Friday Fictioneers – Forgive Me Father

3 07 2014

Hello all, hope everyone’s fit and well – and poorly toes are healing quickly 🙂

In the unlikely event that you ended up here by random chance, this is a submission to the Friday Fictioneers, a rough assemblage of writing types who like to exercise their grey matter by writing a one hundred word story inspired by a photo prompt on a weekly basis. If you’d like to know more, go see Rochelle.

Thank you Claire for such a wonderful photo this week.

(c) Claire Fuller

Forgive Me Father

The graveyard crows cawed forlornly as the pale young man stared up at his father’s statue.

“Forgive me,” he sighed. “But I do not have your strength. There are armies on our borders, and the only option is to yield. The council don’t agree, but the decision is mine alone. I’m sorry.”

Wind ruffled his hair as he dropped his eyes, ashamed by his confession.

With a crack that sent the crows wheeling, the statue split and crumbled. The pointed crown rolling down the rubble to finish up at the young man’s feet. Broken . . . like his kingdom.

Friday Fictioneers

27 06 2014

Two stories in two weeks! That’s almost regular. If you’ve stumbled here by accident, welcome to the Friday Fictioneers. If you like what you see, why not give it a go?

After last week’s semi-autobiographical piece, I’ve now calmed down again. Alas England are back in . . . well England, and another World Cup goes by without success. Come on guys, I’ve only got so many left in me!

(c) Madison Woods

Katerina Pletskova was a Witch

At least that’s what the other children said, but Anya didn’t believe them. She thought the old crone just liked to scare people by placing bleached skulls in the surrounding trees.

Anya sighed. A dare was a dare, and that’s a serious thing. Leaving the others cowering at the edge of the woods, she walked slowly through the building mist towards the front door. The tiniest of knocks and honour would be satisfied.

But Anya never reached the door. Some said the mist took her . . . some say there’s a new skull in the old apple tree.


Friday Fictioneers – The Storm

18 06 2014

Hi folks, it’s been a while. I promise to try and visit more often in future.

This week’s posted pic is from before my time, so you get treated to a brand new story. However, I do remember the pic at the top of the page (sandy path down to beach). I fondly remember it inspiring a zombie story.  Well, I had only recent read World War Z at the time. Check it out if you’ve got the time – both my story and the book! (Update – Having looked, it’s not the same picture after all! Just similar)

(c) Mary Shipman

The Storm

With a wrenching of timbers and a smashing of boards, destruction spread throughout the house. No room was left untouched as the raging storm that had been brewing steadily for the last hour passed through the flimsy wooden structure like a wrecking ball.

Miraculously untouched, a young woman stood in the centre of the room. Like the eye of the storm she exuded an otherworldly calm as she surveyed the increasingly expensive damage.

“Tom, calm down. I’m sure England can still qualify for the quarter finals.”


Friday Fictioneers – Weighed and Measured

27 09 2013

Morning all. Friday once again and time for another 100 words of fiction based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle for organizing. Please visit Rochelle’s blog to find out more about the Friday Fictioneers. I don’t claim to be a writer, I do this for a bit of fun. So constructive criticism is always welcome as I’m here to learn.

(c) Rich Voza


Weighed and Measured

As the final episodes of my life finished flashing past my eyes, I dropped to my knees, hands clutching fruitlessly at my failing heart.

Through the pain and the tears I glimpsed three doors. White would lead me up to Heaven, blue would guide me to Purgatory, Red . . . to the other place.

My mortal life was over, I had been weighed and measured. Had I led a worthy life? A good life? Nobody is perfect, but do you need to be? We all have our faults . . . and our regrets.

Slowly, the door swung open.

P.S.  What colour is your door?

Friday Fictioneers – Carrying On

20 09 2013

Happy Friday one and all!  Time for another little gobbet of nonsense prose for all the world to scratch their head over. If you have stumbled upon this post by accident, well good for you. It’s all part of the Friday Fictioneers; 100 words of fiction (supposedly) on a Friday, inspired by a photo prompt. If you’d like to join in, visit Rochelle for the guidelines.

Copyright John Nixon

Carrying On

Albert Potter leaned wearily on his bamboo walking stick and peered in through the glass windows of Orlando Watt’s second-hand shop.

It seemed like a longer walk each year; but he had to come to say hello. And just in case . . . goodbye.

The pure white lace of the wedding dress looked as crisp and clean as it had so long ago. The staff always kept it spotless and seemed to discourage prospective buyers.

He could see her now; unblemished skin as smooth and pale as alabaster, still just as fresh as the day she was embalmed.

Friday Fictioneers – Time to Change

13 09 2013

Ok, I know, I’ve been neglecting my Friday duties for far too long, and it might have continued but for the fact that I happened to spot  Jan’s photo and it immediately brought back lots of great New York memories.

I may be as English as well . . . Johnny English, but many years ago I worked in New York for a year, down near Wall Street. I watched baseball games in the evening sun, saw more concerts in one year than the rest of my life, chilled out in Central Park, and discovered a whole host of fast food franchises that I never new existed.

Mayor Ed Koch used to say that being a New Yorker was not about where you were born, but rather “to be a New Yorker you have to live here for six months, and if at the end of  the six months you find you walk faster, talk faster, think faster, you’re a New  Yorker”.


If you’ve happened across this post by chance, it’s part of Friday Fictioneers; 100 words of fiction on a Friday based on a photo prompt. Visit Rochelle to learn more.

Copyright Jan Wayne Fields

Time to Change

Boats thump across the choppy harbour waters, spray sparkling in the spring sunshine. Behind them waves sweep across Battery Park.

Ahead looms the recently elevated Statue of Liberty, still welcoming the huddled masses now flooding in from the low lying countries around the globe.

History repeats itself, and once again they come seeking a better life. But this time they are the engineers and the scientists; not the labourers and the stevedores. This time they are the teachers, come to show us a better way, a way to ensure that Lady Liberty will never need to be raised again.

Friday Fictioneers – The Piano

14 06 2013

Hi everyone. Back again for another dose of Friday Fiction, 100 words based on a photo prompt. Just can’t seem to stay away for long. If you’d like to join in and share the addiction, why not have a look at Rochelle’s blog to find out all about it. Thank you to John Nixon for the wonderful photo.

Copyright John Nixon.

The Piano

A wave of silence swept over the astounded audience, broken only by the steadily decreasing footfall of heavy feet, and the slightly muffled pleas coming from the piano.  Even before it could settle, the silence was replaced by another wave; one of cheering and clapping so unrestrained as to be heard in the nearby streets.

They really hadn’t liked the clown. He was vulgar and amateurish, and quite possibly drunk. So after he invited the local celebrity linebacker up on stage to assist him, and then tried to hypnotise him into dancing like a chicken, the outcome was hardly unexpected.