CLASS OUTING - a 100 word story

Once again it's been a whole week since I've posted on my blog, but packing and bureaucracy have taken precedence. All being well, we exchange contracts on the sale of our Tenerife apartment next week, so I may be absent for a while!

This week's photo was taken by Claire Fuller and used as a prompt for Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle
Follow the Blue Frog trail from her blog to read what other writers thought when they saw this photograph.


“Gather round!” Miss Fletcher ordered. “Now, what have we learned today about the Elders?”
Twelve young voices recited, “They had no respect for the Environment and almost destroyed the Earth.”
Miss Fletcher nodded. “The Lowlands could not sustain civilisation but, thanks to our government’s foresight, we Highlanders have this Centre with its greenhouses and animal breeding laboratories.”
“What’s in these lockers, Miss?”
“This is the Cryonics Area where we store higher life forms for the future.” 
She spun a handle and opened a door. 
“You must go inside to see it properly. No need to push, Susie – there’s room for everyone.”


WHAT GOES AROUND - a 100 word story


By the time the oil ran out and Man turned to natural power it was too late – the damage was irreversible.
The atmosphere could no longer pulverise meteors and all their cities were smashed to smithereens. Both ice-caps melted and the seas rose, shrinking the land.
 The balance of power shifted.

Now whales gather to watch humans perform, applauding their tricks with enthusiastic plumes. These humans are well-cared-for, proved by the fact that they breed in captivity, but any that try to escape are swiftly dealt with.

They’ve done enough damage already, and we don’t call them Killers for nothing.
This week's Flash Fiction was again written for Friday Fictioneers, a group of 100 or so writers from around the world who write a weekly story prompted by a photograph on this blog -
... and for those who are following my moving saga - yes, I'm still selling furniture and still, slowly, packing! We sign on September 3rd and hand over the keys to the new owners. We are still searching for somewhere to live in England, but that's another saga!


BURGERS & BUTTERFLIES - a 100 word story

Another 100 word story written in a rush between packing boxes. We are relocating to England from Tenerife next month and sorting out what to keep after fifteen years in one place is not easy!
This week's photo prompt comes, as always, from Rochelle
Follow the Blue Frog trail from her blog to read how other writers interpreted it.

My version is more fact than fiction this week, but it's what came first to mind!


We would eat our burgers battling along Brighton seafront against a howling gale, salt spray crusting on our faces. Over an espresso coffee later I would lick my spectacles clean – I can still recall the taste, but it was the only way to avoid smears.
Men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses’ was so ingrained into my consciousness that his insistent wooing was a shock.

“Only virgins wear white,” my mother decreed, so I wasn’t even a beautiful bride.
But six months later my daughter was born, and the woman I was always meant to be emerged from her chrysalis to spread her butterfly wings.


MORECAMBE MOON - 100 word story


“Jian – don’t go. The moon is too full and I sense danger.”
“Mother – I must work. We owe the bosses so much money.”
Jian looked at his sleeping wife – she and the baby were both feverish after the birth in the crowded lorry with his hand muffling Chyou’s cries, but they had no money for doctors.

Jian was picking on the cockle-bed hours later, thigh-deep in seawater and listening nervously for the whistle to call his team ashore.

It never sounded. The spring moon had pulled the tide too high too quickly, and the whistle-man was the first to drown.
The moon affects all kinds of tides, in our bodies as well as in the oceans. This photo prompt brought back memories of a heart-breaking disaster in Morecambe Bay in 2004, in which 21 Chinese slaves drowned when the tide caught them unawares. Slavery is never totally eradicated, despite all the laws against it. Read all about it on Google.



BOTTLING UP - Flash Fiction in 100 words

As a break from packing boxes and photographing furniture to put on a local For Sale site, I wrote this little piece of flash fiction for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle for the photo that prompted me and dozens of others to write a weekly story.
Follow the Blue Frog link on her blog to read the others.

... and here is mine.


Vinnie began collecting glass marbles when she was small, loving the way they changed the sunlight into magic.
When she started earning pocket money she progressed to old medicine bottles, and by the time she met Dean she had hundreds.
‘Stupid’ he called them when he was sober – when he was drunk he simply broke them, often on Vinnie’s head.
She began seeking out the murky ones in flea-markets, washing them out meticulously when she got them home.

When Dean died in agony, forensics couldn’t isolate what had killed him from the cocktail of ancient poisons in his system.
Why am I packing and selling? We have sold our apartment in Tenerife and will be moving back to Sussex in September. All our famile bar one live in the UK and as we get older we want to be closer than two thousand miles.


CHIPS - Flash fiction with a difference

You know how a train of thought develops out of the blue and you can't get your mind to leave that track? Well, that's what this week's photo prompt did to me. I didn't see the snow, though in the summer heat here some snow would be bliss - I zoomed right in on the little stalls, which reminded me of a poem I wrote a while ago for the Queen's Jubilee.
So please bear with me, enjoy my poem, and forgive the fact that I've outstripped the word count by A LOT!
In my defence, I am in the throes of packing up to relocate from Tenerife to England after fifteen years, and my head's up my ****!
Thanks as always to https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  for the photo prompt -


My Dad has a chip stall right outside the Tower
– of London, you dolt, not Blackpool –
and now I can actually see over the counter
I help out sometimes after school.

The tourists will stop for two quids-worth of chips
 – “London prices,” Dad says if they moan –
and some of them want them wrapped up in The Times
instead of a grease-paper cone.

Mum’s batter is made with the very best beer
and is famous throughout London town –
a few TV chefs have offered a fortune
but Mum won’t write anything down.

Some weekends the queue to see the Crown Jewels
can stretch for a very long way –
Dad turns on a fan to waft out the smell
and we turn a good profit those days.

Last Sunday I wanted to watch the procession,
but Dad said the Queen’s Jubilee
would bring in the cash and he needed my help –
I could watch it that night on TV.

So there I was, serving the ketchup and salt,
when the whole queue went quiet and still,
and That Voice said, “Those chips smell delicious – We really
must have some - please send Us the bill.”

Mum curtsied and Dad took his cap off and bowed;
“On the house, Ma’am – I couldn’t charge You.”
So I salted Her Majesty’s chips - and took a quick
photo to prove it was true.


SERENDIPITY - a 100 word story

This week's 100 word story comes to you from a very happy household - yesterday we found buyers for our apartment and, all being well, we complete by the end of August.
What next? A move back to England - specifically to Sussex where my family lives - but as we will be homeless until we find a flat there to rent I may be 'off air' through September.

Friday Fictioneers is an online group of roughly a hundred writers who blog a 100 word story each week prompted by a photograph chosen by  Rochelle on her site, where you can read the other stories by clicking on the blue frog.   https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/

................................................. HERE'S MY VERSION ............................................


“Karen – where the hell is this hostel?”
“Round here somewhere.”
“Well, find it soon – this knapsack weighs a bloody ton. Why did you bring so much?”
“It’s not all mine, and you insisted on buying the biggest one.”

Spotting a street sign, Karen said, “I think it’s up here,” and she’d walked fifty yards before she spotted it – a mosaic in the sky – a landing-strip for angels.
 “Dave! You’ve got to see this roof.”
“The only roof I want is one with a shower under it,” Dave yelled back and trudged on – weary sulks trump serendipitous finds every time.