Yesterday

PHOTO PROMPT – © Emmy L Gant

Yesterday all my troubles seem so far away

I sense his malignant presence as my parlous mission brings me to his door. 

My feelings remain as dark as the clouds huddled in the sky.  My stomach churning at the sight of the plastic bag and its contents

“Turn on the video feed,” the command crackles in my headphone.

I signal my partner to remain in the shadows as we edge towards the door.

Yesterday love was such an easy game to play.

We kick the door down and there he is, in our gun-sight, still carving his latest victim.

Endgame.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

In with a dark tale for this week's episode. Who knows there might be another one later as I am in early this time.  And you can read it here

To read the stories from this week's cloud click here.

And in memory of George Martin 
http://www.paulmccartney.com/news-blogs/news/paul-mccartney-on-george-martin

Charged With Love

PHOTO PROMPT © Sean Fallon

“Les yeux sont le miroir de l’ame” 

As he gazed into her eyes, Desmond was overwhelmed with love for Molly.  

It seemed only yesterday that he had read her profile on the website and tentatively initiated contact.  

Now a year had gone by since she had come into his life.  There were sceptics along the way; the doubters whose dark murmurings reached him but were ignored.

She smiled at him “And how was your day, day, day...” the staccato burst interrupting the moment.

He sighed reaching for the jar of batteries.

“I should have chosen the self charging option instead”.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Travelling teaches you better time management skills (or so we think).  So I will be attempting to post before the weekend commute home.  The other advantage of not being the last to post is that sometimes people even read your submission.

To read the other turbo charged stories from the story jar click here.

Desmond and Molly do have their own song ;-) 

The Sands of Time

PHOTO PROMPT – © Sandra Crook

I remember.

Your mocking laugh as you exited the dark dungeon where I was imprisoned.

I was betrayed by my Queen, her laughter embraced you outside.

I ate rats to survive even as you waited for me to die.

You feared that the news of my death would spur my supporters to revolt.  Or did you expect me to strike beyond the grave?

You broke my bones but my spirit grew.  I did what no mortal had done before. I found a way out of that hell.

Beware the passing sands of time.  Fear me now for I am death.

**

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Work has me travelling between two cities again, which might have contributed to my absence from the prompt last week.  So this time to make amends I offer two stories.  One of a softer hue and this one is slightly dark.

To read the other stories churned up by the sands of time click here. 

As Time Goes By

PHOTO PROMPT – © Sandra Crook

You must remember this, that first cake you baked, it had the consistency of rubber and yet I ate it all.  I would have finished it but then you had to have a bite.  Through your stifled tears I explained that no one had made one for me before.

And when two lovers woo there are no instructions to follow.

Moonlight and love songs - never out of date, but the neighbours didn’t concur when I performed a midnight serenade.

It's still the same old story but I am glad to have you by my side as time goes by.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Work has me travelling between two cities again, which might have contributed to my absence from the prompt last week.  So this time to make amends I offer two stories.  This one is of a softer hue and the other slightly dark.

 And those who recognise the song here is the original

To read the other stories churned up by the sands of time click here. 

Paradise Lost

PHOTO PROMPT © Erin Leary

Distant rumbles leave her perturbed.  Is it thunder or guns? One can never tell these days. Chilly gusts of wind swoop in as she draws her shawl closer around her shoulders.

The lake’s shoreline lies under a cover of lotus flowers, water lilies and water chestnuts. In summer it transforms into a floating vegetable garden. In happier times the houseboats would be full of tourists, now only the brave venture here.

She watches the predatory grey herons wade into the water, for them the paradise still lives on. Hers died the day her son stepped on the land mine.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

I confess the picture had me stumped.   The obvious route was to have a dead body or two and submerged under the lilies.  That and bad time management in setting time aside to write makes this probably the last entry.  Yes the story is darker but a tiny reflection of our troubled world.  One day peace will return and it will be paradise regained.

To read the other stories floating around, click here. 

Honour At Steak

PHOTO PROMPT – © ceayr

Marquis de Sable was worried.  A commoner had been spotted hanging around the gates of the mansion. 

With three young ladies of marriageable age in the house, one could simply not afford to be complacent.  The Marquessate of de Sable was not the same after Lady M had eloped with the milkman.  The Marchioness still felt faint just thinking about it. 

The chateau was crumbling from the inside but shabby and intact outside.  A certain dignity had to be maintained.

In a way he was glad that it was the village butcher.  Good cuts of meat were hard to get.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

I am back after a break for another year of Fictioneers fun.  Starting off with some light-hearted fun.  Hoping for a few more comments and readers this year too.

To read the tales written by the other Friday Fictioneers click here.                                   

A View With the Room

PHOTO PROMPT- © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The views, as the agent had described, were stunning.  Words had been bandied about.

Words like “solidly constructed”, “modern liveability”, “sweeping city and rural views” and the kitchen, an entertainer’s delight ”.     

The neighbours were a mile away; “assured privacy” and “reclusive charm”.                                                                                                                      

Different from the inner city living, he had said, but plenty of room for visitors.

Sure, a forty mile drive to the country is all they want to do on the weekend, she muttered to herself.

