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30.12.20

SANDCASTLES

 

SANDCASTLES

Juan built sandcastles. Every day he went to the beach, collected damp sand from the tide-mark, and constructed dreams. Tourists watched and took photographs – some even threw money into Juan’s bucket, although never enough – but Juan loved the attention.

Lucia wasn’t happy being the only wage-earner. “You must get a real job – the rent is overdue again.”

“I have a job,” Juan replied grandly, “I am an artist.”

But the next night he came home to find Lucia and their possessions in the street – the landlord had thrown her out.

It was time to stop living in cloud-cuckoo land.



Clouds = castles in the air = the train of thought that led to this week's story for Friday Fictioneers. 
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting it for another year, and to Na'ama Yehuda for the photographic prompt.

I won't wax philosophical - there will be enough of that around as it is - so I will simply take the opportunity to wish everyone who reads my stories a very healthy and Happy New Year. I shall be opening the bottle of Prosecco that we didn't consume at Christmas - how will you see in 2021?

23.12.20

IN TIMES LONG GONE

 

IN TIMES LONG GONE

“We have a son! I will teach him to be a good carpenter.”

“Are you sure? I know you promised but ...”

“Hush, Mary – I meant every word.”

She slept until voices woke her. “Find another shelter – my wife’s just had a baby.”

“The angel told us – that’s why we’re here.”

She moved her cloak aside, and weathered faces worshipped while baby hands bestowed blessings. But Joseph was protective. “You’ve seen him – now leave us in peace.”

“We all wish for peace,” they said, and returned to their flocks, leaving a lamb to warm mother and child.

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I was determined to squeeze a Christmas story out of whatever image Rochelle chose this week, and it was a struggle, but I hope you like it.

Too many people have talked and written about 'These Difficult Times' that I won't add to them, except to say that nothing can 'Cancel Christmas'. It will be different. For most of us it will be much quieter, which for some may be no bad thing. For others it will be sad, and they have my sympathy - I will not be able to visit my mother in her nursing home. But we will still celebrate whatever we believe in - the birth of Christ, or simply the love of family and friends - and it will be Christmas, despite Covid. 

Have a good one.




16.12.20

INVASION

 

INVASION

George returned from the war uninjured.

‘A miracle,’ his father said, happy to have his son back on the farm.

But his mother knew George hadn’t escaped unscathed. The meticulous way her formerly careless boy folded his clothes, the way he jumped when she dropped a saucepan, his insistence on closing all the curtains although blackout was long gone.

Her husband scoffed, ‘It’s just habit – he’ll get over it.’

Then her best coat disappeared, to be found a week later outside the village.

‘We were told to cover the signposts,’ George said.

Finally his father understood – not all injuries are visible.

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THANKS again to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers even while celebrating Hanukkah, and to Sandra Crook for the intriguing photo prompt. To read other stories, or to join in and write your own, follow the Frog Link from  https://rochellewisoff.com/ . And if you're not here next week, Happy Christmas to everyone!

AND if you haven't sorted out your holiday reading yet, or need books to send as gifts, why not try my LIVING ROCK series, available on Amazon.




10.12.20

WHILE I WASN'T LOOKING

 

WHILE I WASN’T LOOKING

A month stuck indoors was more than enough. I can’t get the hang of this Zoom nonsense, and phone calls aren’t the same as visits, especially when you’re deaf.

So the moment Boris let us out, I made a flask of tea and walked down to my usual bench for a look at the sea. It’s half a mile away, but that vista opens up my soul.

Or it used to. Some criminal at the Town Hall has taken advantage of us being distracted to pass plans for a huge block of flats.

Covid has a lot to answer for.

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This is my first venture into the world of writing for a while. I was hacked back in November and it's taken me this long to get my life straight - and my head! So please be kind if my story isn't up to scratch. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers, and to Roger Bultot for the photograph.

Before all that happened I did manage to publish the final book in my LIVING ROCK series, so if you're looking for a Christmas read, for yourself or anyone else aged teen to adult, look no further. All four books are available on Amazon - A Volcanic Race, Wolf Pack, Landslide & Rock Festival. To go directly to Amazon for the final book, click on the cover image on this page.


18.11.20

LOCKDOWN BLUES

 

LOCKDOWN BLUES

I fought to stay in my own home – the small flat Dennis and I shared holds such happy memories.

“You’d have company every day in the nursing home, Mum,” Fran said each time she visited.

“A load of geriatrics,” I’d replied, “And I’d miss my garden.”

She refrained from reminding me I was eighty-six, and dropped the subject.

