GOD - 100 word fiction


After the Apocalypse, scavengers roamed the city streets and country ways, sniffing out every last body, and cockroaches feasted on putrefaction.
Finally all machines – even computers – died from lack of fuel, and the only sounds were the buzzing of insects, the cries of birds and animals, and the rustle of plants reclaiming the land.

When the air was sweet again, the God of Rebirth unlocked the underground chambers, and as the Chosen Few stood blinking in the sunlight He spoke sternly.

“I am God. This is my world and your last chance to live peaceably. Don’t screw it up.”
Thanks again to http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for the photo prompt for this week's flash fiction. Follow the links to read some of the other offerings from Friday Fictioneers.


ONLY AT WEEKENDS - 100 word fiction


Eustace was a mild-mannered minister whom everyone liked. His elderly parishioners looked forward to his visits and the school-children enjoyed his slide-show talks, but at weekends he became a different man.

On Saturdays he locked his study, sat at the desk he had inherited from a long line of fire-and-brimstone preachers, and wrote furiously. His congregation cringed when he stormed into the pulpit on Sundays and scoured their souls of hidden sins with his sermons.

Afterwards they filed out of church in subdued awe, asking Eustace what inspired such eloquence, but he wasn’t ready to confess to being a ghost-writer.

Thanks once again to Rochelle  http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  for this week's Friday Fictioneers' photo prompt.
This picture immediately made me think of my father - he used to write his sermons at a similar desk, although Pa needed no ghosts to inspire his sermons. 
If you follow the link on Rochelle's blog you can read what the photograph meant to other writers.


MEETING THE FAMILY - 100 word fiction

Another story in 100 words prompted by a photograph posted by Rochelle http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/


We emerged from the tunnel to see mountain on one side and a precipitous drop on the other, but Raul said, “We’ve arrived,” and drove over the edge onto a narrow shelf cut into the rock.
“My ancestors fought the Conquistadores from here,” Raul said proudly.

The house clung to the cliff, chickens pecked, and a stream glistened to the sea through terraces where oranges glowed like suns. A distant figure waved a hoe and began climbing impossibly steep steps.

“Grandfather began this house,” Raul said, “We will live at the top when you marry me.”
“Is that a proposal?”
Meanwhile, if anyone is interested in buying an apartment that is a little easier to access, please look at the page at the top of my blog.


TENERIFE - Land of Eternal Spring

That is how the Tourist Board advertises Tenerife, but the reality is marekdly different - this week we have had temperatures up to 40C, which is rare in England, they tell me! But this is August, the hottest month - it's usually around 30C.
There are also times when the temperature is like an English spring - usually in the middle of our winter - and we even get rain, but not often and mostly in the north of the island. We live in the south where the weather - and the landscape - is more like Africa than Europe.

To survive at all, wild plants must adapt or die, which accounts for our hundreds of varieties of cactus. As for gardens - you either water them every day or fit an automatic watering system - hence the rubber tubes that snake through every municipal flowerbed.

This is the time of year when stunning orange flowering trees splash the streets with colour, although the mauve Jacarandas were spectacular two months ago and the yellow-flowered trees are dropping their blossom now.

Here is a row of Flamboyante trees in front of our apartment building - some people call them Flame Trees -

and Yukka trees in bud and in full bloom - rather larger than the houseplants you find in Europe.

And today I saw a cactus flower. You have to be in the right place on the right day for this treat because they will have shrivelled by nightfall.

This unpleasant-looking cactus spreads its tentacles like a diseased octopus across a garden near us, but today it has produced a twin pair of beautiful creamy flowers, which for one day at least justfy its existence!

And finally, beside our community pool, a perfect rose framed by a banana leaf. 

So if you fancy buying an apartment in this Land of Occasional Spring, we have one for sale!
You will find a full set of photographs and details by clicking on the link APARTMENT FOR SALE at the top of the page.




The only time I can relax is when I’m up here where the air is thin enough to breathe – the atmosphere at ground level is like hot soup.

Also, from a mile up, the planet is shrunk by distance. I wasn’t warned about the size difference when I volunteered for this assignment – perhaps the astronomers didn’t know. Although Xeb feigns nonchalance I know she too is overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of everything, but being comparatively small makes hitching a ride on a jet’s wing simple.

I am looking forward to Greenland – I believe that snow is wonderfully cold.

Edited to add; After four comments, three of which seem not to have understood my story, perhaps I should add that the narrator is a tiny alien from a cold planet!

Another story prompted by a photograph posted on Rochelle's blog.
http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/   Follow the link on there to read more.

Meanwhile, if you haven't looked before, and will excuse this shameless bit of advertising, see my post from last week about my apartment in Tenerife which is for sale. 


FORK COLLINS - 100 word story

I've been busy this week getting my Tenerife apartment ready to sell - (see my previous blog) - and it occurs to me that when we return to England I shall have to change the name of my blog! 
But that's in the future, and in the hands of the gods, so here is this week's dose of Friday Fiction, prompted by a very weird photo on Rochelle's blog!


“Can Fergus come round?”

“I ain’t having a Collins in this house.”

“But Granda . . .”

“Winter ’39, so it was, and feckin’ freezing. Mam throws the ashes too wide and sets the stack ablaze, so I run over the fields to town while Pops bashes the flames, but they spread to the byre. Fire engine clangs along the top road, but Padraig Collins at the fork sends it down the wrong lane.”

“That was seventy-five years ago, Granda!”

“Two cows we lost that day – remember it like it was yesterday. No forking Collins is welcome in my home.”



It's sad really - the end of an era - but we want to return to England, where we have several children and grandchildren, an elderly mother, brother and sisters - a whole family who we've only seen in snatches for the past fourteen years.

So we're hoping to sell up in Tenerife and move back to Sussex. There's a whole album of photos on my Facebook page, but here's a taster in case you're tempted to buy it!