Flash Fiction

Trading Skins

/ michaelwynnauthor / 34 Comments

Route 66 is such an American icon I had to do this one in an American voice. All I know of that is what I’ve heard in films and cowboy serials. I hope it comes across OK and that y’all be kind to me.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

“This a trading post?”
“Says so on the sign, don’ it?”
“Got some racoon skins.”
“Hell, everyone’s got raccoon skins. Can’t do ya much on them.”
“I need t’eat. I put a whole heap o’work into catchin’ ‘em.”
The trader ignored the trapper’s desperate eyes. “Anything else?”
“Mebbe beaver.”
“They’re good. How many ya got?”
The trapper grinned excitedly. “Two dozen. What’ll ya give?”
“The angry end o’ this Winchester, my friend.”

Throwing a layer of dirt into the pit, the trader chuckled down at the body.
“Two dozen beaver, a horse, a half-decent saddle. A satisfactory day’s trading, indeed.”

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

Discovery in the Dark

/ michaelwynnauthor / 51 Comments

In this season of Halloween, I thought a little horror story suitable

peter-abbey11

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Peter Abbey

Billy turned onto the footbridge. Tapping his cane against the walls, he kept up a stream of encouragement to the dog. “Good girl, Maddie”
Suddenly, she stopped and growled.
“What is it, girl? A Fox?”
Maddie couldn’t abide foxes; even the smell rankled her enough that she’d lose concentration.
“What’s there Maddie?” Billy lent forward, feeling with his cane. It touched something.
He poked at the object. It yielded.
“Oh no, what have we found?” Crouching, he felt his way until his tentative fingers hit their target and he recognised it as a foot; a cold, clammy, small human foot.

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

Tales from the Trestle Table

/ michaelwynnauthor / 47 Comments

claire-fuller-8

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Fuller

David picked a hoop of nobbled bone from the shelf. “What’s this Granddad?”
“My first time at sea we caught a ferocious, white whale. Each kept a vertebra as a memento.”
David fingered a painted stone, “And this?” The grandfather’s eyes gleamed.
“That’s from Ringo for helping with the drumming on Blackbird.”
“There are drums on Blackbird?”
“Very subtle ones. That’s what Ringo struggled with.”
David pointed to some head-shaped ornaments.
“Shrunken heads we escaped with from cannibals in darkest Erewhon.”
David was wide-eyed, “How fantastic, Granddad.”
His mother smiled, “Yes, he returns a different hero after every car-boot sale.”

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

Kitchen Sink Drama

/ michaelwynnauthor / 30 Comments

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Today’s offering is a little bit of fun I have tried to write in a northern English accent. I hope it works.

“Sit down. We’ll put t’ kettle on; ‘ave a nice cuppa.”
Doris snivelled into a soaked tissue. “T’were awful.”
“Poor thing. ‘Ave a biscuit; keep yer blood sugar levels up. Can you tell me owt about it?”
“He was in t’ chair as normal, when he stands as though he’s going down pub.”
She trembled and sobbed. “Instead, he strides into kitchen as though he knew it were there all t’ time.”
“He hasn’t done that before?”
“Norrin twenty-five years of marriage.”
Lucy held her hand supportively.
“Then what ‘appened?”
“He…he… DID T’ WASHING UP!” Doris wailed, “WHAT’S ‘APPENING, LUCY?”

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

Give my regards to Davey Jones, mate.

/ michaelwynnauthor / 27 Comments

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PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

Toby gloated over the estate and raised a glass, “Here’s to you mate. Never knew you’d made me your heir. I suppose being an only child, having the money, the girls, but never marrying, it makes sense you’d leave it to your poor old playmate from the village.
The times you fell in that lake. You were a good swimmer in those still waters but the ocean’s another proposition.
I didn’t know until a week ago, that is. Just before you went overboard for the last time.
Funny, you didn’t know it was me rocking the boat back then, either.”

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

Alice Down the Corridor

/ michaelwynnauthor / 37 Comments

2016-09-30

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Amy Reese

Alice approached the blue blazered beaver.
“Rabbit hole?”
“The entrance, Miss? Down there, PVC door.”
“Down this corridor? But it’s so sterile.”
“Thank-you, Miss, we try. Please disinfect as you go. Dispensers placed at regular intervals.”
Rooks like skinny-legged priests loped the length of the corridor, inspecting nothing, very importantly.
“The hole’s too dangerous. Your grandmother was lucky not to hurt herself falling down it the way she did. There is a plaque though.”
Beaver slapped his tail on the marble floor summoning a bevy of jackdaws out of nowhere,
“A few details for security.”
“Sign in.”
“Take a lanyard.”

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

 

The Imperfect Plan

/ michaelwynnauthor / 41 Comments

from-roger

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

As Lydia revived, her eyes flinched from the reflected light of his damn chandelier. She hadn’t envisaged ending up unconscious at the foot of the stairs. He was supposed to die and remain undiscovered until the big house was re-opened in the spring, when she’d be faraway, ensconced in her new identity.
A bloody knife told she’d hit home in the struggle. Clearing her head, she thought to escape but her limbs wouldn’t respond.
Her husband appeared, staggering and clutching his gory shirtfront. “Why?” he mouthed.
“Help me!” she pleaded, panicking. “Paralysed!”
He collapsed, lifeless beside her.

“No!” She screamed.

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

Portal Pandemonium

/ michaelwynnauthor / 14 Comments

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Image © Shaktiki Sharma.

Yesterday it was derelict, only the floor tiles judged redeemable, now the doorbell tinged welcomingly and rosewood shelves polished to mirrors, held large jars boasting everything from rice to pear drops.
The shopkeeper, dressed in a green apron over checked shirt, gabardine trousers and robust artisan shoes, addressed her in a tone clipped to the civility of the period.
“Madam?” Sonia stared in wonderment at the display.
“Wow, takes me back.”
“Back where exactly, madam?”
“The 1960s, of course.”
“This is 1965, what time has madam come from?” He said patiently, while his forefinger dialled the first nine of three.

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

Carry On Sewing

/ michaelwynnauthor / 38 Comments

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

The old sewing machine juddered along the cloth before clunking to a catastrophic halt. Patsy sighed. “Dropped stitches everywhere. It’ll all have to be unpicked. If that maintenance guy spent as much time servicing the machines as he does Barbara in the storeroom, we might achieve something.”
Suddenly, he was beside her, curls and mischief framing his cheeky face. “Machine stopped? Let me see.” As he leant across, a heady mix of musk and oil assailed her.
“Needs a new hoojamaflip. I think there’s one in the storeroom. Care to help me find it?”
Patsy blushed, “Oh yes, Mr James.”

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

Normal Procedure

/ michaelwynnauthor / 28 Comments

vijaya

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT -© Vijaya Sundaram

I say to the man growing out of the drain, “I’m looking up at the stars.”
His reply merges with the painful patter of the rain, ‘cause the world’s spinning, dizzy, giddy, crazy, again.
On his black tunic, silver buttons explode with the fireworks. My head pounds, a butt burns my fingers, the bottle rolls away.
*****
I awake to a pigeon obsessively rolling ‘coo’ round its tongue. The sound collides in my head like a pinball against bumpers.
“Can I go now?” I ask through the bars.
“Time for your weekly caution, Mr Wills. Artistic bent is no excuse.”

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