But this virus has made my home a prison. No shopping trips, no Age Concern lunches, the library’s shut, and my garden is in shadow all day.

To top it all, there’s nobody to talk to since my cat died.

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Unfortunately, this is the situation many old people find themselves in - and some not so old, too. We bless the day, last January, when we moved my Mum into a nursing home. It's just up the road from me, so I can visit regularly. Even in Covid times they have allowed distanced visits in the conservatory, and although we can't hug, we can talk. Today is Mum's 96th birthday, and I've arranged to visit bearing gifts. Here she is talking to my son.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MUM XX

Thanks to Sarah Potter for the image and Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog:  https://rochellewisoff.com/  from whence you can follow the link to read other stories.

11.11.20

THROUGH THE ARCHED WINDOW

 

THROUGH THE ARCHED WINDOW

That morning they’d woken up to the first snow-fall, but there’d been no time to play before work, and by the time they got home it was dark.

 Harvey’s mum switched on the TV to a recording of Playschool and began to vacuum the house, secure in the knowledge that he was engrossed in trying to guess which window Floella would choose.

 His scream sent her racing downstairs two at a time, but Harvey cried, “Look, Mum – we can make a snowman tomorrow!”

 And through the arched window she saw her husband, outlined in lights like a mirage, home from the war.

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Shamelessly sentimental, I know, but there were thousands upon thousands of servicemen and women who didn't make it home from the wars which we remembered in England this week. So this story is a tribute to them.

'We will remember them' the prayer says, and I also love a less well-known but very moving one - 'When you go home, tell them of us and say / for your tomorrow we gave our today.'

The TV programme Playschool was a favourite with my children, all now adult. Every week they were asked to guess which of three windows, square, round or arched, would take them to the next part of the programme. Mind you, I had to ask my elder daughter the name of a presenter!

4.11.20

LAS GALLETAS

This photograph takes me back to Las Galletas, the seaside village in Tenerife where we did our shopping for fifteen years. 

The bricks cut from volcanic rock, the rough slabs underfoot - even the icecream adverts and boxes of oranges are the same.

We sat in a shaded street just like this one for coffee, admiring the plants on a house opposite, sheltering in the shade from the fierce sun that eventually drove us back to England.



Thanks to Rochelle for the photo which evoked some happy memories. To read fiction from other members of Friday Fictioneers, go to her blog and click on the frog!  https://rochellewisoff.com/
The rock from which those bricks were hewn is only one variety out of hundreds, and that inspired me to write my Living Rock books, so our time in Tenerife wasn't wasted.
Click on the link to read the first book, A Volcanic Race, or go direct to Amazon for more.


 

31.10.20

SLEEP OF THE ROCKMEN

 

All over their vast continent the Rockmen slumbered. From the mountainous western shore to the white chalk cliffs of the far east, tribes of Humans moved more freely, confident in the knowledge that their giant neighbours would not wake until spring. From the wave-battered south coast to the frozen north, animals roamed forests and grassland, undisturbed by the large hunters that gave off no warning scent.

In the volcanoes that dotted this young land, lava simmered gently, waiting for the Mother to wake and send more children for Her volcanic race, but no tremors disturbed the Rockmen in their beds. The danger that threatened their lives lurked unseen – deep beneath the earth pressure was building, slowly and inexorably, between two continental plates – unheard by any ear, million-ton rocks groaned – and, hidden in a frozen lake, a glowing rift widened.

Extract of an early version of A VOLCANIC RACE - first book in my LIVING ROCK series. Click on the link to buy it from Amazon.

A VOLCANIC RACE: a LIVING ROCK book: Amazon.co.uk: YOUNG, LIZ: 9798679889521: Books

29.10.20

EARLY TO SCHOOL

 

EARLY TO SCHOOL

Sally’s hard-won custody battle came at a price – new name, different area, change of school, and a menial job that meant she had to drop Josie at school early, with only the janitor to watch her.

 Tired of waiting alone, Josie left her bag by the door while she used the toilets in the yard. Half an hour later the other kids lined up behind her bag, sliding it backwards as they shuffled along.

 It was still there at break time, and the teacher phoned Sally – an hour too late to follow the trail. Josie’s father had won after all.

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It's an unwritten rule, isn't it, that a bag, or a full trolley, marks a place in the queue - at least, in those countries where people queue rather than scramble for places. 

I missed last week, being unable to come up with a story that felt original enough. Well done to those of you who wrote one. Thanks to J Hardy Carroll for this week's photo and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/

On the subject of writing, my 5 yr old granddaughter decided Sunday lunch at Nan's warranted a menu - here is the result. The phonetic spelling must be read aloud to get its full meaning!

