Up in the Air

PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“See that sign on the pole up there?”

“Yes?”

“It’s set in Arial font”

“How do you know?”

“Because it is,” a pause “, floating in the air.”

“Daad! That’s not that funny.  Mom he is doing it again.  And why do you laugh like that?”

“Maybe because I inherited my father’s laughter,” I say, “and one day it will be yours.”  

You wake up one day and find yourself transformed into your father.  Doling out advice that you had once ignored.  Becoming a watchful presence from behind that window.

We walk again together, hand in hand, bad puns forgiven.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To gaze through the Friday Fictioneer window go here. 

Work and travel makes this a very late submission.  Had a partially written one which I scrapped for this one as it was father's day yesterday.  In memory of a great father, whose strength as a father I only realised after becoming a father myself. 

Update: My blog has been accepted in the creative writing category in BlogAdda.  I must have missed the notification :-)  But there is still time to vote till 13th September if you wish to do so.

The Keepers

PHOTO PROMPT – © Claire Fuller

“What’s he done now?” I ask as they bring him in.

I get a sullen look from the guard instead.

He winks at me, the cheeky bastard, ignoring the shackles.

“I expect better service at your establishment this time landlord”

They follow me to the portal chamber and I pick the first entrance.  Three twists to the right and two to the left.  The strong stench of sulphur assails my nostrils. He will soon find the changes that we’ve made.

“I expect a five star rating” I say as I push him through. We have outsourced his keep to Hell.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read the other Friday Fictioneers prisoners go here. 

Still shuttling between two cities.  Working in Sydney during the week and in Brisbane for the weekend.  Which made me miss a post last week  So rather than become a prisoner of work I'll put an entry in today (or way past midnight).

The Legend of 'Fatty' McLoud

copyright – Madison Woods

‘Fatty’ McLoud was a target of pranks in College. He bore them all with a smile that made his tormentors uncomfortable and remorseful.

The year he turned into a hero was when the “Burger Eating Championship” came to town.  The title holder, a scrawny morose looking youth, who surfaced once a year in a gluttonous orgy leaving rivals writhing with tummy aches.

The competition was fierce and then there were only two methodically masticating away.

It was over when the champion unbuttoned his jeans and groaned.  Like a moth to a flame ‘Fatty’ reached out and wolfed down another burger.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To sample the tasty fare by other Friday Fictioneers  go here. 

Transformed

PHOTO PROMPT -© Madison Woods

The wind rustles through the branches. Portends are ominous and I must prepare myself.  My fingers stiffen as the wretched claws unsheathe and the fangs force their way out. An intense pain shoots through my body as my bones crackle while breaking and reforming. The colors fade yet I see more clearly in the yellow light.

In this excruciating moment my heart shrinks and I am rendered speechless as my vocal cords transform. 

My spine enlarges and hunches over. A snout emerges for my face and long hair sprouts from my body.

Transformed I gaze at the moon and howl.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read the 'mooning' stories by other Friday Fictioneers  go here. 

Sending best wishes for a speedy recovery to our fearless Friday Fictioneer commander Rochelle

Message in a Bottle

PHOTO PROMPT © G.L. MacMillan.

  

When my father died he left us a cabin by the lake and a collection of bottles and jars.  My parents had separated when we were young but each year he reminded us of his presence with voluminous letters in his unruly scrawl.

They mentioned in detail the trips he took in his job as a wilderness trail guide and always ended with a reminder to be good and not trouble anyone.

When we opened the cabin the bottles glowed like an iridescent necklace in the sunlight.  A message inside each, as if he had bottled love in a jar.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read the other Friday Fictioneers have been bottling go here. 

Still shuttling between cities, was home for the weekend and now back to Sydney. 

Snow

PHOTO PROMPT © Dee Lovering

Every winter you would find him at the town centre.  Undeterred by the weather he would make the journey by foot.  If the stalls were open he’d have the hot dog with onion relish and hot mustard.  

Then buy an ice cream cone (“Ice Cream If You Dare”) from the same vendors. He would then take a stroll, indulging in banter at the various stalls.

It hadn’t always been like that especially when he reappeared.  Sullen glances followed him.  His banter met with gruff responses and hostility, the town hostile over his early release and the circumstances of her death.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read the other Friday Fictioneers snowflakes go here. 

Travelling for work this week.  This post comes from the chillier climes of Sydney. 

Ding dong! The bells are gonna chime.

He felt a sharp nudge in his ribs followed by a voice in a brusque tone

“Réveille-toi!”

Inside his head the heavy metal drummer had stepped up the beat and his head throbbed like a nightclub past the midnight hour.

An eyelid strained to open in response to the angry voices.  

Where was he?  He struggled into a sitting position,  There was someplace he was supposed to be today but where? A celebration happened last night. Someone was getting married today.  

Him! The geometric pattern of the hotel roof came into view and a wave of nausea swept over him.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

To read what the other Friday Fictioneers have been upto go here. 

Phew! Made it in this week.  Was moving homes last week and was internet free for five days.  Oh the horrors!  But the kids survived.
Also very flattered to find that one of my old FF posts was selected as 
Top 14 Short Stories Blog Post of Last Month (MAY 2015) on the Baggout site.  I'll take it even though the caption is incorrect and I forgot to give them an author bio ("I write" that should be enough).  

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.