Vincent Van Caught

PHOTO PROMPT – © Jean L. Hays

When Vincent was five his parents organised an exhibition of his paintings at home.  Mother really wanted to book the local art gallery but Father baulked at the costs.  Still invitations were sent and a caterer provided hors d’oeuvre and drinks.

Mother said that Art brings about a refining quality.  While Vincent was her womb she read aloud the lives of famous artists and their techniques.   She felt vindicated by the artwork that Vincent produced at the childcare.

At eighteen Vincent was caught spraying profane graffiti ranting against art.  The local newspaper reported the 'artistic vandal'.  Mother was so proud.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To visit the Friday Fictioneers gallery and browse through the works of the other artists go here. 

The Masquerade

PHOTO PROMPT – © Kent Bonham

As a weekend partygoer he was a true nocturnal animal, sleeping during the day, but showing considerable activity by night.

It wasn’t just him even his whole brood would turn up.  This narrow street with its dim crepuscular lights was their Elysium.  It was a gathering place for the Kindred who maintained a little Masquerade for any mortals around.  What better than fresh garlic braided together and hung over doors?

It made him smile, over the last hundred years the clan had acquired immunity to its repellent properties.  The bulb’s flavourful and aromatic deliciousness had even won the vampires over.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read other bright bulbs from Friday Fictioneer  go here. 

Update: Changed in in interests of accuracy.  Crepuscular animals are active primarily at twilight (the time not the the vampire series), so this time the context is about the dim twilight type of light.

The Lights of Hyde Hall

PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

I know it’s her, my own mother, Ann Low Cary Cooper Clarke and her vindictive agenda.

She made father build this place just to spite the Coopers.  It took seventeen years and he died without enjoying the fruits of his labor.  I’ll be damned if I let her curse on Hyde Hall scare me.

Let the piano keeping caterwauling all night.  She could never play a tune anyway. The cloud of mist on the hallway and her booted footsteps may scare the ground keepers but I still won’t move.  I’ll keep the lights burning all night if I have to.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read other bright lights from Friday Fictioneer  go here. 

I did some forensic examination of my own for this story, the image file name (hyde-hall-light.jpg)  was the start for me.  Found the link to Hyde Hall and it;s fascinating history.   There is a link between Ann Cooper Clarke and the writer James Fenimore Cooper who also wrote this fascinating bit of history The Legends and Traditions of a Northern County

As far as the writing goes I am not sure how this submission goes but then I struggle with doubts over each submission.  But writing this was still enjoyable due to the research I had to do.

Her Last Gift

After the funeral was over and all the relatives had left, I stayed alone in my mother’s house.  Next morning I sat in the empty kitchen and recalled the days gone by in the house.

From the moment we woke up to hot cups of milk to the time when we returned famished from school, it was the hub of all activities and the very soul of our house. 

Sitting at the table my eye fell upon a notebook on the sideboard.  Inside in her unmistakable longhand was a collection of family recipes that she had been writing for us.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read other recipes from Friday Fictioneer kitchen go here.  

So I thought the lovely warm photograph also deserved a story with a happier ending, thus here is my second offering for the week after this earlier submission http://subrotopant.blogspot.com.au/2015/06/bakers-delight.html 

Baker's Delight

I sit in the warm kitchen filled with the aroma of baking.  She sits opposite me with her curly white hair, a crinkled smile and innocent blue eyes.

I take a bite of the cookie she had proffered me earlier and sigh inwardly with pleasure.  But hard questions still need to be asked.

"This is the third time in five years madam, so my employers need an investigation before any payout."

**

He sits before me, the hard hearted man, not listening to how I cared for my elderly husbands before their heart attacks.

That cookie should do the trick tonight.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read other recipes from Friday Fictioneer kitchen go here.  

