100 Words

Post 1638. Wednesday March 21





Hobjc3b6rn-9w nice. ‘High five’ I shout as I slap my palm against the welcome sign. Unfortunately, my gesture is a little overenthusiastic and I send it tumbling over the edge and down into the stream. Sorry, I mutter. I carry on round the bend singing my favourite song.

‘Climb every mountain, ford every…’ (sorry, that ‘s a bit out of tune!)

On I plod. I crane my neck to watch a soaring eagle, or is it a sparrow? Whatever, it’s beautiful. Then I trip.


There’s that ****** welcome sign again. ‘You could have warned me’ I yell as I refused it another high five.



bjc3b6rn-9A little bit of nonsense for this week’s Friday Fictioneers which is once again hosted by Rochelle. This weeks picture is provided by  Björn Rudberg



A-Z Challenge 2018 – Theme Reveal!

A1I can hardly believe a year has passed since I welcomed you to the village of Amble Bay. Not a lot has changed there. The cherry tree above Arthur and Florence’s bench is once again in blossom and life goes on pretty well as normal.



Now it’s time for you to meet….


Those who have rambled with me over the past eleven years will already know quite a bit about My Friend Rosey, and I thought this years A-Z Challenge would be a good opportunity to introduce a few more of you to her scatty ways and ditsy doings!

You’ll learn all about her as we go through April, but I’ll just give you a few facts to set you on your way!

1) Rosey is her mid-thirties going on sixteen.

2) Rosey lives in an apartment overlooking the sea.

3) Rosey has two cats for company, Fuzzybutt, and Scruff

4) Rosey is a teacher’s assistant at a school for little folk.

5) Rosey drinks Chardonnay.

6)  Rosey is…well, Rosey!

Welcome to the crazy world of…. budhayanti-script.regular



To discover more about the A-Z Challenge 2018 and to join the many hundreds of bloggers taking part, click HERE



Post 1636 . Tuesday March 13

I’ve based my story on an event I witnessed in Nepal a few years ago



I don’t know his name. I know nothing of him. I am just a casual observer standing on a riverbank.

On the other side, golden flames flicker. I look on, humbled by the solemnity of a family filing past a pyre which bears a lifeless body. They bid it farewell as its spirit passes from this life to the next and then to paradise.

I watch the remains being scattered in the flowing muddy water amid scores of swirling petals and scraps of gaudy fabric as they start their short journey downstream to the sea.

The mourners have left now but the embers still glow, a sign that something of him lives on, but in a far better place. 


photo-20180312154628322Written for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers where the photo is provided by Enisa

Flash Fiction

Post 1635. Sunday March 11



A black Mercedes swung from CharltonHigh Street into the multi-story then reversed into Bay 103. Its driver sat back, lit a cigarette and began leafing through a newspaper. He glanced up now and again as other cars entered. Then it arrived. A white Lexus. MTG18GS. He watched it drive up the ramp to the next level.

He climbed from his car, flicked a speck of ash from the lapel of his navy-blue suit then ran up the steps. From the landing on the second floor, he watched as the white Lexus parked in Bay 227.

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In Bay 228 a young lady threw bags of shopping into the back of her silver Range Rover then headed for the driver’s door. She suddenly gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth. The side window of the white Lexus in Bay 227 was splattered with crimson blood, its lifeless driver slumped over the steering wheel.

Meanwhile, in the men’s room, a man in a navy-blue suit washed his hands, smoothed his hair and straightened his tie. He smiled at himself in the mirror before heading back to bay 103, climbing into a black Mercedes and heading off down Charlton High Street.



224-03-march-11th-2018200 words precisely for Sunday Photo Fiction where this week’s picture is by A Mixed Bag.

One Hundred Words


Post 1634. Wednesday March 7



Young François loved visiting Jean-Pierre and hearing about his wartime experiences as an officer in the French navy. Tales of valiant battles at sea.

François would tell Jean-Pierre about his adventures as a fearsome pirate, sailing to islands, searching for buried treasure. Sometimes he wore his eye patch and three pointed hat. His maman said one day he could have a parrot.


Twelve years ago Jean-Pierre died. François’ treasured possession is a medal left to him in his will. Jean-Pierre would have been so proud of François for today he embarks upon a career in the Marine Nationale just as he did many years before.

download (1)



Written for Friday Fictioneers which is hosted by Rochelle.

crook-building This week’s picture is from Sandra Crook. Quite what the building is I’m unsure, but it appears to be in France and I have turned it into a retirement home for war veterans!

A piece of flash fiction


photographerA candle flickered before him as he sat at his desk recording the events of his extraordinary day. Scratch scratch, quill on vellum.

“I entered a darkened room whereupon I was made to sit perfectly still whilst retaining breath in my lungs. A fellow stood behind a three-legged contraption, flung a black sheet over his head and bent forward. In one hand he held a peculiar device on a stick. Suddenly, the wretched thing flashed brightly billowing acrid smoke into the air. I was near blinded and almost choked to death”.

He paused briefly to ponder the future.

“Will the artist be no longer be required? Are machines to replace his brush and palette? If so how is he to earn his shilling? Perhaps in time, we will no longer be required to think for ourselves, calculate or investigate. Maybe even my trusty pen will become redundant”.

