New Socks and Petticoat Tails

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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

“You need to let go of your mother’s petticoat tails.”

“Apron strings”

“Pardon?”

“The expression is ‘let get go of your mother’s apron strings’, not petticoat tails.”

“You’re impossible!”

“Impossibly charming and irresistibly sexy!”

Gemma tried to stifle the smile that was strong-arming itself onto her lips as he wrapped his arms around her.  No matter how infuriating he could be, he was also adorable.

“Nevertheless, you need to gain some independence from your mum.  You’re twenty four; an adult.  You don’t need to consult her over everything.”

“No, but…”

“No, buts Richard, you can choose your own socks now!”

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

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At Our Age!

Friday Fictioneers 27122017

PROMPT © Ted Strutz

“We’re going round in circles, Ethel.”

“That’s because you won’t see reason.”  Arthur spluttered his mouthful of tea across the kitchen table.

“Me see reason?  How can you think it’s rational to even suggest it?”

“I don’t see what you’re getting in such a lather about.  Bill and Joan do it,” Ethel said.

“Bill and Joan can do what they like.  I’m too old and it’s disgusting to even think of it at our age!”  Ethel sighed.  Arthur had always been an old stick-in-the-mud.  Nothing wrong with a bit of…

Damn, must watch the word count!

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Tarnished Love

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

I care for you still, but like the old streetlight, my love has decayed.  You seem oblivious to its deterioration.  You’ve nagged, you’ve moaned, you’ve criticised like the unremitting erosion of a coastline, a constant attrition on our relationship.

You are self-absorbed, incapable of feeling contentment.  My every attempt to make you happy has been slapped aside wounding intensely.  Black resentment the resulting effect of thwarted efforts.  I’m no longer inclined to try.

Now I am leaving and no doubt that will be wrong too.  There is nobody else.  No other woman.  I just can’t bear to be with you.

 

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

They Were Wrong

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

They said it wouldn’t last, that we were on the rebound. We both knew they were wrong.

On our first date you ignited a spark in my damaged and hardened heart.  In return, you said my child-like enthusiasm for life rejuvenated yours.

We’ve had our obstacles, but overcame them together, flames still dancing between us.

Fifty years on, I look at your crumpled face, my heart fills with warmth.  The soft glow from within pumps out to you, willing you to recover.  Instinctively, I know you won’t.

Your time is near.

I wish it wasn’t so.

My sorrow is unspeakable.

Word Count: 100

 

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The White Horses of My Mind

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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

I welcome the cool fresh air softly cosseting my skin.  The gentle eddies in the water mirror the ripples of my life.  That’s all they are now: ripples.  The white horses of the past have been slayed, more accurately, the white horse has been slayed.  Events will challenge me in the weeks to come, of that I am sure, but the possibilities ahead do not alarm me.  The chaos that previously resided in my mind has gone, replaced by a calm serenity.  I inhale deeply, regard the colourful reflections in the water, then toss the knife into the ripples below.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

We Have A Hostage Situation

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PHOTO POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

“You’d better do what they say or I’m gonna cop it!  They ain’t messing around here.  So far I’m being fed, but if you don’t meet their demands, I’m gonna meet my maker!” squawked Tarquin.

The fist clutching the valuable bird swept away from the camera.  A masked face filled the screen.

“You wanna see the bird again, you wire ten million bucks to this account by the end of today.”  He held up a board with the offshore account details. The screen went black.

“It’s a hoax,” said Edward.

“It’s my baby,” wailed Elizabeth.

“Wire the funds,” ordered Edward.

 

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

Don’t Be Too Hasty

 

Firstly, apologies for my recent absence.  There are a few reasons for this, but I was determined to write 100 words this week!

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PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

It looked drab now, but in it’s heyday it had been magnificent, a thriving business and nucleus of action.  Dad invested his inheritance to employ thirty people to produce LPs.  A young man then, he’d been enthusiastic.  The equipment was costly, but business had prospered until the advent of iPods and Smartphones.

“Not much call for gramophone records now,” he’d said sadly as he locked the door for the final time.  Shortly afterwards he’d thrown himself off Beachy Head, unable to cope with the humiliation of bankruptcy.   If only he’d delayed, he’d have seen the revival of music on vinyl.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

Duplicity

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PHOTO PROMPT© CEAyr

There are so many holes in her story.  There always are.  I look into her eyes, sparkling with excitement and know she is lying.  She looks away fidgeting uneasily.

