The Stranded Airmen

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

Darling…” The sun striking the chess pieces explodes against his cataracts and he hears again the strident voices he’d heard constantly down the years.
He freezes; Yveline holds him down. Her eight-year-old brother screams insults at the soldiers, like a bird trying to lure a predator from its nest.
“They’re searching the barn,” Yveline whispers. Martin tries to stand.
“There’s nothing we can do.”
Stretching their heads above the corn, they watch the soldiers throw Andy’s limp body on to a lorry.
The boy vainly gesticulates obscenities.
“I’m sorry Andy,” he weeps. “So sorry.”
“Darling…what is it? It’s your turn.”

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

Hidden

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

Our old barge nudged the quay.
“Tie us up!” Papa shouted.
I held the rope as though it were something peculiar. ‘Do everything normally,’ Papa had said. Suddenly, I didn’t know what that was but then we’d never hidden an allied airman before.
My eyes tracked across the soldiers and the policeman waiting to inspect the boat.
“You hot?” barked the officer.
“Been cooking breakfast,” Papa interjected, drawing calmly on his pipe.
The officer’s eyes flicked from me to the cabin door; trickling sweat stung my eyes.
“Going north?” he asked, adding impassively, “Might be best to unload before Amsterdam.”

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

Hiding Beneath a Beacon

I spent a little time in Prague and Budapest last week, hearing some horrific and at times heroic and ingenious stories about those who resisted the occupations of both the Nazis and Communists. This is a small homage to those brave people.

crook-roof

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Clouds shrouded roofs like a tarpaulin spread over a gazebo. Pavel appreciated the claustrophobic weather covering his way.
He rapped out a coded knock, bursting through the door as it cracked open.
“That roof? Bit conspicuous don’t you think?” He cried, waiving polite greetings. “It draws attention. Why not put up a sign, ‘Resistance living here?’”
“Indeed, it’s brought some visits from nasty men in grey suits. They’re concerned with building regulations. The nastier black suits ignore us; they see the state colours and some zealous patriots. It’s a level above hiding in plain sight; it’s hiding beneath a beacon.”

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