for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Wanton and the limit, 60 words.
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I’m Blake. PI. Mission? Follow male suspected of affair with wanton female.
16.27. Linton Road. Suspect leaves home.
16.47. Bloom Street. Suspect enters florist.
16.52. Exits with flowers.
17.03. Suspect enters Juniper Avenue.
Coincidence. I live in Juniper Avenue.
17.09. Suspect knocks door of 27
What? I live at 27.
17.11. Female opens door.
17.12. Couple embrace.
That’s my wife!
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for Six Sentence Stories where the given word is Improvise.
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Always inclined to improvise, Benny’s life was one of disaster after disaster.
As a youngster he could have drowned when he took to sea in a bathtub but forgot to insert the plug, he broke a couple of bones when using a tea tray for a toboggan and once jumped from the top of a tree using a bedsheet as a parachute with painful consequences!
His friends still laugh about the time he went to a Halloween party dressed as a ghost and thought he’d save money by making his own costume from white plastic refuse sacks.
He stood for a while with his back to a log fire then jumped forward when he smelt burning and spent the rest of the evening totally unaware he was displaying his singed bare bottom!
No one’s heard of Benny since he thought he’d fly across the sea without the expense of travelling in an aeroplane.
He was last seen with a bag full of balloons and a cylinder of helium gas heading for the cliffs, and he may have been successful as later that day someone found the empty cylinder lying on the grass.
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Thanks to GirlieOnTheEdge for hosting.
Click the frog to see what others have written!
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‘Rosey’ whispered Helen, ‘it’s a secret but I must tell someone. Steve said Polly spoke to Charlie who said Jane’s pregnant!’
‘Mum’s the word!’ giggled Rosey.
She had to phone Amanda.
‘Helen said Steve’s got Jane … no, Polly preggers!’ spluttered Rosey.
‘Wow!’ yelled Amanda. She rushed to the pub.
Barmaid Brenda was pouring drinks.
‘Keep it to yourself, but ….. !’
It was so noisy, Brenda had difficulty hearing, but within minutes what she thought she heard was the buzz-of-the-bar!
In walked Rosey.
‘Chardonnay please!‘
‘You shouldn’t drink!’ shouted Linda.
‘How’s the morning sickness?’ chuckled Jimbo!
Everybody cheered!
Rosey’s face was a picture!
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to Roger Bultot for the photo.
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Click the Froggies to join in the fun!
To read loads more stories about My Friend Rosey, just click HERE!
for Wordless Wednesday and others.
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I risked my life taking these pictures for you!
Click pics to enlarge them.
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Incase you missed them –
Last week’s pictures were of bluebells. Click photo if you would like to view them.
for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Solitudinarian and the limit, ninety words.
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A solitudinarian, isolated from the frenzied existence of the townsfolk beyond. Her home, a wooden shack nestled in a wildwood. Everything she requires, desires, surrounds her. No need to talk. No one to hear.
In the silvery light of a misty dawn, her eyes are drawn to a hazy apparition rippling ‘midst the trees. A spirit maybe for ‘tis said spirits dwell in these woods.
Mesmerised, she wanders barefoot through quivering blades of dewy grass and into the mystical miasma.
What lies beyond only she knows. She, and she alone.
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“Wake up Gilbert, it’s blowing a gale out there,” said Gertrude as their mobile home shook sending a vase of flowers crashing to the floor. “So much for the lie-in we were looking forward to”.
Gilbert sat up, rubbed his bleary eyes and dragged back the curtain.
“More like a tornado Gert, I’d swear I just saw a tree blow past. There goes another, and a road sign!”
The shack shuddered and swayed.
“I said we should have bought a proper house” grumbled Gertrude.
The truck driver’s phone rang.
“You idiot” shouted his boss. “You were supposed to collect mobile thirty-seven, not twenty-seven!”
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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to Ted Strutz for the picture.
Click Froggies to join in the fun!
And so, my month of merry music-making has come to an end. I wrote about instruments, many of which I’d never before heard of, and musicians that tried their best at playing them!
I cannot thank enough those that chose to play along with me, your comments were encouraging, humorous, sage and often very ‘punny’!
I gained a lot of pleasure from following your blogs, most of which were in categories other than mine, and made quite a few new acquaintances along the way.
That’s the good bit done. Now let’s get serious!
I thought long and hard before deciding to take part this year. This was my sixth go at it, having joined up in 2015.
Sadly, each year there has been a decline in the number of folks participating. In 2015, a total of 1509 added their names to the master list, this year just 307.
Also, the number of writers posting very short stories, my chosen area, has dwindled to just a few. And as with previous years, with one exception, I received no visits from any of the team members.
Each and every year I’ve said in my Reflections that it would probably be my last. Then as a new April approaches, I change my mind!
Was this my last go? On reflection, probably!
This year’s A -Z stories
for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Wayward and the limit, 77 words.
Me, wayward? Maybe. Deceitful, an evildoer? It has been said.
I pressed my .45 to his forehead.
‘Please, no’ he whimpered. ‘It wasn’t me’.
I believed him but my boss was a sadistic bastard you didn’t argue with. I glanced over my shoulder praying he‘d stand me down. He didn’t.
He nodded, the signal to fire.
Sometimes, disobedience is the honest route. I fired but not at the pitiful victim. No, I turned, then pulled the trigger.
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Short stories featuring musical instruments and those who play them!
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It was Wednesday. Market day. He clutched his zither under one arm, his folding stool under the other and headed for the square.
He called himself Harry and wore a lime green waistcoat. He was one of several buskers who performed there each week in the hope of making a bob or two. There was a guy with a guitar, a bloke with a banjo and a singer singing songs.
There he sat with his zither on his lap making merry music.
Inevitably, someone would ask him to play the Harry Lime theme.
‘It’ll cost you’ he’d say pointing to the upturned trilby at his feet!
He played it several times each session and did pretty well.
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As the market traders packed up their stalls, he clutched his zither under one arm, his folding stool under the other and headed for the pub.
‘Gin and tonic landlady’ he called out as he walked to the bar.
‘A slice of lime Harry?’ Lucie asked.
‘But of course’ he replied. It happened every week like a well-rehearsed routine.
Inevitably, someone would ask him to play the Harry Lime theme.
‘It’ll cost you’ he’d say pointing to his near-empty glass.
He played it several times each session and got pretty tipsy!
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When the time came to leave he clutched his zither under one arm, his folding stool under the other and tottered his way home.
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It was Wednesday. Market day ……
This version of the Harry Lime Theme from the movie The Third Man is brilliant. It starts off sensible then about three minutes in, it becomes pure farce! Take a look, it’ll be five minutes well spent!
Previous posts
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Years past
2020 – Stories featuring obsolete words starting with – Z
2019 – Stories for children – Z
2018 – My Friend Rosey – Z
2017 – The village of Amble Bay –Z
Click on the letter of the day to revisit.
And that’s it folks! Time to pack away the instruments, send the players home and put my feet up! Thanks to all that dropped by and left such lovely comments. Don’t let’s be strangers!
