Photo Credit: Georgia Koch

“But mum, it’s just an old boat. I could build you a nice patio there, some garden furniture, it’d be lovely. Better than looking at that rotting hull.”
His mother fixed Glen with a stare, “The boat stays. In his name, it stays.”

Glen sighed, “Why Mum? Dad’s been gone years. It’s your garden to do with as you please.”

“And I shall. Your father always said there were seven of them returned from Dunkirk that day, him his five mates and that boat. The boat has stood in memory of his mates and now to him. The boat stays.”

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb

He stuffed her clothes into a bin bag then dwelt on the titles of paperbacks stacked in a cardboard box. “She liked her romance.”
Jewellery was set aside to sell. From a rattling vase, he tipped out a collection of pebbles. She always brought souvenirs from beaches they visited. He counted them like rosary beads, each one a memory.
“We were happy then.”
He shivered, “Can you take your memories with you?”
Just in case, he drove to the woods and sought out her grave. He wept as he sprinkled the stones, “If only she hadn’t pushed me so far.”

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

PHOTO PROMPT – © Adam Ickes

Firstly, I’d like to apologise for the fact most of you didn’t receive a comment from me last week. I’d written quite a few before I realised they weren’t getting through. If any of you did get a comment once, you may have received it up to 3 times. I know Rochelle seemed to get one eventually in her spam folder.

I’m not sure if the problem is fixed, so any thoughts on how to correct this would be welcome. If you get a like from me with no comment following, you’ll know I still have a problem.

Anyway, here goes with this week’s story:

“The painting?”
“It’s here. The money?”
“I give you the painting, there’s nothing to stop you sailing away with both.”
Andretti pulled a gun.
Sweat ran down his temples and his hand shook.
“If you’re messing me…”
Buoys bobbed over the numerous lobster pots fishermen had planted earlier in the evening, white, orange but mostly pink.
“I always think how pretty those pricks of colour are.”
“Which one?”
Julian threw Andretti a mobile phone. “I make it back off this jetty alive with the money, I’ll text.”

As he sent, ‘The Pink One,’ he chuckled, “That should keep him busy.”

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

I loved the bottle shop. Dad said it’s our secret and don’t tell mum. It was fun having a secret.
Shelves of pretty bottles. Brown and amber, some green ones and lots with no colour.
What’s the point of that? Dad said it’s to do with the drink inside.
Dad bought lots of the ones you could see through, if the label wasn’t in the way.
Then Dad got poorly. In hospital he turned a funny orange colour.
One day Mummy said Dad’d gone to heaven and it’s all the fault of the bottle shop, so I hate it now.

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb

At one time powerful carthorses relentlessly towed heavy-laden narrow boats along hoof-beaten towpaths. Hot necks straining, muscles flicking, strong heads bowed. The waterway was busy and constantly churned.
However, time slowed and creeping coarse grass covered the path. The algae-stifled canal now flows wearily round abandoned shopping trolleys, sticking up like modern, chrome Excaliburs in the kingdom of the frog.
To avoid fines and castigation the supermarket deployed employees to retrieve the trollies and it was they, complaining about the stench, who dragged up from the stagnant depths, Maria, last seen four years ago mourning the still-birth of her baby.

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

copyright-Rich Voza

Karen peered into the darkening evening.
“Isn’t Ian coming, Mummy? He said he’s my new daddy.”
“Do you like him?”
“He scares me.”
Karen had other questions but was afraid to ask them.
“Never mind, you won’t see him again.”
‘Unless this plane doesn’t move soon,’ she thought. ‘When he realises we’ve gone, what I’ve packed, he’ll be here with fury.’
She chewed on her lower lip.
Relief flooded through her as the plane taxied. ‘He can’t follow without his passport.’
“Are we going to fly into the dark Mummy?”
“No darling, we’re taking off into a bright new world.”

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