Ten minutes before midnight. Just moments away from a new year.

She stands in darkness atop a hill, an icy wind chilling her face, her hair streaming behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she watches another year blow away taking with it broken promises, unhappy memories and shattered dreams.

As angry black clouds scurry from sight a new moon appears spreading a silver carpet of hope at her feet. Her long dark shadow tumbles away into past. 

Suddenly all is calm. She gazes toward the future. Another year arrives.  Another chance to start her life anew.

for Sunday Photo Fiction

Everyone said he married her for her money. Patrick naturally denied it. They appeared happy. Not demonstrably so, but they did all the things married couples do. No children though. A shame really, because he was great with kids. Susanna disliked being around them; she once called mine noisy brats. I’ll never forget that.

Of late, we sensed something wasn’t right. He looked dejected; disinterested in everything that went on around him. Not Susanna thought.  She was her usual raucous self, dominating everything she was involved in. But Patrick just sat there. If he said anything she’d stare at him.

We were invited round for drinks on New Year’s Eve. Apparently, It was Partick’s idea. Guess he’d put his foot down. He’d had more than enough of being controlled.  Surprisingly it was a really festive occasion. I’d not seen him as upbeat for years. For once Susanna took a back seat.

As the clock signalled midnight, Patrick proposed a toast. Holding aloft his glass. he said the New Year was one to look forward and forever remember.

One thing I’ll always remember was Susanna taking a sip of Martini, clutching her throat then collapsing in a heap on the floor.

My Friend Rosey has also taken up the challenge this week. You can view her effort HERE!

 

Wishing our host Donna a very Happy New Year.

 

 

Photo by jfelias @ Morguefile

 

 

 

 

I’m sorry I’ve been quiet

but things got in my way.

I’ll try and write tomorrow,

if not, the following day.

 

I’ve been dashing here there and everywhere, doing this that and the other, you’ve no idea.

 

I’ve had so many things to do,

cook and shop and wash my clothes.

Where on earth the time goes,

heaven only knows.

 

My vacuum cleaner had the nerve to huff and puff when I plugged in just now. Lazy machine.

 

Even Rosey had a moan,

d’ya know what she said?

‘You’ve stopped writing Keefy boy

I thought you’d dropped down dead!’

 

Sarcastic or what? I know I ‘m usually on my blog daily, but there was no need for that. Where was I?  Oh yes….

 

‘Rosey’ I said

‘You’re a fine one to speak.

You ain’t blogged a single word 

for weeks and weeks and weeks’

 

If you are familiar with her blog you’ll know that’s a blessing, but don’t tell I said so!

 

I know my muse is getting bored,

she wants me scribing soon.

To try to keep her happy

I’ll write tomorrow afternoon.

 

…and I promise it won’t be poetry!

 

.

for Friday Fictioneers

 

 

It’s that special time of the year. Time for families to come together,  time to exchange gifts and share a meal. 

Time too,  to remember those less fortunate who have no families, no gifts and no meal.

And time to think of those with whom we shared Christmases past, but are no longer with us. We’ll raise a glass or two to you. 

Happy Christmas one and all.

 

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting. Thanks too to Sandra Crook for the photo. 

for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

It was late one December night. John, landlord of the Star Inn bid farewell to the last of his customers as they stepped out into the falling snow. Above the pub, shone the brightest star he’d ever seen. 

He bolted the heavy oak door, settled the glowing remains of the fire, and extinguished the lights. As he began climbing the creaking stairs he heard loud banging on the locked door. Had someone had left something behind?

“I’m coming” called John. 

Ankle-deep in the snow stood a young man, a terrified expression on his ashen face.

“My wife’s having a child,” he cried, “Our car got stuck in a snow-drift on the way to hospital. Can we come in? Will you help us? Please? 

“Let’s fetch her,” said John. “I don’t have a spare room but it’s warm in the bar”.

John called nurse Ruth, who rushed to help. Minutes later a beautiful baby boy was born. They lay it in a log-basket for a crib.

Somehow news of the birth spread through the village. Several neighbours arrived carrying small gifts; a gold bracelet, scented candles and sweet-smelling flowers.

All that was several years ago. The village hasn’t changed, but something’s different. It feels like a place where something very special happened.

 

 

Thanks to Donna for hosting.

My story is vaguely based on the photo from figrock @ Morguefile!

 

 

 

For Friday Fictioneers on a Tuesday!

 

I love surprises, especially this time of year!  A Christmas card lands on my mat. I rip open the envelope wondering what it will be like.  Santa, a snow scene, baby Jesus?