NB - we made the lemn coocees to accompany the  I screem.

PS - click on the book cover (top right on this page) to buy the last book in my Living Rock series. The whole series would make a neat Christmas present for anyone - teen to adult - who enjoys stories where reality is slightly askew but the people, their hopes and fears, are as real as ever.

14.10.20

MARINA SAN MIGUEL

 

MARINA SAN MIGUEL

Craig rode past the security guard, ignoring his shout, and cycled through the marina, admiring the yachts with a connoisseur’s eye.

The A VENDRE sign seemed to be aimed directly at him, but as he leaned his bike against the lamp-post a head popped out of the hatch. ‘You can’t leave that there.’

Craig grinned. ‘Not even if I’m a buyer?’

The man barked a laugh. ‘Oddest-looking sports car I’ve ever seen.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ Craig said, pulling a supermarket bag full of cash from his basket. ‘I’ve just won the lottery – want to show me round?’

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There are many marinas in Tenerife, where we lived for fifteen years. Our friends owned a lovely old ocean-going boat, so this story is a tribute to Knotts Gypsy, in whom Dave sailed single-handed across the Atlantic. For 40 days we had no word - no indication whether he was alive or dead - then he came within mobile phone signal range and we watched from the beach in Las Galletas as he sailed past to San Miguel.

Thanks to CEAyr for the photo which prompted my memory and this story, and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. If you want to read other stories, or even to join in, go to her blog and click on the frog.  https://rochellewisoff.com/

7.10.20

QUAY-SIDE CAFE - a story in 100 words

 

QUAY-SIDE CAFE

Lockdown hit our quay-side cafė hard – most of our regulars began making their coffee at home, and our usual lunch-time office workers simply vanished.

 When regulations eased we invested the last of our capital in outside tables and managed until the weather turned sour. Storm-force winds, waves crashing right over the sea-wall – we were lucky not to lose the hut.

 On the first calm, sunny day we put the tables back out and advertised on Facebook – ‘Meals Half Price’ – we couldn’t waste all the fish we'd found tangled in the seaweed, could we?

 It was all gone before the Health Inspectors arrived.

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I'm all in favour of entrepreneurs, even those who bend the rules a bit as long as they don't actually break the law!

Thanks to Sandra Crook for the photograph - I wonder where it was taken? - and to Rochelle for hosting us on her blog:- 

https://rochellewisoff.com/

I was interviewed this morning for an article called 'Village People' in a local magazine, and managed to mention my books a few times :) Have you bought yours yet? They're all on Amazon, and a link to the latest is at the top of this page. If you live in UK and would like the complete Living Rock series at the author's rate of £15, just contact me via FB. They would make great Christmas presents!

 


30.9.20

THREE DAYS - a 100 word story

 

THREE  DAYS

It was three days before I dared to move. Three days sweating in the heat, three nights trying to sleep in a space not built for bodies, even one as small as mine, three days without food or drink.

 The first kick scared the hell out of me, metallic echoes ringing in my ears, but when no-one came I kicked harder, over and over, until I was free.

 I burst out into blinding sunlight – my first in God-knows-how-long – stepped over his stinking body and raided the fridge.

 Now I must find out where I live – I want my mum.

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This is my 700th blog post!! Actually I'm surprised it's not more - certainly I feel like I've been blogging for ever and a day - but the stats on my page can't be gainsaid.

Thanks as ever to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog, which has been going for WAY longer than mine - I wonder what her score is? Also thanks to Rowena Curtin for the photo prompt. To read other interpretations of the image, go to  https://rochellewisoff.com/  and follow the Frog link.

PLEASE DON'T FORGET to leave a comment, and maybe also to check out my LIVING ROCK books on Amazon - a link to ROCK FESTIVAL, the fourth and final book in the series is at the top of this page.


24.9.20

THE NICHE - a story in 100 words

 

THE  NICHE

 The cottage was so cheap Auguste said there must be hidden faults, and he was proved right on our first night there.

Roof-joists groaned as if about to give way, but inspection proved them sound; pipes whistled and banged for no apparent reason.

The just-beneath-hearing whispers in the kitchen were the worst, and I tracked them down to a niche that resembled a walled-up window.

“Break it open,” I begged, “Something’s trapped in there.”

“And you want me to let it out? No way.”

So I hung garlic in front of it – a lot of garlic – and prayed.

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Of course it's only a niche built to hold an oil lamp, maybe - or is it? Thanks to Dale for this week's image, and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. 

