for Friday Fictioneers

 

 

“Must I?” pleaded Orville.

“Yes” said Wilbur.

“Why not you?”

“I don’t like heights. You’ve got cushions in case it goes wrong”

“Goes wrong? It’s supposed to be safe”

Orville’s pleas went unheard. The Flyer spluttered into life, and the Wright Brother’s fragile timber and cloth contraption bounced its way off the ground.

“Oooo … I’m coming down… I don’t like it”

Twelve seconds and one hundred and twenty feet later, the contraption landed with a bump.

A proud Wilbur addressed the assembled crowd.

“One day man will fly across oceans”

“Bugger that” shouted Orville “They can do it without me! I’m off for a beer”

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle who also provided this week’s picture.

Prod the frog to read other’s stories.

 

for Wordless Wednesday

Let’s start in Nepal!

Now to Peru

then Morocco

and South India

Near the Taj Mahal

 

now Greece

and finally China!

 

for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

I was sure she was barking up the wrong tree. I couldn’t see the point of it. I told her so. But would she listen? Would she heck.

She was a good cook, I’d go as far as to say she was up there with the best chefs. She had an eye for interior design. She could sell too, her Ann Summers’ parties were legendary! But her latest idea just didn’t do it for me.

Okay, so starting her own trendy restaurant seemed feasible. But there? With that menu? With that name? What on earth was she thinking!

That was several years ago and yes, I admit it. I was wrong. People descend in droves on her remote little eaterie. They love her peppers stuffed with quinoa, toasted pine nuts, dry-fried tofu, and kale followed by coconut ice cream and protein pancakes. She’s thinking of branching out. She’s planning a chain of Veganastic Diners.

Me? I’ve thought of turning over a new leaf – even eating some! Have been for ages. I may. One day. We’ll see.

 

 

Thanks to Susan Spaulding for hosting and Lakshmi Bhat for the photo.

Prod the frog to read other’s tales!

 

for Fandango’s One Word Challenge where the given word is Sashay.

 

With a flamboyant sashay, a regal wave and a flick of his hair, he entered the room. Heads turned and the crowd parted as he took a step forward.

Then he tottered and grabbed a table. Glasses and bottles clattered as it shook. He stood upright and regained his composure. He forced a smile, raised his head and set off again.

His ankle twisted, his knee gave way and he collapsed into the arms of a stranger. He looked up, smiled and winked. The startled stranger let go and scuttled off, dropping him to the floor.

He crawled to a chair and clambered aboard. Jaunty music burst forth and everyone began dancing. Everyone but him. He vowed never to wear high heels again.

for Friday Fictioneers

 

 

“Something smells good,” I said.

“It’s French, booby-roofy-boofy or something,” said Rosey.  “It’s Hector’s recipe. I’ve to add one teaspoonful of his special ingredient before serving.”

Hector’s a science teacher and a practical joker. He’d forewarned me of his prank! 

She trotted off to the kitchen to finish her creation.

BOOM! 

She returned, splattered with booby-roofy-boofy!  According to Hector, it was only meant to go pop!

“You did use a teaspoon?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Rosey clutching a tablespoon and a recipe for Bombe Ragoût de Bœuf, stewed beef bomb!

“Vuoi una pizza?”  said I.

“ Yessa pleasa signora” said Rosey.

 

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle and a Valerie J. Barrett provided the photo.

*My story this week is a drastic re-working of a very long one I wrote some time ago!

 

Prod the frog to discover what others have written.

There are lots more stories over at My Friend Rosey.

for Sunday Photo Fiction

The night was over in the blink of an eye. I may have snatched a wink of sleep, I don’t know ‘cos I’m so excited. Let’s get out of this tiny tent. The poor little thing’s fluttering in the wind, I wonder if it’ll still be here when we come back. What the heck, I’m not here to rest!

Just look around. There are thousands here. A few wandering aimlessly about, some sitting hunched holding their heads after a heavy night, no doubt vowing never to drink again, or worse!

It’s starting to rain! It’s pouring! Listen, everyone’s cheering, after all, what’s a festival without mud?

The crowd’s moving. Come on. We need to be near the main stage.

Hey, listen. Guitars being tuned, drums being bashed and mikes being checked. One two testing, one two!

Here they come, they’re coming on stage! Yea!

Suddenly the sheer volume is driving everything from my mind. I’m swaying, swinging, spinning, singing. I look stupid, but who cares! I don’t.

It’s festival time  – enjoy!

 

Sunday Photo Fiction is hosted by Susan Spaulding who also gave us this week’s photo.

Dance with the frog to see what others have made of it.

for Fandango’s One Word Challenge.

The word is Edge

 

A single match. That’s all it took. As the ribbon of flame snaked across the floor, she took one last look around the room in which her life fell apart. No more to be hit, bruised. Never again to be threatened. No more. The home she once loved would soon be but a pile of ashes along with those painful memories. A small price to pay. She closed the door, then turned the key on her past.

At the cliff’s edge, she stands and gazes back at a distant a column of black smoke curling and twisting skyward. At her feet sits a bulging leather case. She pushes it with her foot and watches it tumble down, bouncing from rock to rock, its contents scattering in every direction to be swept away by the angry ocean.

A smile, the first for many a long day, breaks across her weary features.

She’ll be fine now. She’ll be just fine.

 

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt

 

As I’m not a smoker, this sprinkling of words is about as fictitious as it can get!

 

 

I lounge before a crackling log fire, in one hand a bulbous glass of fine vintage port, in the other a Montecristo cigar.

I taste cedar wood, wild spices and cherries. Fragrant clouds rise then drift away as the music of Mozart wafts over me. I relish an hour of perfect peace and easeful contentment.

When my idyll draws to a close I sigh, for the end of a good smoke is like losing a friend who took the time to sit and listen.

 

 

for Friday Fictioneers

 

 

To look at it now, you’d hardly believe what happened here all those years ago.

What happened?

It was terrible. He was evil. The things he did.

No, I think…

Awful. Held them captive for months. Nobody knew they were here.

Actually that….

He disappeared. Left them trapped in the cellar. When they discovered them it was too late.

Listen, that was….

They weren’t the first you know. What they later discovered shocked the nation.

Mate, stop. You’re…

Villa 346 went down in history.

Yes, but this is 345!

Ah, 345! That Scottish bloke lived here… 

No. that was…oh, I give up!

 

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle. C E Ayr provided this week’s photo. Thank you.

Poke the purple frog to see what everyone else has come up with!

 

for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

Even on good days, Anne didn’t enjoy her job. But today had been a bad day. She couldn’t wait to get home. The sky was leaden and it was drizzling. She hated drizzle.

“Rain properly or don’t rain at” all she grumbled.

She splashed through a puddle soaking her feet. If she didn’t get home soon she felt sure she’d dissolve or shrink or something.

She flew through her front door, slung her sodden coat on the kitchen floor and headed for her ‘medicine cupboard’ to grab a glass and a bottle of wine.

Boyfriend Tony appeared in the doorway and sensing her mood, attempted to give her a comforting cuddle.

“Don’t” she snapped pushing him away, adding a splosh of Chateau Plonke to the ever-growing slick of water on the floor.

“Don’t you want a hug from your best friend?” he asked.

“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend,” she huffed, “which reminds me, how much longer are you expecting me to wait…”

She stopped in her tracks as Tony dropped to one knee and held out his hand. A little black box sat his palm.

Suddenly the kitchen was bathed in sunlight.

“Anne, will you do me the honour…….”  

 

 

Thanks to our host Susan Spaulding and to Reena Saxena for the picture.

 

Prod the frog to see what others have come up with this week!