A dollop of dishwashing liquid in the gravy ought to convince him of the need to be closer to civilization, she thought.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

Another year at the Fictioneer's prompt is about to come to an end, so time to have some fun this week, no darkness maybe some wickedness :-)

To read the tales written by the other Friday Fictioneers click here.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

The Man Inside

PHOTO PROMPT © Luther Siler

I was eight when I met Big Bird for the first time.  Tall, nasally voiced, he moved along our ward, high-fiving children and distributing lollies.

Back home all I did was to recount that visit over and over again.   

“There is a person inside that suit mum.  When I grow up, I am going be that person.”

As I said that my mother smiled and hugged me tightly.

The next time I was discharged my father bought me home.

As I walked inside I saw a Big Bird suit on the floor. 

My mother had spent the week stitching one.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers Word Count : 100

I thought I'd put an entry in early this week.  It's been a year today since my mother passed away, so it is a mother inspired story, especially as I did spend a fair amount of my childhood in and out of hospitals.  The real man inside the Big Bird suit is Caroll Spinney who has been in that suit since 1969.

To read the tales written by the other Friday Fictioneers click here. 

The Refuge

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

He closed his eyes, clenched his fists and wished for the portal to appear.  When his eyes opened, the dark doors set in the white ivory frame had materialised as always.

 Behind him lay the treacherous bushland with danger in every step that he took.  The scars on his body a grim reminder of the thorns encountered daily.

He stood mesmerised by the lights and the gentle humming of the robotic cars.  It always remained a temporary refuge and how he wished he could stay forever.

“I found the boy inside the cupboard Sir; this time we were too late”.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers (episode 100). Word Count : 100

So now that the hundredth post is over, here is another one for this week.

To read the tales written by the other Friday Fictioneers click here. 

Hundred Miles

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

“If you build it they will come.”

That’s what we all think anyway before starting a new venture.  Asking ourselves whether we will succeed or fail? Of course the actual quote is “If you build it, he will come’”

Which begs the question “Who’s he?”

In my case it was actually the missing reader for this blog.

That was till I started writing in this ‘Friday Fictioneer’ thing.  Sometimes the writing resembles the overgrown weeds but sometimes it shines like a bright light.  But even with the hits and the misses, this is episode 100.

Thank you all for reading.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers (episode 100). Word Count : 100

A bit of a milestone this week.  The hundredth blog post for Friday Fictioneers with the counter now aiming for 200.  There is another entry for this week :-)

To read the tales written by the other Friday Fictioneers click here. 

Sole Survivor

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E. Ayr

So there I was in the park, enjoying a little tipple but must have dozed off.

The midnight gong of the clock tower woke me up.  Out there on the road stood a splendid golden coach, harnessed with six cream colored horses.  The coachman wore a powdered wig and silk stockings.  There were six footmen in splendid liveries.

As the last gong sounded the coach became a pumpkin, the horses transformed into mice and the coachman into a rat.  Six lizards scurried away while a pretty beggar girl, limping in one shoe, ran past crying.

I am never drinking again. 

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers (episode 99). Word Count : 100

A little bit whimsicality this time to get away from the serious stuff.  Hope the Fairy Blogmother approves.

To read the tales written by the other Friday Fictioneers click here. 

War and Remembrance

PHOTO PROMPT – © J Hardy Carroll

My dearest beloved, I do not know if I will make it back home to you and the little one.  This last week we have witnessed horrors undreamt. Even Guruji’s rendition of the great war of Mahabharat had not prepared me for this carnage.  

Yesterday the sky was black with smoke and only a few houses remained standing.  Of the rest nothing was left save their charred shells.

 The young major sahib died in my arms this morning.  He asked that we not to visit him soon but in these times who can promise anything.  Remember me with no regrets.

***

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100

Right so I am definitely going to be the last entry this time.  Hoping that it gets accepted by the link.
Last Wednesday was Remembrance Day.  This year 11 November marks the 97th anniversary of the Armistice which ended the First World War (1914–18).  Over one million Indian troops served overseas, of whom 62,000 died and another 67,000 were wounded. In total at least 74,187 Indian soldiers died during the war.

The experiences of the many Indian soldiers who fought in the first world war, that has just been digitised by Europeana 1914-1918 and the British Library.

To read contributions by the other Friday Fictioneers click here. 

Parched Land

PHOTO PROMPT – © Connie Gayer

When the call came he was ready.  Quickly gathering his cap, he and his men stepped out, the driver waiting as he slipped into the front seat while the men clambered into the back.             

They sat in a sullen silence as the vehicle clattered along the road.  The road, set in the rural heartland, taking them past the once busy fertile fields.  In days gone by this would have been the start of the harvest season.       

They found the body in the midst of the parched land, a pesticide bottle next to it, just another farmer who took his life.

**

Written for the Friday Fictioneers  Word Count : 100.  

I have written a fictional version of what is a very sad scenario playing around the world these days.  Small, family farms are closing down all around the world for the past few decades with disastrous consequences for farming families.  According to the National Crime Record Bureau (NCRB) of India, as many as 5,650 farmers committed suicide in India last year. This works out to one farmer suicide in every 100 villages or one farmer suicide in every block in the country last year. One of India's leading newspapers reported this story recently.  In midst of Government apathy this journalist has been documenting these stories.

To read contributions by the other Friday Fictioneers click here.