One hundred words …

for Friday Fictioneers

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‘It was Lily’s fault’ said Billy pointing at the shattered flower pot.

‘It was the football’s fault’ shouted Lily ‘because it went the wrong way when I kicked it’

Daddy cleared up the mess and found a new home for the sorry looking poppy plant.

Lily gave the football a serious talking to. ‘You must go where I kick you, do you understand?’ she said wagging her finger. 

Billy giggled and shook his head.

‘Right’ said Lily, ‘let’s try again and this time, behave. One two three kick!’

There was the sound of breaking glass from Mrs Smith’s garden next door.

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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to J Hardy Carroll for the picture.

Click on Lilyfrog to join in the fun!

A flash of fiction …

for the Ragtag Daily Prompt which is hosted today by Christine and the given word is Topple..

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When he was young he had a plan; a plan to take him to where he wanted to be. But his goal was like buried treasure at the end of a rainbow. With every step forward it moved one step away.

He asked his grandfather for advice. 

“Lad,” he said, “to reach life’s goals you must run when you can”. 

But he ran too fast, toppled, and left a trail of failures in his tracks. 

“Walk if you have to” he said. 

But he walked with his head bowed passing so many of the opportunities that life offered him. 

“Crawl if you must,” his grandfather said. 

He crawled, he pleaded, he begged, but beseeching gained no favours.

When his grandfather passed away, clouds of despair hid the blue sky of hope The last words he’d uttered echoed in his mind. 

“Never give up lad” he’d said. 

With that, the sun rose from the horizon. He gazed heavenward. “I won’t let you down Grandad” he yelled.

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Fifty-six words …

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Vault and the limit, 56 words.

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The old court-house had been for sale for ages. 

‘It’s haunted’ some said. ‘A murderer who was hung in the vault. Jacob’.

Nonsense!

The agent showed me around. ‘The vault?’ I asked.

‘You sure?’

‘Sure’.

We climbed down the steps. 

‘By the way, what’s your name?’

‘Jacob’ he murmured as the door slammed shut behind us.

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A short story …

for Friday Fictioneers

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It sounds delicious. An easy recipe too, but it’s not tasting very good.

I’ll chuck in some salt … eeeek, mistake. Tip in some sugar … oops, too much! Pepper might help … aaachoooo! How about vinegar and tomato sauce?

I can’t serve this, it’s disgusting. My mates’ll be here soon, where’s my phone?

Good, here’s the delivery guy. Now to personalise this take-out so they’ll think I made it!

Add salt, sugar, pepper – aaachoooo – vinegar, tomato sauce, slop it all in a dish and now it’s definitely like one of my creations!

“Hi guys, welcome! Sorry about the smell and the mess and …. everything!”

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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and for providing the photo.

Click on Froggie (if you can find him) to join in the fun!

A few thoughts …

for the Ragtag Daily Prompt where Christine has come up with the word, Promises.

Today I’m breaking my self-imposed 200 word limit promise and using an edited version of a 300 word piece I posted on my blog back in 2007.

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When I was a baby I was confirmed into the church. I didn’t know what was going on of course. Apparently some old bloke wearing a frock and a dog collar tried to drown me, but I later discovered that this was normal practice. Three people known as Godparents promised to ‘provide me with the resources, opportunities and encouragement to follow Jesus’ whilst dripping molten wax all over me. Can’t remember who they were though.

When I went to big school I made several promises. I promised not to smoke, promised not to swear and promised to work hard. Mmmm! And I was even told that I actually had promise. Yea?

When I got my first girlfriend I promised not to go out with other girls. Fat chance! They usually promised to be faithful to me too and I stupidly believed them. Fool.

Then I got married. The ultimate promise. I’m pretty sure I promised to love honour and obey. By the way, Apaches promise to ‘look for what is right between us, not what is wrong’. And Eskimos promise to let their feet run and dance, presumably to avoid getting cold tootsies! At my friend’s wedding he said ‘I promise not to watch the next Netflix episode without you’! Anyway, I spouted out the wedding one several times but I’m not so sure it always included the obey bit. Come to think of it, the other bits proved a little difficult too.

Since then promises have come thick and fast. Ones I have made and ones I’ve received. Some have been kept, others have not.

Trouble is so many promises are worthless. I should know!

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*The other day I saw a photo of a priest at a christening using a kid’s water pistol in order to stick to the social distancing rules!

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Forty-three words …

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Lucid and the limit, 43 words.

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Lucinda Longbottom was not the most lucid lecturer at Littlebutte Learning centre.  Her love of alliteration meant her lessons lacked intelligibility: her meaningless meanderings left many muddleheaded and mystified.

She was dismissed.

Luckily she landed a likeable livelihood as a lexicographer in London. 

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Today’s short story ….

for Friday Fictioneers

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It was just what he’d been looking for. 

‘Interested young man?’ 

‘Possibly’ he said, ‘I’ll give you ten for it’. 

‘Haha very funny’ said the old fella walking away.

‘I’m serious’ he said. ‘How about twelve?’

The gent turned around. ‘No way’ he said ‘it’s magnificent’.

‘Fifteen?’ the young chap asked.

‘It’s fast, it’s agile, it glides…’

‘…but it’s getting on a bit’.

‘Yea, but they don’t make ‘em like this any more’.

‘Eighteen?’

‘Okay, eighteen thousand pounds it is’ sighed the ol’ boy looking forlornly at his boat.

‘I meant eighteen pounds! Eighteen grand for a sit-up-and-beg bicycle? You must think I’m stupid!’

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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to CEAyr for the picture.

Click on the Froggies to join in the fun!

A few words …

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where today’s given word is Asinine and the limit, 74 words.

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Bend knees, address ball, hit left, mind bunker. ‘Fore’ someone shouts. I can’t even manage one!  I’ve lost countless balls, and they are bloody expensive.

As for that asinine pigeon, it shouldn’t have flown so close as I swung the bat or stick whatever it’s called. My mate covered in feathers did look funny though!

Forget two to eighteen.  I’m off to the nineteenth for a beer. Dominoes and solitaire in future.  Proper sport.