PEACE PIPE - a story in under 100 words

PEACE PIPE

The old warrior sat peacefully watching the sunset. He didn’t bother to move as his cousin dismounted.

Dropping the reins, Standing Tree folded his considerable height into a chair. “Why are you sitting out here, Running Wolf?”

“I wanted a pipe.” Running Wolf blew a perfect smoke-ring into the still air and watched it slowly dissolve.

“But you’d be more comfortable by your fire.”

“Warmer, maybe, but pipe-smoke makes my woman cough.”

“You are the chief of the tribe, cousin!”

“Everywhere else, yes, but not in my tepee.”

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Renee Heath's atmospheric photo brought this story to mind instantly. All I needed was to write it down - isn't it great when that happens? For other interpretations of her photo you can follow the links from Rochelle's blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/  - and have a go at writing a story yourself, why don't you?

Living in the south of England we don't get nearly as much snow as some, but my garden looked very pretty this morning under a thin white blanket.

THE CAR IN THE WOODS - flash fiction

THE CAR IN THE WOODS

“Don’t touch anything!” Becky’s voice was sharp and Chris shot her a withering look. “I’m only making sure there’s no body inside.” Sighing, he put his hands in his pockets before peering through the side window.

Meanwhile Becky walked slowly round the clearing. When she’d made a full circuit she called shakily, “Chris – we should go – now!”

“Why? What’s got you all of a dither?”

“Whoever was driving this car took the engine with them – and there’s only one set of footprints.”

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The above story was written to the prompt of a photo by Ted Strutz for Friday Fictioneers, ably hosted by  https://rochellewisoff.com/  After you've left a comment on my blog (please!) follow the Blue Frog link from Rochelle's blog to read other short stories each week.

I may not get round to you all this weekend, as it's my daughter's 50th birthday and her big sister arrived unexpectedly from Ireland to help us celebrate. Therefore I am one happy and distracted-from-writing Mum!

ROAST POTATOES - a story in 100 words

ROAST POTATOES

It wasn’t even a proper fight – he said his mother’s roast potatoes were crisper than mine, I said he could go home to his mother any time he liked, he slammed out of the house, I tried to stop him, and my hand went through the glass door.

Blood spurted everywhere, and before the ambulance got here I’d bled half to death.

Then the police got involved, accusing him of attempted murder, and when I said I’d done it myself they assumed I’d tried to commit suicide.

How can I tell a shrink it was caused by roast potatoes?

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This week's Friday Fictioneers' prompt photo was taken by Dale Rogerson, and I hope the reason for her broken door wasn't as dramatic as mine. I wrote this story, tweaked it down to 100 words and posted it, in ten minutes flat, so I hope you like it. 

Thanks as ever to Rochelle for hosting our goup of flash fiction enthusiasts on her blog  https://rochellewisoff.com .

I have been busy this week promoting my latest book, Wolf Pack , which you can buy by clicking on the cover image at the top of this page. If everyone who reads my flash fiction buys a copy of my book - and leaves a review - I shall be a happy writer. 
Those who have read it say it's my best so far - why not try it for yourself and see if you agree? Please?

DREAMS - a poem for Friday Fictioneers

DREAMS

Each paper slip is a dream -

Green for walking in woods

where looming trees

grasp with gnarled fingers

Blue for drowning

yards from a shore

where no-one hears her screams

Red for dreams of sex

that leave her aching but alone

And the shells are those rare mornings

when she wakes refreshed

her subconscious washed clean

of a myriad hurts.

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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to Priya Biapal for the image that prompted me this week to write a poem rather than flash fiction. Follow the links from Rochelle's blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/ to read what other writers were inspired to write.

BILLY

BILLY

Billy and his mum never went out - all their food was delivered.

One day Billy’s mum went to sleep and wouldn’t wake up, so he ate a box of dry cereal and all the chocolate.

The next day his mum was still asleep and the television was scary, but when he turned it off it was too quiet. He could hear people in the street but he couldn’t work his #swing high enough to see over the wall.

It was a week before the delivery man brought the next box of groceries.

AGE IS A GLACIER

AGE IS A GLACIER

Age is as implacable as a glacier.

To a casual observer it can appear static at times, but take your eyes off it, even briefly, and the changes are obvious.

More cracks appear on the surface.

Random debris is absorbed, adding to its weight.

The sheer inexorability of it grinds to rubble anything that attempts to halt its progress.

Age is a glacier, moving relentlessly towards its inevitable conclusion.
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This week's photo, taken by Russell Gayer and posted as a prompt by Rochelle, plumbed the depths of my New Year gloom. I realise that yet another year has passed and I've only published three of the books that are already half-written. So my resolution for 2019 is to get a move on!
I will cheer up soon, I promise, especially if I make a few more sales. If you would care to buy one, click on the image at the top of the page for WOLF PACK, the second book in my Living Rock series. The first book, A VOLCANIC RACE, is also on Amazon, as is HELTER-SKELTER, a novel of historic fiction, under my full name Elizabeth Young.
And do, please, leave a review. Thank you XX