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.


A PERFECT MATCH - a 100 word story

This week's story comes to you from a steaming hot Tenerife - the heat is one reason we are selling our apartment and returning to England. Photos of our apartment are on the For Sale page.
I wrote imy story at Mel's after she'd cut my hair and was putting blonde highlights in my daughter's. Therefore I present this week's effort with their approval.
To read other writers' takes on the same photo prompt, go to
and follow the Blue Frog link to Friday Fictioneers.


Bernie had put up a good fight, spending several of his own millions in search of a donor, but now he was weary of the struggle.

Standing in the corner with folded arms was Bernie’s son, waiting to inherit his fortune; beside Bernie sat his latest wife, young and healthy Charlene.
Bernie gasped, and right on cue Charlene sobbed, “I love you, Bernie – go into The Light.” Bernie’s bodyguard put an apparently comforting hand on her neck.

The next day Charlene’s heart was beating in Bernie’s chest. When he’d married her she hadn’t known what a perfect match they were.


MOONSHINE - a 100 word story

THIS WEEK'S 100 WORD STORY came to me while I was shopping, so I wrote it sitting in my car in the car park, which is very appropriate under the circumstances.
TO MY SURPRISE when I got home and typed it up, it came to exactly 100 words, so I decided to post the first draft - un-edited. 
Thanks to Rochelle for the photo prompt on her blog;  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/
You can read other writers' stories by following the blue frog trail on her blog.

It started as a joke.
Frank, Hank and Billy-Joe were sprawled on the veranda of their mouldy cabin in the woods drinking moonshine.
    “This stuff tastes like horse-piss,” Frank said and Hank said, “More like jet-fuel,” and Billy-Joe said, “Reckon it’d make even our old bangers fly.”
     Frank ‘borrowed’ the company’s muck-shifter that weekend and built a ramp out in the desert, while Hank tinkered with engines and Billy-Joe spread the word and took bets.
     The entire town turned out to watch as the cars sped up the ramp and flew, all too briefly, before nose-diving into the unforgiving sand.