Heart Burn

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

That’s my uncle, mouth full and mid way through his meal. 

It’s also the day the diner has its legendary all you can eat buffet.  From a mound of meat to homemade pastas, ceviche, soups; and soufflés baked to order. 

This was supposed be a relationship advice session but all I hear is the sound of mastication.

I haven’t had a proper meal since she walked out.   The smell is irresistible and I find myself savouring every bite.

He nods approvingly, “it’s your own heart that needs to heal first”.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

A story about food and love? Surely it needs a song by Bread


 To savour what the other writers have been cooking up this week click here.  

The Neigh Sayers

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Can you imagine, Reindeers?” said Black Jack.

“Haaruump” snorted Comanche, “And how is that working out for him?”

“The elves think they work harder”, said Tabitha with a disdainful swish of her tail.

“Relax equines,” chimed in Dark Intentions, “that shiny nosed hoofbeat will never be able to gallop like us.  I am sure the song goes

‘Dashing through the snow

In a one-horse open sleigh’

And not

‘Crashing through the snow

In a reindeer operated sleigh’”.

“The union’s gotta know”, muttered Comanche.

“I think he is behind the curtain”, Tabitha warned, ‘this

ain’t over till the fat guy sings”.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

That photo was taking me towards a sinister dark plot, may be dead bodies in the trough.  But nah I'll stick with the anthropomorphic horses this time.  My lesson from last week was that while travelling, laptops do not work when chargers get left at home.  Lugging a heavy laptop around probably classifies as character building.  To check what the other writers are snowed under this week click here.  

The Way Out

Copyright © C E Ayr

Only when she was leaving did she notice it.  A nondescript wooden door that was painted a shade of purple, it stood in a corner wedged between the crenelated stone walls. 

A metallic chain was stretched between the walls as if to indicate that the door was out of bounds.

“A door would have been nice”, she thought, casting her mind to all those days when the only entrance she knew was the window.

She touched her hair and felt a twinge of remembered pain.  She thought to herself, “Oh Rapunzel all that pain!  How did you miss this door?”

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

 A mysterious door guards a portal to another universe.  In this case it is a path to the stories by the other writers, to open the door with them this week click here.  

Movember Rain

The Movember Foundation is the only global charity focused solely on men's health, so this Movember I'm getting on board. I'm raising funds to tackle some of the biggest health issues faced by men: prostate cancer, testicular cancer, and poor mental health. 

Help me stop men dying too young. Join the #Movember revolution

Proudly Made in #MovemberAUS

You can donate to me or any Movemberite of your choice.

Killing Me Softly

She walked into the small club quivering with anticipation.  This humble venue with its wood beamed walls was the hub of folk movement.

The curtains parted and there he was this young boy.  She had heard about him but he was a stranger to her eyes. 

The performance started and the music enveloped her.  As he sang, it felt as if the songs were washing over her soul, strumming her pain with his fingers.  Her face flushed as if her secrets were revealed while the man on the stage read pages from her diary, telling her life with his words.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Sometimes the story writes itself.  I was going on a totally different direction but then I read this article about the origins of one of my favourite songs.   The truth be told I was listening to Roberta Flack while working today.  To read the other writers this week click here.  

I am also doing Movember this month

The Movember Foundation is the only global charity focused solely on men's health, so this Movember I'm getting on board. I'm raising funds to tackle some of the biggest health issues faced by men: prostate cancer, testicular cancer, and poor mental health. Help me stop men dying too young.

https://au.movember.com/mospace/1141902

The Journey

Copyright Jean L Hays

There is a road that you took when you started your journey, the one that takes you away from your loved ones.  You turn around and wave goodbye.

I’ll be back soon, you mouth, signalling your intention to return.

But the road never ends as it turns and twists and finds new directions.  You keep on driving further away.  Each day brings in new discoveries as the months turn into years. 

There are pit stops in this route of life.  Worn out vehicles discarded.  You pick up travelling companions on the way.

But the road it just keeps on rolling.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

I've been missing for a while now but sometimes life gets in the way.  In memory of my mother-in-law who passed away in August.  To read the other writers this week click here.  

