Restoration Task

PHOTO PROMPT @ A. Noni Mouse

She walked in the kitchen and contemplated the restoration task before her.

It was a stereotypical bachelor’s pad when she visited.  Unmade bed, clothes on the floor and dirty dishes in the sink.  Only his smile and the fact that he could converse had prevented her from leaving.  Her previous dates had been handsome but inarticulate men. She moved in with him even though it had been a mission to clean the house.

That relationship ended the moment he betrayed her with a stranger.

 Before she left, she restored the house to the same mess as she had found it.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

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Paved Paradise

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

We were in the cab when the song came on.

“They paved paradise

Put up a parking lot”

I laughed and she turned to me with eyebrows raised.

“Coincidence much?  I chuckled, “We are on our way to the hotel and a swinging hot spot”.

She grimaced and inched away, we were on our way to a mandatory counselling session after her reluctant return.  

Outside the leaves were changing colours and in a matter of weeks would be gone.  How long would we last?

 Don't it always seem to go

That you don't know what you've got

'Til it's gone.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

I know that's not a parking lot and it may not be a yellow taxi, but why pass the opportunity to incorporate the words of loved song by a great artist.

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Egged On

PHOTO PROMPT © Todd Foltz

Long before he fell off a wall and scrambled himself, Humpty had made a quite a reputation as a stand up comic.

In those days members of his community were hard-boiled folks who would look down on anyone daring to be different.

Being born free range he begged to differ and would say there is no such thing as a bad yolk.

His eggsuberant spirit won over all those who doubted his ability to crack jokes. Chicks flocked to his performances.

Off the Wall TV show invited him to be a guest star. He accepted and you know the rest.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

I've missed a few entries these last few months.  It's not that I have a bad case of eggzema, I am always eggcited to take part, just work commitments are taking precedence over writing.  So this is my eggpress entry this week.  I hope it makes you cackle. 

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Chipping Away

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

He had always been the one for parties.

With his crisp looks he was a chip of the old block and a very popular one too despite his chequered background. There even had been talk of him being assaulted but that was just rumours spread by people trying to bag him.

He never blamed them, in fact he even defended them but that was due to his habit of playing the Devil’s Avocado. There was never a dip in his fortunes and he always had a cracker of a time.

Now the party is over and only the crumbs remain.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

And for a change an entry on the first day.  Do I feel punstoppable?

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Last Dance

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

It was in April last year that the video of middle-aged man dancing around a fountain in a tutu went viral.   In a world where the human attention span is less than that of a goldfish, the Internet was flooded with memes as the video racked up over eight million hits.

 

Observers attributed its popularity to the location.  The fountain with a sculpted flower in the middle surrounded by gorgeously lit buildings. Others remarked on the happiness radiating from the dancer.

 

I blame the extra shots of tequila consumed that afternoon.  I am never showing my face in public again.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

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Cap-tivated

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

A lesser-known fact about the Grim Reaper, he likes collecting headgear from his assignments. He also loves social media and hashtags, just keep an eye out for #GrimReaper #SoulCollector. And no he does not dress in a shroud and clutch a scythe these days. That would be a bit of a give away and a smartphone is a better choice now.

How do I know you ask? Well even the Reaper needs a housekeeper, you would be amazed at how unkempt the house was. All those cruise ships stuck in island paradise meant that the boss has been working overtime.

***

This 

This is a two for one weekend.  The first one is here Islands In the Stream.

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

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Islands In The Stream

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

Once more I bid you farewell. These past few weeks have been the best of my life. What we have had was beautiful and something many don’t get to experience over a lifetime.

Of course I am totally committed to you, even in this paradise I only had eyes for you. Those flowers stuck in my cap? You know how friendly everyone is, so probably just a sisterly gesture. Yes I do have lots of caps but I just can’t say no.

I would gladly stay but you know there are other islands to see and ports to sail into.

***

This is a two for one weekend.  The second one is here Cap-tivated.

Ah well, if the song is in the title then here it is, one of my favourites

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

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Since You Bin Gone

PHOTO PROMPT © C.E.Ayr

When are you emptying that terrorist bin of yours?

What terrorist bin Dad?

You know the one Bin Laden with trash that needs emptying.

That’s sad even by Dad joke standards.

Unknowingly I’d thrown out a challenge.

I wheelie bin trying to get rid of this rubbish but it’s piling on.

You never call home and you mother is worried.  Where you bin?

And now that old faded poster lies forlornly against the wall.  I didn’t throw it just to see what you would say.

Mom hands over a note.  He left it for you she says.

‘Dear poster child…’

***

Maybe I should have recycled a story for this week but I've not bin that busy

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

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Quixote

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

From the rooftop of his apartment block he gazes at the city skyline. In the distance the ferocious giants snakes upwards towards the clouds. The apartments in his once vibrant neighbourhood hemmed in by the giants as they march towards it.

The owners of the old apartments are leaving as the builders buy them out. There was a time when they all knew each other names, the rooftop not just a place to go up for a smoke; it was gossip central and even a rendezvous point for lovers.

Not him, he promises to stay and stage his last stand.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

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Chasing Rainbows

Copyright Jeff Arnold

They say that there is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  We know it is a story and yet we want to believe it.

That rainbow is a symbol of our hope, dreams and the fulfilment of happiness.  Many spend their lives chasing rainbows unaware of the happiness lying next to them.

Then there are those who show us the path.  All you have to do is to listen to your heart.  Choose your own way; see life as an adventure and take challenges head on. The pot of gold then comes to you.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

Written in memory of my cousin Anshuman who passed away this week.   A high achiever with a love for life, an unlimited curiosity for new experiences and a zest for adventure.   Farewell my brother I'll miss your presence.

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Snap Chat

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

Grandpa,how come you don’t have a smart phone? What if you need to google something?

Well I could always ask Grandma, we both know that she knows everything.

But how can you remember everyone’s phone number?

I have an address book with numbers written in it.

Mum says you don’t have Facebook or Twitter.

I don’t need to. You see that bird outside? I just have to speak on my phone and he will instantly tweet my words.

Are you are having me on Grandpa?

I couldn’t even if I tried,you sir are no bird brain.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

Five more days for this self isolation to end.  Hope you are all staying safe.

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The Reply

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

The professor put his glasses down and sighed. Another letter with sheets of poetry had arrived today.

The perils of being a noted poet meant fans writing poems to him in the hope of being granted instant recognition.

Another handwritten note, his thoughts on such missives were fairly well known.

"Type them. You can't evaluate a poem if it is hand-written."

“How do they get my address?” he wondered. He had even joked about it.

"Visit please my humble residence also./ I am living just on the opposite house's backside."

Feeding the paper he began to type out a reply.

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

My story for today is speculative fiction. It comes from a line in article I once read. The link is in the story.

The poet I am referring to is Nissim Ezekiel, considered to be the “father of post-independence Indian verse in English”.

A favourite poem of mine is his Night of the Scorpion.

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Flying Chariots

© J Hardy Carroll

I first noticed him on the weekend; he was in our local shopping centre waving a placard in his hand.

‘Repent ye seniors the Armageddon is coming.’

Discarding my kid’s pleas I went to him. 

“I think you mean sinners,” I said as he glared at me.

But he was there midweek with a new sign, giving me a gruff nod of acknowledgment.

He was on to something as items were flying off supermarket shelves.  The role of toilet paper in this crisis confuses me; do we wrap it around our bodies becoming a soft absorbent version of Egyptian mummies?

***

Written for the Friday Fictioneers.  Word count:100

Unfortunately the crises is real and with quarantining cities and  travel bans there is a new normal in place.  Stay safe everyone wherever you may be.

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