Friday Fictioneers – Claire’s Bookcase

27 04 2013

Hi all, sorry I’m late to this week’s party. But better late than never.  If you’ve arrived here by accident, worry not!  Go and visit Rochelle and all will be revealed. Or explained. Or something. Basically we’re talking 100 words or thereabouts of fiction based on a photo prompt.

(c) Claire Fuller

Claire’s Bookcase

With a deft flick of Macbeth, Claire stood back to let the heavy bookcase swing open  revealing a hidden door. Made of steel, with a single combination lock and small round peephole, it looked something like a large safe.

She checked on her treasure. A man, head slumped on his chest, was bound to a metal chair.

It was his own fault, he never should have come knocking. So far nobody had missed him: no alarm had been raised.

Stepping back, she slid her fingers along spines of books until she found the closing trigger. Appropriately enough, Death of a Salesman.


Friday Fictioneers – A Walk Through Time

18 04 2013

The sun is shining, maybe winter has finally ended after all. (OK, so ten minutes later it was raining). Either way it’s time for 100 words or thereabouts of fiction based on this weeks photo prompt from Janet Webb. If you would like to join in with the Friday Fictioneers go see Rochelle’s blog. You don’t have to be a writer (I’m not), you just have to enjoy writing.

This week’s photo put me in mind of a short story that I’ve been meaning to write for a while now, so this is a kind of abstract from a story yet to be written!

And of course it’s all based on a true story, and set about a mile from where I live!

(c) Janet Webb

A Walk Through Time

As I walk along the beach, shingle crunches beneath my boots, waves crash in and suck back out again with a death rattle of pebbles.

I see a small wreck pulled up on the beach ahead.

Drawing level with the bare ribs and rotten timbers, a massive shiver runs down my spine as if crossing a powerful threshold. I smell tobacco, feel a presence and hear the whispering in the wind. A few steps further and the feeling fades away like the early morning mist.

Turning around, understanding dawns. I’ve just crossed over the line of the old smugglers path.


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Friday Fictioneers – His Final Creation

11 04 2013

Hi all. Back by popular (ok singular) demand after getting distracted by having the kids at home over Easter, it’s time for a bit of Friday Fiction. 100 words or thereabouts based on a photo prompt, this week supplied by Sandra Crook. If you want to join in, you’re welcome. See Rochelle’s blog for the guidelines.


(c) Sandra Crook


His Final Creation

When I was told that my grandfather always put a bit of himself into everything he built, I didn’t think they meant it literally.

Made with – and from – all of his most cherished tools, his one-man, ride-on plough embodied all his beliefs of function over form. Which is pretty ironic as some think that the rusty heap now sitting on my porch is actually a work of art!

His final creation may look a bit tired and antiquated by modern standards, but I know for a fact … it’s still got heart.