It’s the big day next Wednesday.   What presents will I get?  Something to wear, drink, read? 

All Wednesdays are fun. Get up, shower, make coffee then fire up the computer. My finger hovers over the keyboard wondering what Rochelle’s picture prompt will be! A place, a person, an animal?

It’s Wednesday tomorrow but I won’t be around to write a story, I’ll be at a Christmas Market.  So you’ll have to make do with this!

Happy Christmas!

 

Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting Friday Fictioneers.

 

Kiss the frog to join in the fun!

for Sunday Photo Fiction.

 

They were usually there when I walked down the road, their heads poking from the gaping window of Jack’s terraced house.  Jack’s dogs were the nearest thing he had to a family.  Brown and Black, he called them.  He was never one for flowery words and fancy names!  Most stopped to stroke them, some took them a biscuit.

Jack was quite frail but Brown and Black took him for a walk most days.  Not far, not fast, just a gentle stroll stopping occasionally for a few words with people they passed.  Jack was a man of few words.

There was something different that day.  Brown and Black weren’t their usual calm selves.  They leaned out, frantically sniffing my shopping bag.  Hoping for a treat, I thought; it didn’t occur to me they might not have been fed. 

A couple of days later  I heard Jack had fallen asleep in his chair never to wake.

Quite a few attended Jack’s funeral. The modest gravestone was typically understated. Just his name and the dates.  His neighbour accompanied Brown and Black. I’ll never forget the sight of them pawing soil from the graveside and scattering it on Jack’s coffin.

RIP old chap.

 

 

Thanks to Donna for hosting. The picture is courtesy of Bobbie & Devin

 

for Friday Fictioneers

 

“I’ve got a new window,” said my friend Rosey.

“Really, where?” I asked.

“In a wall,” she said.

“Obviously,” I said, “you’d hardly have one in the floor”

“Actually, that could be fun!” she chuckled.

“Rosey, where’s the window?”

“Oh, between the bedroom and living room”. 

“Why?”

“Well, I was hammering a picture hook in the wall and I banged too hard and a window appeared”.

“A hole you mean,” I said.

“Well, it is now, but when you’ve neatened it up it’ll be a window and I’ll be able to watch telly from my beddy!”

Looks like I’ve got a job.

 

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Mikhael Sublett for the picture.

Poke Miss Froggie to join in the fun!

To read lots more stories about My Friend Rosey, click Here!

 

 

for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

 

Even as a tadpole, he knew he was different, always swimming the opposite way from his tadlings.  When he grew up, Freddie the frog had few friends. 

A fortnight ago, Friday the fifth I fink it was, he was out for hop and came upon the most beautiful toadess, sitting soaking up the summer sunshine.  They glanced at each other.

 “I’m Freddie,” he said, though it was more of a croak than a ribbet – like he had a frog in his throat! (sorry about that!)

“Why hello handsome” squeaked Talula.

*Incidentally, relationships between frogs and toads are fast becoming accepted.  Years ago it was frowned upon, banned even.  But today, ‘croaking out’ is quite commonplace.

Where was I? Oh yes. Talula tiptoed towards Freddie who flung himself forward, falling at her feet. What a lovely couple they made. Okay, Talula was a tad taller and he was somewhat slimier, but that wouldn’t stand in their way.

Since then, Talula and Freddie have been meeting Fridays and Tuesdays.  

Yesterday Freddie asked Talula for her paw in marriage so she took him to seek her parent’s permission.  Freddie wondered how they’d react; he feared being frogmarched off the farm!

He needn’t have worried. He was accepted with open legs!

 

 

 

 

Thanks to Donna for hosting, The picture is by Betty Webb

 

 

for Friday Fictioneers

 

 

The flight was perfect. Decent food, a drink or three and a movie.  Straight through immigration.  Everyone is smiling.  I’m happy, relaxed and looking forward to my hotel room, a bubbly bath then tucking into something spicy. Aaah, bliss!

There’s the bus.  What a charming driver!  This seat’s so comfy. Off we go.

Ooops, he slammed on the brakes.  Woo, we’re hurling forward.  We’re going ridiculously fast, swerving this way and that.  Mind that tuk-tuk, wooo, watch that car.  We’re turning left, right, right (utter a prayer) left, stop, start, stop…and…we’re…there.

I’m exhausted.  I’m queazy.  Where’s the toilet?  Where’s my bed?

 

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to  Fatimer Fakier Deria for the photo.

Stop Froggie to join in the fun!