The Nest

Copyright Janet Webb

In his excitement at attaining fatherhood Mr Chen didn’t even notice the awkward silence in the hospital’s nursery.  His wife had been subdued in the months leading up to the delivery.  But Mr Chen knew all about hormonal changes and mood swings.

Their tiny apartment with its thin walls and lack of privacy meant that she really couldn’t get the rest she deserved.

But he was an optimist and knew his time would come.  Like Mr H, his cartoon eared neighbour, who had moved to a better place.

He was totally enamoured by the baby with the Mickey Mouse ears.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Hoping  that a few more visitors will venture to explore the hornet's nest this week.  To  read the other writers this week click here.  

Telling Porkies

Copyright – Adam Ickes

Grendel the troll was worried.  The family fortunes had been in decline during the past decade. 

Contrary to popular fairy tales earning revenue from bridges was not easy.  The bridge had higher revenue collected in the 2015-16 fiscal year than the previous year.  Yet it had not climbed to the breakeven point against the bridge's borrowing and other operating costs.

The loss of his trusted collector, Dunker, stomped and gored by Billy Goat Gruff rankled.  What he needed to do was to diversify.  The scheme for supplying premium pork range was good.  Could he really trust the Big Bad Wolf?

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

To walk across the bridge and read the other writers this week click here.

My original entry for this story was a little more somber, read it here

If you did wonder about the title, here is an explanation.

Bar None

PHOTO PROMPT- ©Ted Strutz

“So what have you here?”

She said that in a breathless tone that always had the desired effect.

He sucked his stomach in and edged closer.  It always was a game and this one was under control. 

There really had been no expense spared when they built this bar.  He had made it quite clear that he deserved it.

“For you my dear a cocktail to match our mood” he smirked. 

**

The investigator paused the footage.

“Do you want to see the rest Mrs D?”

She knew the settlement would be on her terms.

“I’ve seen enough”, she smirked.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Wrote this during my usual Friday evening pit stop.  Yep at the airport waiting for the ride home.

To visit the virtual bar with the other writers this week click here.

Flotsam and Jetsam

PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb

I saw him under the bridge arranging his belongings.  It was my walking route where the final stretch took me under the arches and up the steps leading to my office. He tipped his hat politely and resumed sorting his possessions.

Every day I’d meander by the river bank making my way through the park.  Stopping only to take photos and the mandatory uploads to Facebook. He was now a permanent occupant curled up under the bridge with his worldly goods in a trolley.

I never saw him after the flood, just some lurking flotsam and jetsam in the water.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

I do disembark from the bus and take a walk by the river each morning.  The route does take me under a bridge but that is where reality ends and fiction takes over.  The title a nod to a story by one of my favourite writers Somerset Maugham.

To walk on the river bank with other writers this week click here.

Hot Dog

PHOTO PROMPT- Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

He stood on the deck, inhaling the salty breeze as the statue loomed into the view. It was time to reflect on the events of last week.

“Sausage in bread? A Kabanosy you vill sell? Is crazy I tell you.  Vill never vork.”

The investors were discouraging but Ida’s reassuring squeeze gave him the courage to push his proposal.  Ultimately the samples spiced with her secret recipe would win them over.

All these years he had worked for Mr Feltman as a roll cutter making “dachshund sandwich”.  Now it was time for him to start his very own “grab joint”.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

An attempt at historical fiction and nothing more important than hot dogs.  Actually I started looking up the history of the Statue and Coney Island and the story of Nathan Handwerker came up.  As someone who appreciates a good hot dog, how could I let it go?  Apparently there is also a documentary on him,

To ride on the ferry with other writers this week click here.

Breaking Baad

I've been negligent of this blog recently.  A combination of work, travel and probably a lack of motivation and as a result the writing has fallen by the wayside.  I've been doubting my writing skills and the ability to tell a story, even the one in a hundred words.  I guess the only way to get over it is to start writing again.  But before that happens, it's time for my first rerun of a Friday Fictioneer prompt.  All the way back from May 2014! Whoa looks like I am a veteran too,

The Return of the Black Sheep