Sail of the Century

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

The boat was ready to sail.  Except I just had too many question to ask of the Captain.  My mates were getting restless and screamed at me to “stop anchoraging the Captain.”

Moi? They had to barge in the conversation to tell me this?  I could keel for this and still be justified. 

I could feel the anchor rising in my eyes. 

The Captain?  He may not have been a pretty buoy but nothing bothered him.  His calmness was oar-inspiring. Pier pressure had no impact on him. 

“I didn’t do it on porpoise,” I screamed back.

I kid you knot.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100. 

I took a punt this week and decided to go overboard with the nauty words.  It's in shark contrast to what I normally do.   But schooner or later it was bound to happen.  If you harbour feelings for other writers this week click here.  

Watching Jack

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

Long after Jack had gone, the timepiece remained as the pride of the town.

It hadn’t always been like this. The council record’s revealing his neighbour’s complaint.  "Jack has a giant beanstalk and now I cannot access my back side.” 

A perusal of the Council’s records brings up a litany of complaints against the troublesome teen.  “The price of gold is going up because Jack’s hen got laid.  Will the council investigate?”

The Giant’s fall brought forth multiple noise violation complaints.  Informed sources claim only the donation of the timepiece and a dozen golden eggs kept Jack out of trouble.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100. 

So many other titles kept running through my mind.  In the end I decided to be polite.   To keep in sync with the other writers this week click here.  

Crickets

Copyright Shaktiki Sharma

It doesn’t take much to set me off.  Cut into my lane when I am driving and I’ll unleash my inner Mad Max. Put your shopping trolley in front of mine before the cash register, I’ll make you pay. 

I have nothing against people, black, white or multicoloured just don’t breathe my air.

That old crone had no right to move past me.  So I stuck a foot out discreetly.  She squealed all the way down the escalator.

I chuckled when she screamed “I know which insect did this.”

If I ever transform back, they are getting crickets from me.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100. 

OK  it's not a cricket, so sue me.   To get bugged by the other writers this week click here.  

The Cloud Messenger

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The poet gazed at the clouds wistfully.   As the King’s emissary it was his duty to carry a message to the King’s ally.  He wondered if the clouds would travel to the homeland left behind.  He missed his wife dearly and the separation troubled him.

“Imagine”, his mind whispered, “if the cloud could travel all the way home bearing messages.  Messages of love to the lady left behind."

The poet stirred excitedly and said.  “He must be a nature spirit.  

A lean and lovesick Yaksha, newly wed,

Dallied at home avoiding his work.”

The poet’s work had begun.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100. 

My story this week is the imagining of the start of the Sanskrit poem Meghadūta.  The lines coming from the start of this classic poem.  I have taken the translation from here.  An English version can be read at sacred-texts.

 To read stories in the cloud by other writers this week click here.