Writing

All the evil, pretty bottles

/ michaelwynnauthor / 16 Comments

icon-grill-ted-strutz

 

 

 

 

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.

 

Some Grow Old and Die…

/ michaelwynnauthor / 16 Comments

Shopping Trolleys

 

 

 

 

 

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.

The Sparkle of Life

/ michaelwynnauthor / 34 Comments

the-boat-and-miss-liberty

 

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT- Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

Firstly, apologies to everyone for not commenting in a timely manner last week. Life has suddenly become busy; some great, some awful. I will endeavour to be more efficient this week.

Here’s this week’s offering:

The little boat chugged home across the water. Today was good. The hold full of flapping sardines sparkling back at the stars; the moonlight encrusting the crests of the waves with jewels and spangles.
Juan’s family had fished for the city since it was no more than a church, a store and a bar.
In the twinkling firmament, his forebears looked down, safeguarding a bountiful catch.
He smiled contentedly at the apartment blocks awaking, their lights augmenting life’s sparkle and shining brightest, he fancied he saw in a high window, the prettiest jewels, his wife and their new born daughter.

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

Sheep Attack

/ michaelwynnauthor / 16 Comments

sheep-and-car

 

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

“But Dad, it’s still light, I can’t get to sleep,” Adam whined.
“Count sheep.” Came the reply.
“What’ll that do?”
“You’ll see.” After his father left the bedroom, Adam climbed onto the windowsill.
“One…two…that’s at least ten. It’s fun but, how’s it gonna help me sleep? Oh, a black one…They like mum’s flowers.”
Later his father stealthily opened the door and was surprised. “What are you doing there?”
“Counting sheep like you said.”
“I meant in your head.”
“But why, when they’re in the garden?”
“What?” His father rushed to survey the horticultural carnage. “Oh my God, she’ll go ballistic!”

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

Time Erodes, Time Forgets, Winter’s Cold.

/ michaelwynnauthor / 21 Comments

ice-on-the-window

 

 

 

 

Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

A tired old lady tensed in the seat sculpted to her frail shape by long, meagre afternoons of TV soap operas.
“They shouldn’t do that with eggs.” She whispered weakly at the screen. “They can have their protest but, they shouldn’t throw eggs.”
Even the television, her last dependable, daily companion seemed to be deserting her.
A brittle blue sky glimmered through the frosted winter window, the last vestiges of sunshine vainly battling winter’s despotic march.
Tears coursed over time-parched cheeks, hung on her cracked lips.
“What my mother could have done with those eggs. They never should throw eggs.”

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

Escape to the Light

/ michaelwynnauthor / 21 Comments

100_7227-1

 

 

 

 

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.

A Holiday Affair

/ michaelwynnauthor / 21 Comments

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Copyright -John Nixon

Stepping into Joe’s Bar, Stephanie worryingly registered the absence of music.
Her husband looked disapprovingly at the abandoned piano.
“Louis, we’re back. Where’s Julio?”
“Very sad, Sir. He no longer with us. Jealous husband kill him.”
Stephanie gasped. The code was broken. The meaning of the mid-stream slide from ‘Strangers in the night’ to ‘Come Fly with me’ discovered. Never again would Julio ‘fly her to the moon.’
“You must get another piano player. Julio was part of the attraction of returning each year; his playing pleased my wife so.”
He meant it, but his thoughts traded pleased for pleasured.

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

Daddy’s Coming Home

/ michaelwynnauthor / 8 Comments

monsters-dmm

Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

“Fetch the last one,” Ellie ordered. Her little brother dragged the huge cushion over.
She heaved it on top of the rest. “That’s a great den,” she announced. “Daddy’ll never find us in here.”
They heard the front door opening. “Quick! Get in, he’s coming.”
Giggling, they crawled under the haphazard heap.
Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. The children stifled more giggles. The footsteps stopped.
“Daddeee!” They called quietly. “Where are we?”
Smiling, Mr Barnes glanced at the photograph of his little cherubs on the desk. “Soon be home time. I wonder what the little rascals have been up to?”

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

 

Let Me Breathe

/ michaelwynnauthor / 21 Comments

photo-by-piya-singh-bittercharm-6

 

 

 

Thanks to Piya Singh for this week’s photo prompt.

A little imagination and they would see I want to be here.
Why do they insist on incarcerating me behind their double-glazing, suffocated by their central heating?
I like straw for my bed, bird song for music. Fire for cooking and warmth.
Why must they inflict their society on me?
“Your asylum is not my asylum! I am not mad! Stop imposing your sanctuary on me!”
I can hear the dogs tracking me down. They’ll take me back again. “It’s for the best they’ll say.”
Who gave them the monopoly on what’s for the best? When is it my turn?

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

 

Sealed with a Club

/ michaelwynnauthor / 24 Comments

waves

 

 

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Two seal pups were enjoying basking in the sun. They swapped idle chatter; sometimes so idle sentences trailed off mid-meaning and they dozed. Gorged on their mothers’ milk they dreamed their bodies were expanding visibly; film of their growth speeded up by a benevolent projectionist.
Over the horizon came the advance of Civilization again!
Slipping and sliding in a frantic fracas of flippers, desperate for the sanctuary of the sea, they lumbered towards the water’s edge.
Seals are not quick over land. 18lbs wielded and swung by 230lbs smashed their heads; their lives froze in bloody trickles on the ice.

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