The cracks in her explanation are bigger than usual, gaping in fact.  I love her dearly, but wonder why I stay.  Bizarrely, I know she loves me too.  Sadness washes over me like surf rolling onto the beach.  Why does she need to do it?  Why am I not enough?

I know she wasn’t with Sophie all evening.  I know this with absolute conviction, because Sophie was in bed with me.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Long, Hot Walk

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PHOTO PROMPT © Kent Bonham

Rachel had been walking for hours, energy sapped by the heat.  As she rounded the bend, she saw a battered VW under a tree.  If it weren’t there, I’d be able to rest in the shade.  She traipsed on exhausted, wondering idly about the lack of occupants in the car.  Silence, save for a slight rustling of leaves.  Suddenly, the car doors opened.  Rachel stopped, startled.  Black, eyes stared coldly at her.  They were quick, no time to react.  A cloth covered her face; strong hands lifted her and thrust her roughly into the car.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Betrayal, Anger, Determination

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Andreas sat outside in the sunshine, head in hands, frappe melting in the heat.  He ran over it in his mind several times, but instead of providing answers, his anger intensified.  How could they?  He clenched his fists and kicked a table leg, causing his drink to spill.  Scowling, he got up and marched resolutely to the police station.  With lips pursed and a vein pulsating in his neck he reported his fiancé and business partner cleaning out his business account.  If they wanted to be together fine, but they weren’t going to get away with taking his livelihood too.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Ferry Frightening

ted-struts-in-the-rain

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Suddenly the ferry lurched.  Passengers fell from seats; drinks flew through the air slopping their contents.  The boat levelled, everyone resumed positions amid nervous chatter.  The journey continued, equilibrium seemingly recovered, but a sharp tilt to starboard sent people reeling again.  Screams, panic, confusion!  Anxiety crawled up inside like an intrusion of cockroaches.  Seeing water flooding into the bar, her fear intensified.  The ugliest side of humanity exposed itself.  Drunken men shoved children aside to reach lifeboats.  She dragged heavy legs in rising water.  Another sway, a surge of seawater.  Her head was submerged, leg trapped, fighting to break free.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Trapped

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Paul glanced over his shoulder, following the path of the older man into the hotel.  He waited, listening to the crickets and feeling the evening warmth on his face.

Abruptly, he gulped down his iced water, stood, walked purposefully into the building and took the lift to the third floor.  He tapped a pattern on door 370.

The look of surprise on the man’s face turned to horror as Paul thrust the gun in his chest and flashed his badge.  There was nowhere to run, no way to escape or hide the evidence.

Paul watched him wilt with cold dispassion.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

The Disc, The Witch and The Desk

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

A wet summer’s day, Phoebe was bored.  In the conservatory, a shiny disc on the floor attracted her.  She wriggled into the gap between the two sets of drawers to retrieve it.  A startled spider retreated rapidly.  Her fingertips scrabbled at the disc.  As she started to pull it towards her, a cold, warty hand clamped hers.  She tried to scream, but no sound came out.  Phoebe struggled to break free.  A dragging sensation pulled her towards complete blackness.

“At last, a child.  Now with the amulet and the girl, I can complete the spell.”  Phoebe gulped, fighting back tears.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

The Floor is Lava

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PHOTO PROMPT © Karuna

“The Floor is Lava.” Abigail’s dad said.

Abi grabbed her toys and clambered onto her bed, struggling with the height of it and the bulk of her beloved teddies in her arms, but giggling with determination.

A repetitive high-pitched beep made Abi cover her ears.

Dad rushed downstairs to investigate.

He called urgently to Abi to come down, but she shouted back “I can’t the floor is lava!”

He climbed the stairs three at a time and grabbed Abi.  She screamed for her toys, dropped in the urgency.

Abi made it.  The toys burned.

She never played that game again.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Why?

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PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

A dust-covered beetle scuttled across the floor.  Cold air blew in from the broken window and a fallen timber creaked as it strained under the weight of the debris on top.

Outside bulldozers approached, music blaring, wheels bouncing over bumpy ground and men shouting instructions.

Mary watched, smearing a tear across her cheek.

It should have been a happy evening.  It had been… until, abruptly, it wasn’t.

She remembered her daughter’s excited face when she had given her the tickets, her anticipation at the unexpected treat, her enthusiastic chatter with her friend.

Her beautiful, innocent daughter gone forever, for what?

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.