for Friday Fictioneers

 

This guy offered me a ride on his yacht. It was great. He shouted ‘duck’ but I couldn’t see one. Suddenly the boom swung round, knocking me overboard.  The clot didn’t even notice I’d gone.

I swam to a little island. I paddled, built a sandcastle then realised I was marooned. What now?

I arranged some stones to spell the word HELP.  It worked!  A girl landed her paraglider.  I jumped on her back,  she ran along the shore and we shot skyward.  What fun!  Weeeee! I stretched out my arms like aeroplane wings. 

Bad move.  I fell back into the briny.

I swam to a little island…..

 

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle and Ted Strutz provided the photo.

Catch the frog to join in the fun!

 

for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

 

It is.

  It’s not.

It IS!

  It’s too small.

It’s a baby one.

  It’s not.

What is it then?

  It’s a……lizard.

No!

  Alright, it’s a newt.

They live in ponds.

  Or a gego…a gecy…a….

I told you, it’s a dragon.

  Mmmm….

A baby dragon.

  You could be right.

In olden days they used baby dragons to light cigarettes.

  Really?

Yes, before they invented cigarette lighters.

  Are you sure?

Yes, and barbecues too.

  Honestly?

Yes, Grandad told me.

  No, he was kidding!

Oh.

 

  Hey, look.

Where? 

  There.

What’s that?

  It’s a baby snake.

No, it’s not.

  Oh no, it’s a worm.

 

Look. a lion

  It’s Mrs Brown’s cat

……

…

..

 

Thanks to Donna for hosting and DC Stultz for the photo.

Prod the frog to join in the fun!

 

for Friday Fictioneers

 

 

Alarm clock rings

Hop out of bed

Leap in the shower

Drag on some clothes

 

Coffee too hot

Scald my mouth

Burn the toast

Trip over the cat

 

Rush out the door

Run down the road

Leap on the train

Then off again.

 

Fly to the office

Sit at the desk

Stare at the screen

Answer the phone

 

Nip out for lunch

Gobble a snack

Back to work

Start over again

 

Home-time at last 

Stand on the train

Pushed and jostled

Then off again

 

Open the door

Grab the mail

Pour a drink

Collapse on the couch

 

 

Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting and Sandra Crook for sharing your photo with us.

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for Wordless Wednesday

Right, off we go!

This is known as the Brontë Waterfall. Hardly  Niagara and in the dry season more of a trickle than a tumble! It’s featured in the book Wuthering Heights.

 

 

You walked three miles. I’m rewarding myself with a beer. Coming?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My tiny tent and I are in Yorkshire right now – camp sites don’t come much better than this

for Friday Fictioneers!

I should have posted a story yesterday but it was my birthday and Rosey’s too so I was otherwise engaged! Better late than never.

 

 

My phone rang. It was my friend Rosey, again!

‘I’ve got a ghost’ she panted. 

‘You don’t need another pet’ I said, ‘you’ve already got two cats!’

‘It’s not funny,’ she whimpered.

‘Is it a friendly ghost?’ I asked.

‘No. It yanked the wire from its hole in my computer, and it stopped working’.

‘Plug it back in then’ I said.

‘You’re missing the point, I’ve… got… a… ghost!’

‘What’s it look like?’ I asked.

‘It’s invisible, duh’ she huffed. `Oh, hang on, the wire’s hooked around my chair leg, it may have pulled out when I did a bum-wiggle’.

‘So there’s no ghost?’

‘Probably not, bye’

 

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Dale Rogerson for the picture.

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for Sunday Photo Fiction which is hosted by Donna McNicol

 

Try as you might sir, we are not fooled by your guise. ‘Tis you, as certain as ’tis day. For ‘twas you that laid the straw, that strewed the combustive liquid. You that set the fire this Spring past, was it not, sir? Was…it…not?

Poor Ned still bears the scars of that dreadful day. Though smitten by your jagged rock then gagged and bound, he writhed free. Champion though he be, he had not the means to quench the gambolling flames that cruelly robbed him of his dwelling place, his wife, and his beloved offspring.

You imagined we would not discern you, sir, did you not? How wrong could you have been? For you, despicable sir, the nethermost depths of your repugnant basket are reached. ‘Tis I who will strike the final blow, sir, ’tis I.

Take this…..sir!

 

 

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This week’s photo…

Source: http://mrg.bz/n22FGA

for Foto Flash Fiction which is hosted by Donna B McNicol 

 

“You are such a pessimist Brian,” said John, “ ‘We’re doomed, we’re doomed’ is all you say!” 

A crowd of us were sitting around, drinks in hand, wondering what, if anything, would happen in a few minutes time. There had been a lot of speculation in the media about this, that and the other. Landlord Ted had kept the pub open later than usual in readiness for the big event.

“If’s Brian’s right, there’s no way I’ll get into trouble for serving drinks after-hours!” he chuckled “We won’t be here!”

“You can laugh,” said Brian, jumping to his feet. “The government hasn’t prepared us for what’s about to happen. Where are the soldiers, where are the peace-keeping forces, what about emergency supplies?” 

He thumped the table sending John’s tankard of beer flying to the floor. “There’ll be riots and worse, mark my words”. 

“There will be if you don’t get me another pint” shouted John.

“Calm down guys” pleaded Ted. He handed out a few candles, just in case, and switched on the television he’d placed on the bartop. 

“You did back up your computer didn’t you?” asked Brian. “You know it’s going down soon don’t you?”

“Yes, Brian, I did, now don’t you worry”.

The TV was broadcasting a firework display. Music boomed, people were seen dancing, singing.

“Look at them, just look!” shouted Brian. “Idiots, all of them”.

“Shoosh,” said Ted, “It’s the countdown”.

Everyone but Brian raised their glasses.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…”

Brian covered his eyes. 

“Four, three, two…” 

Brian shouted “NO!” 

“One….”

The lights stayed on, so did the television, so did the computer. The world hadn’t ended!

“Welcome to the year two thousand” yelled Ted. “The drinks are on me. Brian mate, you look like you need one!”

 

Photo Source: https://morguefile.com/p/984414

for Friday Fictioneers

 

In the middle of a fast-flowing river sat a little island. Often we’d hold hands, leap into the water and battle with the current as we swam to it. Doing foolish things is part of growing up, isn’t it?

One day she made a flag. We used a broken branch for a pole and claimed the island for ourselves. 

*

The river was a torrent that day. I said no way. Coward, she said as she dived in, the last thing she ever said.

*

A year later I returned. The flag was still there. I surrounded it with a heart of stones. I’ve not been back since.

 

 

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle and J Hardy Carroll provided this week’s photo.

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