It is also two for one this week with this second entry http://subrotopant.blogspot.com.au/2015/06/her-last-gift.html

Chains of Love

PHOTO PROMPT – © C. Hase

Every year my family would escape to my Grandfather’s house in a remote village by the sea.  Long before movie stars and wealthy holidaymakers redefined it as a trendy resort, my cousins and I would meet and explore its unspoiled charms. 

We would feast on fresh catch from the sea - fishes, oysters, clams, mussels and shrimps - cooked in delicate gravies or simply fried with spices.    

On the beach were the remains of the old fortress, its crumbling ramparts awaiting our imagination. Tripping over those ruins were the happiest days of our lives.  We remain chained by those memories.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  
To read what the links in the Friday Fiction chain go here.  

This must be the last link in the chain for this week's entries. 

Sting in the Tale

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

“Grandpa what is that?”

“That my boy was a dangerous predator I encountered when I was a Storm Trooper.”

“Were you in the Star Wars? Is that even real?”

“Of course it is child you can’t make those things up.”

“It looks ugly”

“It’s vicious and powerful with a poisonous tail. The poison doesn’t kill you but stops you from running away while it eats you.”

“How did you kill it?”

“It was about to eat Grandma so I was able creep up and stab it with my lightsabre”

“You saved Grandma?”

“Sadly I did dear child, sadly I did.”

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  
To read what the other Storm Troopers are upto go here.  

A “Dialogue-only” story this week, something I normally avoid but hopefully it works this time.

The Morning Song

PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter

Sunrise to me is a time of quiet reflection.  I watch tiny droplets of dew glistening in the early morning sun and am reminded of the poet’s words “Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf”.

It’s a time to be grateful for nature’s bounty that nourishes us.

"The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don't go back tosleep."

Yet poets weep at the arrival of dawn in Aubades as a lovers’ lament.

I turn to go indoors hoping last night’s salad of hemlock worked as planned.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  
To browse through the rest of the Friday Fictioneer's foliage go here.  

The two poets quoted above are Jalaluddin Rumi and RabindranathTagore.  While I was able to get the link for the Rumi quote, I could not get a direct link for Tagore's poem so here it is:

TO the guests that must go bid God's speed and brush away all traces of their steps.
Take to your bosom with a smile what is easy and simple and near. 

To-day is the festival of phantoms that know not when they die. 

Let your laughter be but a meaningless mirth like twinkles of light on the ripples. 

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. 

Strike in chords from your harp fitful momentary rhythms. 

And if hemlock and poetry are mentioned then it is only fitting that I include a link for Ode to a Nightingale.

Finally nature is beautiful but can be deadly too http://listverse.com/2011/07/02/top-10-plants-that-will-kill-you/

Living in a Silo

PROMPT -© Marie Gail Stratford

When I was a child my mother showed me a photograph of a silo on her uncle’s farm.  Fascinated by the cylindrical building, I asked if she had ever played in it.

She explained patiently the hidden dangers on the farm.  Kids would never enter a silo or grain bin unsupervised, as it's easy to be trapped by flowing grain and suffocate.  

"But that didn’t stop us from exploring it alone," she said with a huge grin on her face.

She flashed that same grin when I visited last week.

"Visiting someone?" she asked and continued chatting with the attendant.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read what is happening in the other silos you need to go here.  

The Supplier

PHOTO PROMPT – © Madison Woods

“Whaddya want turdface?” the hulk glowered at me.

Turdface, so our resident walking advertisement for steroids is educated.  Shitface is what I expected around these parts.  I choose the meek demeanour.

“I was told to ask you for clean water sir”.

A crafty avaricious look appears on his face and he looks me up and down.

“Did they tell you there is a cost fugly?”

Everything has a price in this cloistered world that I now inhabit.  Be it food, bedding or any little luxury that you desire.  Clean water is mine.

“Yes sir, I’ll be in your room tonight.”

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read what the other inmates have been writing you need to go here.  

Unfortunately it is true that corruption is a significant factor in human rights violations in many criminal justice systems, but then there are those where along with corruption it reads like a soap opera.