she was now. “What had he been thinking?”
He deleted them but could the memories ever be erased? Would Lydia ever come back?

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

Terminal Destination

Thank-you to everyone who has bought From the Edge of an English Summer and for all your messages of support through the tough times we’ve had lately.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright -Douglas M. MacIlroy

Dave worked hard making his globe. Mary would love it. He’d caringly inserted a little bulb at all the places they’d visited. It would bring back fantastic memories whenever she turned it on; cruising down the Danube, sweltering under the pyramids, iced cocktails and lazy days by pools along the Mediterranean.
Noticing at the last minute she’d entered his den, he vainly tried to hide his gift, “You mustn’t look, it’s for Christmas.”
“I’m sorry; It’s bad timing, I know.”
“What?”
“I’m leaving you…for Luca.”
“The waiter?”
Teary-eyed Dave turned from her and punched a hole, obliterating Sicily, their last destination.

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

Living in Constant Hope

Launch day is almost upon us, one more sleep. Thank-you again for all your Friday Fictioneers support.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Nick Allen

I love my friend Brian to bits but sometimes he just doesn’t seem to get it. “Ta da!” He screamed proudly displaying his collection. “I’ve been reading up and there’s money in oil.”
“If you’re drilling it,” I said wearily, “or refining it…the transporting companies earn a living and there’s a small profit from retailing it…but you seem to have joined in at the wrong end of that line.”
“You mean?”
“’fraid so…you might get something for the cans…if you can find an oil can collector”
“Oil can collector,” he mused, “I’ll google that.”
I sighed, “Please don’t expect fortunes.”

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

Wordsworth’s Glade

Thank-you for all the support I’ve had from Friday Fictioneers so far for my debut novel. I’m looking forward to the launch date December 1st and the subsequent reviews. This week’s 100 words is a short excerpt because the prompt fitted so well. I hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The air was full of the scent of new shoots and woodland flowers. We crested a rise over which there was a steep drop to a clearing through which ran a wide stream, tinkling over rocks and gravel. A kingfisher perched on a wayward branch hanging over the water and alarmed rabbits scurried away, white scuts bobbing through the green before disappearing into an extensive warren. After the mad race from Claretree, the sense of peace and wholesomeness was palpable. “Where are we?” I asked Wordsworth.
“If you were me, you’d probably call it home, I’m reluctant to call it my place.”

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