Saturday, November 21, 2020

House Ghost

copyright – Sarah Potter


“The building was designed by Irish-born architect James Hoban in the neoclassical style in..”

“Do we have a sighting today?”

The guide sighed.  He was used to being interrupted all the time by impatient tourists these days.  None were interested in the classical inspiration sources of the building.  The intrigues, the politics and the power play.  All they wanted was a sighting.

“Yes I am told we have one.  Follow me.”
 
The group followed in heightened excitement.  The sighting was worth the price of admission.

It was after all the one that never left – the Ghost of the President Past.

***
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

To read the other writers this week click here

Hello there once again.   Back after a while again.  No Presidents were harmed during the writing of this story.  A purely fictional story but then truth is stranger than fiction.

I am also doing Movember this year.  It's a great cause to raise funds for men's health.  Check out my Mo Space

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Thursday, October 29, 2020

No Place Like Home

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll


The tears were forming now. The short blue gingham dress and a white shirt with puff sleeves were not really the clothes to wear for the classes but then the class had decided that the morning tea celebrations for Mr Paul would feature a fancy dress competition too. 

So easy for Dorothy to tap the red slippers and turn around three times and reach home in an instant.

Dorothy had probably never lost her locker keys and found herself in an embarrassing dress. 

The boys would be coming in soon. How he wished he had chosen the cowboy outfit instead.

***
Partly inspired by an event in school eons ago.  In the boarding school each dormitory had its own party at the end of the term.  We had one for our dormitory and there was a fancy dress event.  One of the boarders dressed up as a girl, it might have been Little Bo Peep, but when the time came to change it turned out he had lost the key to his locker.  Poor guy sat tearfully in the dress for a long time till we finally broke the latch and he could change.   Funny how some events stay in your mind for a long time.

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

To read the other writers this week click here

Friday, October 23, 2020

Crumbs


‘Nestled away in the lap of nature’ the blurb on the brochure is enough to entice me. Apparently this is where Instagrammers go for breakfasts.

Such a pretty spot and where can I find a better place to meet my colleague out of the workplace. We’ve both become so close to each other while working on this project.

So I text her asking if she would like to meet up for breakfast on Sunday.  She accepts and here I am waiting by the window.

She is here but who is this with her?

Your fiancé? So glad to meet you.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

I thought I'd make this a two-for-one deal and have a more light hearted approach after the first story -> Order Disorder.  

To read the other writers this week click here

Order Disorder

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


It was the neatness that he had objected to first. 

The daily folding of the clothes scattered by him in their bedroom. The picking up of used towels and dirty underwear from the bathroom and it soon escalated to cleanliness in the kitchen. 

The immaculate dining table always covered with a tablecloth with the salt and sugar shakers in the same place cutting off the necessity of asking where things were kept. 

 So when his dirty secret was uncovered it was clear that all the anger against order and neatness was just a reaction from his dirty disorganised private life.

***
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

After writing this I felt that I needed to balance it with a second light hearted story.  That can be read here -> Crumbs.

To read the other writers this week click here

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Friday, October 16, 2020

Love Boat



In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue. 

 Where are we going Christopher? 

 It’s a surprise mum, we are nearly there, I took a wrong turn back there otherwise we would reached by now. 

 Why are we at the marinara Christopher? 

 It’s a marina mum, marinara is a sauce. Over there do you see it? 

 That pink boat with the ‘for sale’ sign? Or the bicycle next to it? 

Both mum. 

 It’s a ladies cycle Chris, who is the lucky lady? 

 It’s you mum. The boat is for me. I am sailing to the Sydney Mardi Gras with my friend Pablo.



***
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

My first thought was to increase the body count for the week.  The pink boat provides ample opportunity.  But in the end a dialogue only story for this week.

To read the other writers this week click here

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Wednesday, October 07, 2020

I See Weed

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook


Me mate Dazza was spewing.  One look at his face and I knew he was having a Barry Crocker

Normally Dazza is one of those fellows who rarely gets flustered by what’s thrown at him. It’s true that he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed but as long as his simple needs are met he is a happy little vegemite.

Dazza mate, what’s up buddy? 

It’s that Bazza mate. 

But he is not here with us. 

