BLACK v WHITE - a 100-word story


In the old days, Royalty from neighbouring kingdoms would come to look down from the battlements and play the Game, but the trained peasants gradually died off and the younger generation refused to learn.

The King tried cajolery and then force, but the villagers fought off the soldiers. When two men died the village got its way and the Royal Game was abandoned.

 Now the old Princess inhabits the Castle alone. Sometimes she descends the steep steps to the Playing Fields and walks the moves in solitary thought, remembering the human chessmen who played at her father’s command.
Another 100 words story prompted by a photo posted on Rochelle's blog at:
http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/   Friday Fictioneers is an online group, most of whom beat the Friday deadline thses days! to read their stories follow the link on Rochelle's blog - it's well worth it.



When I was a little girl - a very long time ago! - my parents bought a car. It was a Standard Ten, I believe, for the afficionados among you.

Back then we would see another car on the road perhaps once every five minutes, and we'd play a game with the registration letters.

It was a simple game - keeping those three letters in the same order, add more letters to make a word.

Our car was RDU244 - yes, I still remember it after all these years - but I don't think I would have thought of CREDULITY at such a tender age. We had that car a long time, though, so my 14-year-old self possibly did.

We resurrected the game when my children were growing up, and I still occasionally make up words as I'm driving.
Today I saw two cars in sequence - FRH followd by HRF - now what would you make of those?


LOOKING AFTER MOTHER - 100 word fiction


My world has shrunk to this.
I should be grateful – they’ve decorated the room and hung pretty curtains, but the window’s double-glazed, and although I can see the children having a snowball fight I can’t hear them.
I'm afraid to look in the mirror in case I've disappeared.

I wanted to go outside yesterday but I couldn’t find my boots, and I knew Edith had hidden them when she said, “You could break your hip, Mum, and then where would you be?”
In a nursing home is where I’d be, with other people to talk to.

I think I’ll get my coat.

This lovely photo prompted my story, thanks to Rochelle at:
Follow the link on her blog to read a hundred other stories - all free!
And my Tenerife apartment's still for sale - see the link at the top of my blog.



You don't have to go very far to find the other side of Tenerife - the side tourists don't often see.

Only a few years ago these ruins were inhabited by banana plantation workers - their kitchens were shared between several houses and their laundry room was an outside concrete sink with built-in scrubbing board. You can still buy a version of those sinks today.

Now people live in these modern blocks, but they are constructed in much the same way. Beneath the plaster the building blocks are made of cement rather than cut from volcanic rock, but I wonder if they will still be recognizable as housing sixty years from now?

You might have seen street sweepers carrying a palm leaf on their trolleys - there is even a special slot for them! They are unbeatable for cleaning great swathes of paving in one sweep, and when they wear out there are plenty more where they came from!

This alleyway, with its unrailed stairway to an upper apartment, is across the road from where I live, and likely to remain for some time. The several families who live there refused to move when the Cabildo widened and straightened the road, which is why there's a huge bump in the middle of an otherwise even stretch of road.

You only have to go for a walk to find evidence of the old ways - such as this water-channel made from hollowed-out lengths of volcanic rock, or the collapsing walls of rough brown rocks that once held back the earth in small terraced fields. Alas, the south of Tenerife no longer has the rainfall to sustain such subsistence farming.
But some people still grow their own, and this elderly woman walks a kilometer several times a week to the next village to trade her garden produce for groceries. I think she shops for several neighbours, because I have seen her carrying a huge sack of potatoes on her head and a box under each arm with apparent ease!

Next time you're out and about in Tenerife, look past the hotels and bars for the simpler things that make this island different, and go home with another aspect of Tenerife etched on your memory.



LAS GALLETAS  seafront road is too narrow for the traffic that uses it. There isn't really room for the cars that park by the beach, and meeting a Titsa bus coming the other way can be nerve-wracking.
A couple of years ago the road was closed sporadically for months while the Cabildo installed vast pipes to take the local sewage out to sea. They even used gravel and stones from the beach to create a very dodgy-looking temporary pier on which the heavy diggers teetered dangerously.
When the pipes had gone beyond the harbour the beach was reformed, but Man cannot match Nature.

Last year's floods washed the beach back into the sea and destabilised the sea wall. They repaired it.

Then last week we had big seas, even inside the harbour, and the beach vanished again, along with some of the pavement and a bit of road. We had to drive the long way round or park in El Fraile and walk.

 This was the scene on Thursday morning - you can see El Fraile beyond the palm trees in the background of the second photograph. It looked to me as if workmen needed to drive pilings into the beach to shore the road up safely, which would mean months more work at Tenerife speed. 

But yesterday the traffic was flowing smoothly again and a neat patch of tarmac covered everything. This was unprecedented! What had happened? I came home and looked up Arona's calendar of events and the answer was staring me in the face. 

A football match - today at 6pm - in the Sports Centre in El Fraile. 


THE WORD - Flash fiction in 100 words


One candle illuminated the small cave, giving just enough light for the priest to read. Shadowy figures listened intently to his words, which were all the more precious for being forbidden, but then the lookout hissed. Instantly the flame was extinguished, but too late – hatred and bloody violence contaminated their place of worship.

Yelling men herded them into a truck, leaving the priest’s battered body in his church. Looking back as they were driven away, a woman cried, “They are burning the Holy Book!” but her father said, “We need no Book, daughter – God writes His Word in our hearts.”

Another photo from http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ prompted me to write this story for Friday Fictioneers . Do follow the link on her page to read some of the others.


FRUIT - THE PERFECT GIFT : a story in 100 words

“I’m not answering any more questions!” Gilmore yelled and the nurse shooed away the man in black. Gilmour grabbed her wrist as she increased his medication. “I really was abducted, you know.”
“Of course you were, dear,” she soothed, “But you need to rest now. Look at this nice fruit basket your friend brought.”
His eyes widened in terror. “Those are eggs, not fruit!” but the drug blurred his words as she closed the door.

 When she returned, the fruit was a putrid mess, the windowsill was smeared, and the bed contained nothing but gnawed bones lying in a pool of slime.

Thanks once again to Rochelle at 
http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for the disgusting photo that prompted this week's story. No doubt other Friday Fiction writers have written equally nasty stories which you will find by following the link