He sighed, and a drop of ink fell from the quill as if shedding a tear for the present which would too soon become the past.



Word count 172


photo-20180305154610240Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers which is hosted by Priceless Joy. The photo is provided by Goroyboy. I have taken the liberty of increasing the size of the quill in my story!


Sunday Photo Fiction

I’ve been away for a couple of weeks soaking up the sun in Dubai so I missed the worst of the snow. What a shame!




Helen wrapped herself in her warmest coat and scarf, said goodbye to her friend and headed off into the winter’s night. The driving snow assaulted her cheeks. An ambulance splashed through slush, its siren screaming. She passed the traffic lights; red amber green amber red. Snow, darkness, noise, light, cold.

Just one more corner then the glowing orange street-light outside her house, would welcome her home.

Then Helen saw it. A snowman with glinting eyes. She walked by, shoved open the gate and tramped towards her door. She glanced over her shoulder; the snowman had turned to face her bearing a menacing smile. Her mind was playing tricks. Yes, that was it. A couple too many drinks then the freezing cold.

After fumbling with her key the door eventually opened and she stumbled inside. For a moment she just stood, eyes closed. It was warm, comforting, quiet. After throwing a log on the fire she crossed the room to close the curtains.

Her heart missed a beat as she faced the snowman, staring at her, just inches from the window.

Next morning her friend phoned, but got no reply. It had thawed overnight. On the doorstep lay a stick, some scraps of foil and Helen’s mobile, ringing, ringing, ringing…..



26-jade-wong-march-4th-2018Written for Sunday Photo Fiction where the photo prompt is provided by Jade Wong.



gaby.demo (1)

mermaid_by_rerekina-d54eymaA silvery sparkling sea rolled into the golden sandy cove where beneath the boughs of a swaying palm sat a bejeweled mermaid, Queen of all she surveyed. In her arms, she held her merbaby, Le Princesse de la Mer.

‘It’s time for you to go my child’ said the Queen. ‘For I am tired and you must  take my place’

Where must I go?’  asked the child

Over the horizon’ said her Mother.

If I go in too deep I might drown Mummy’ said the child.

No my child, the creatures of the ocean will protect you’

How will I know when I am there?’ the child asked.

‘You will know little one. You will know’

And with that, the Queen was gone. The child looked around but saw no one. She was alone.

She swam through rainbows of fish and forests of coral. But the elusive horizon came no closer.

How far is the horizon?’ she asked a dolphin. ‘As far as you can see and more’ he said.

Which way is the horizon?’ she asked a starfish. ‘That way child’ he said pointing in five directions.

How long will it take?’ she asked an oyster. ‘How long is a string of pearls?’ it replied.

I’m tired, may I ride on your back?’ she asked a seahorse. ‘No young one’ he said. ‘You have to make the journey alone in order to claim your throne’

She was exhausted and clinging to a passing piece of driftwood fell into a deep deep sleep.

A while later she awoke, rubbed her eyes and saw before her a sparkling rock, upon which sat glistening golden throne.

Mermaids appeared from every direction, then circled around her frolicking and laughing with joy. Forming a nest of arms they gently lifted the child high above the rolling azure waves.

Take your place upon the throne Princesse de la Mer’ said a voice from above.

For this is the place over the horizon, this is the place where you belong’.




Badge 1Written in response to the prompt at Write…Edit…Publish which is ‘In too deep’

Picture ‘Mermaid’ by Rerekeena at deviantArt

Six Sentences

Post1630. Friday February 16

Six Sentence Stories

 miss-fajardose.regular (1)

I’m lounging in my armchair before a crackling log fire, in one hand a bulbous glass of fine vintage port, in the other a Montecristo Turbo Corona Grande cigar: six and one-eighth inches of heaven itself

I clip off the end before the ceremonial lighting; not a match, not a lighter, but a seasoned wooden taper.

I draw in the smoke, slowly, for cigar smoke should be savoured not swallowed, then hold it in my mouth until I taste cedar wood and cherries.

Perfect rings of smoke rise above me, fragrant halos which slowly fade leaving an aroma that transports me back to the smoky bars of Havana.

As the music of Mozart wafts over me, I close my eyes and enjoy an hour of perfect peace and contentment.


When the time comes to say farewell to my smoking partner, I don’t stub it out for to do so would show a lack of respect; no I let it fade away naturally, for someone once said the end of a good smoke is like losing a friend who had time to sit and listen.




This week’s cue word is Smoke.

A 100 Word Story

Friday Fictioneers


pink-kangaroo.regular (1)

It’s back again. February. Every year it turns up around the same time. It’s peering at me through the window like a miserable grey demon.

It’s the middle of the day but it’s more like dusk. I can see the sea from here. It’s grey. Rising from the distant horizon the sky is grey, even the seagulls squawking overhead are grey. There’s a blanket of snow. Blankets are meant to keep you warm. Not this one. The only bit of colour I see is a lone daffodil bravely standing there to remind me that spring is waiting just around the corner.


Thanks once again to Rochelle for hosting, and to Dale Rogerson for this week’s photo.