Yeah but here we are stranded in bloody Woop Woop, all because he sold us a furphy about plentiful supply of weed here.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

To read the other writers this week click here

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Thursday, October 01, 2020

Bucket List

PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin


They say the moment when the soul leaves the body the last thing the conscious mind experiences is a dazzling light. Words from survivors of near death experience, as no one has actually died and written about it. 

So this is death he thinks. Gone before experiencing life in all its glory, still to experience love and a broken heart. To travel and see the world. 

 The sharp stabbing pain at the base of his spine, is that the kundalini leaving his body? 

 Oye! Wake up you drunk, the guard gives him a kick to the base of his back.

 *** 


Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

To read the other writers this week click here

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Wednesday, September 16, 2020

Art Attack

Copyright Roger Bultot.


“So what do you think” I asked my friend, The Critic. 

 We were at the street art exhibition at the corner of Elizabeth and George Streets. The Critic was examining it with intense concentration . 

 “It's difficult to enter into this work because of the metaphorical resonance of the visual representation of the household trash and how it activates the distinctive formal juxtapositions.” 

 A council truck pulled up and men started picking up the exhibition items. 

 “Wow that’s a short exhibition,” I said. 

 “Exhibition? That’s at the corner of Elizabeth and Ann. We are here to pick up the garbage.”

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

To read the other writers this week click here

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Wednesday, September 09, 2020

Soul Trader

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

People have always know about the shop, the rumours have floated over the centuries.

I can always spot the ones looking for it; they have that look, that little glint of desperation.

And then there are the hesitant ones, the undecided.  They hover around, eyes frantically trying to catch a glimpse of what's inside.  It's not my job to invite them, the desire must come from them, if they walk away there are always more.

I welcome those who step forward ignoring the signs on the door.  The wares I offer are worth the price of their souls.

***
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

It is a two story week this time.  Here is my second contribution for the week Sign Police

To read the other writers this week click here

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Sign Police

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Here we go again, Burke and me sitting in a car watching the shop front opposite us. 

It’s just the nature of our work as undercover cops. Not the kind you see on the screen. The movies don’t give you the experience of the assault on your olfactory system when two guys sit in a car on a hot day.  

Burke is bored. 

 ‘Tomorrow my next look will be a Bessie in disguise’, he says. 

 ‘Go ahead. I never judge a cover by the book’ 

 ‘Can we raid them just for that sign?’ 

 ‘Sure we can be the Sign Police’

***
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

It is a two story week this time.  Here is my first contribution for the week Soul Trader

To read the other writers this week click here

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Friday, September 04, 2020

The Space Time Conundrum

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr


He woke up with a throbbing headache.  He was in his bedroom but he had no recollection of coming home last evening.  Just faint memories of being with the Professor.

 

Time travel! He recalled imbibing Professor’s home brew while listening to theories about spacetime and wormholes. He was sceptical of Professor’s claims but couldn’t refuse the offer to time travel.

 

They had done it. He recalled being in a dim lit alley from 1920s.

 

His mother was in the room.

 

‘The cops said you and your friend had broken into the movie set.  Care to explain what happened young man.”


***

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100


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Saturday, August 29, 2020

Supernova

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll


The first thing he notices is the absolute freedom of movement.  In the blink of an eye he stands exactly where he imagined himself to be.

 

His spirit guide smiles, he has seen this many times before but the unbridled joy of his wards still delights him.

 

We have but one rule, the guide states, you cannot exist in multiple places at the same time.

 

He sees himself on the trapeze, cartwheeling, somersaulting and standing at the same time. He glows suffused with an intense burst of energy.

 

Just one rule sighs the guide as he awaits the next disciple.




***

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100


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Thursday, August 20, 2020

Forever Home


PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

I always wanted to live in a house with a picket fence, one with wrap around verandas and a weatherboard look outside. Last week I was driving when I went past this house with a ‘for sale’ sign.

The moment I saw it I knew I had found my forever home so I went to take a look. I felt it calling, beckoning me. The gate swung open and the front door was unlocked. 

I’ve discovered that there are ten of us here still alive. It’s the susurration of our desperation that you hear as the house reels you in.


***

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100


To read the other writers click here

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