A flash of fiction …

for the Ragtag Daily Prompt where the given word is Wow!

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What a dull job. Boring boring boring. I sit in a soulless office performing mind-numbing chores like filing bits of paper in grey boxes. My colleagues think I’m miserable. I seldom smile. Or do I? Little do they know that come nightfall I swap clerking for twerking!

Right, off with my bathrobe and slippers and on with my slinky dress and my highest heels. How do I look? Lipstick not too bright?  And how do you like coffered locks? Another wisp of hairspray I think so they stay in place. I wonder what my workmates would say if they saw me now? With a swing of my hips, I’m on my way!

And here we are, my favourite club. The noise, the lights, the people… wow!  Oh look, there’s handsome Harry from work chatting up sex-pot Sally from accounts. They called me dreary the other day. I wonder what they’ll make of me now. Move over girl, I’m on my way!

Actually, I need to pop to the loo first. I must remember to go to the ladies room, not the men’s!

A short story …

for Friday Fictioneers.

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I leave tomorrow. My few possessions, thrown in a box.

Tom Waits’ raspy voice echoes round the empty room. We loved listening to him together.  Now, slouched in a corner, I listen alone. You? Just a picture in a frame, on the floor.

I’m gonna love you till the wheels come off he growls as I fall asleep.

It’s dawn. Your picture’s bathed in the sun’s golden glow. The needle click-click-clicks as the disc goes round and round. I lift the arm and place it back to the beginning.

I love you baby and I always will, ever since I put your picture in a frame.

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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Rowena Curtin for the picture.

Click on poor Froggie to see what others have made of this unusual photo!

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A short story …

for the Ragtag Daily Prompt where the given word is Unperturbed. Today it’s hosted by Christine.

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Nothing seems to worry him.  His wife left him a few days ago. ‘You’re such a bore’ she said.

‘Probably right’ said he as she walked off with her bags, ‘bye’.

When the doctor told him he wasn’t too well, he just shrugged his shoulders and carried on unperturbed. 

His faithful dog died. It happens. Someone damaged his car. That happens too.  His house was burgled. Never mind, it’s insured.

Nothing excites him either. Birthdays? Just numbers. Visitors? He makes polite conversation but nothing more.

He plays the Lottery. Doesn’t expect to win, but his ten pounds a week goes to a good cause. Last Saturday at eight o’clock he turned on the television and glanced up from his book to check his numbers.

And he won. A big win. A very big win!

‘That’s nice’ he muttered as he switched off the TV and carried on reading where he’d left off.

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Sixty two words …

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Zany and the limit 62 words.

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Every village pub has at least one special character, someone that lights up the bar whenever they walk through the door. In my pub, the Brewers Arms, it was William. He was totally deaf with limited speech, but it was never seen as a disability, not by us nor by him..

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He speaks with his hands and hears with his eyes,

he feels the music.

His laugh is the loudest, his words are just sounds

but we understand.

He’s a joker, a clown, a zany entertainer,

spreads joy all around.

He feels special, unique, he doesn’t seek pity.

It’s a gift, he says.

Merriness surrounds him, his happiness, infectious.

We all love William.

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A short story …

for Friday Fictioneers.

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I’d had a bit of luck on the gee-gee’s so I thought I take the missus out for some posh nosh.

The waiter minced his way to our table, menus delicately held in a white-gloved hand.

‘Madam’, he said, ‘may I suggest our carpaccio of Maldivian long-line caught yellowfin tuna with a Japanese tamari and freshly foraged wild garlic glaze fanning an island of avocado creme fraiche, accompanied by our ambrosial thrice cooked Maris Piper Frites and an English country garden courgette flower beignet?’

‘Regrettably, for you sir we’re unable to provided those burger things, or pizzas’.

I should have stuck to McD’s!

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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Dale for the photo.

Click on Mr and Mrs Froggie to join in the fun!

Forty-nine words …

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt

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suffer-through.brush

BG

My friend Rosey has a theory that Stonehenge was built by giants who enjoyed a game of croquet. I reminded her the megaliths are 5000 years old, but croquet only dates from around 1650.

‘How d’ya know?’ she asked.

‘Wikipedia’ I said.

‘And you call ME gullible!’ she chuckled!

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A perfect excuse for me to pop in a picture I took at Stonehenge!

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I’ve been writing about my friend Rosey for 14 years. From 130 stories,  I’ve gathered together 50 or so of the best received ones and they can be found HERE!