How has your week been? I've been procrastinating, putting off the onerous task of learning how to publicise my books. It has to be done if I am to have any hope of people reading them, but I do wish there was an easier way :(  

If you haven't caught up with them yet, they are all available on Amazon - the link to my latest book is at the top of this page. Rock Festival is the final book in a series, which pulls together threads from the first three books - A Volcanic Race, Wolf Pack & Landslide. Buy the whole set to immerse yourself in another world - a world where the dangers are prehistoric and volcanic, not Covid-related!


16.9.20

MOVING HOME - a story in only one hundred words.

 

MOVING HOME

 Archie wouldn’t let me put him down – not surprising with all the upheaval – and I managed one-handed till Dad needed help with the sofa.

I thought his high-chair would be the safest place, and I was only gone a minute, two at the most, but when we came down Archie had gone.

 I knew who’d taken him – the bastard must have been watching us, waiting for his chance to snatch him.

 It was three days before he called, and I could hear Archie in the background. “My mother already loves him,” he said, “You won’t hear from us again.”

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Thanks to Roger Bultot for this photograph which instantly prompted a story, but Other Life in the shape of a friend for lunch got in the way and I've only just got round to writing it. I was briefly tempted to write a different story, as the pile of rubbish is reminiscent of the state my garden has been in this week while a new kitchen was installed, but I resisted the temptation to burden you with my life story!

What I will do is ask you to buy my latest book by clicking on the link at the top of this page. ROCK FESTIVAL is the fourth and final book in my Living Rock series - the first three books, A VOLCANIC RACE, WOLF PACK & LANDSLIDE are also available on Amazon. The series is a fantasy - not everyone's cup of tea, I know - but Rochelle has read them and enjoyed them, so they must be worth a try! 😊



9.9.20

NOT OPEN - a story in 44 words.

 

NOT OPEN


“How much did you take today, Joe?”

“Nothing, Ma – ain’t seen a customer all day.”

“What – not one?”

“Nope – can’t understand it – I made a new card for the door, an’ all.”

“Oh Joe! Your dyslexia will be the death of me!”

 

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With apologies to anyone who suffers from dyslexia - a condition that can impact on all aspects of life.

This week's short story is REALLY short because I couldn't see any way to pad it out without losing the impact of my first draft. To read stories of twice the length written by other Friday Fictioneers and prompted by Rochelle's photo, go to her blog at  https://rochellewisoff.com/

MEANWHILE - may I remind you that the fourth and final book in my LIVING ROCK series, ROCK FESTIVAL, is now available on Amazon, along with the first three - A VOLCANIC RACE, WOLF PACK & LANDSLIDE.  To read an extract, scroll down to my blog dated 28th August. And then buy a copy, read it, enjoy it and LEAVE A REVIEW!! PLEASE!!


3.9.20

BACK THEN - a story in 100 words

 


 BACK THEN

Grandma was always reminiscing about her youth.

Everything was better ‘back then’ – neighbours looked out for each other, you bought food locally and cooked it yourself, roads were safe to walk along, people read books instead of screens.

We’d smile indulgently and go home to order pizza and watch TV.

 Then the plague came. We helped our neighbours, discovering that the village greengrocer stocked more than we realised, and the corner shop always had toilet rolls. We took our exercise along undiscovered lanes, and someone set up a book swap in the bus-stop.

 We were almost sad when it ended.

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Just found ten minutes to write a story to go with CEAyr's image. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioineers so diligently for so many years!  https://rochellewisoff.com

We are in the throes of buying a new kitchen. The one we inherited was installed by the previous tenants themselves, on the cheap, and after two years in this cottage we are still not happy with it. So the time has come - savings aren't earning anything anyway!  Next Monday the contractor moves in to make a proper mess, which in our tiny cottage means we will be eating out for a week, purely in self-defence, you understand.

And one more thing - I HAVE PUBLISHED THE FOURTH AND FINAL BOOK IN MY SERIES!! If you click on the LIVING ROCK blog entry for last week, you can read the prologue, which I hope will encourge you to buy my books, all of which are on Amazon. And if you have already read the first three, click on the book cover top right to buy ROCK FESTIVAL.


28.8.20

LIVING ROCK

 

LIVING ROCK series by LIZ YOUNG

PROLOGUE

Picture the scene – a world dotted with volcanoes and cut by rivers of fire that glow bright gold under a dark sky. Dinosaurs graze and hunt, tiny creatures scuttle, insects zip and pester.

Then a meteor the size of a small moon screams a fiery path through the fume-filled atmosphere and bombs a mile-deep hole into the earth’s surface. A billion tons of pulverized rock fountain skywards and the explosion flings an ellipse of mountains around the crater.

The impact creates a hair-line fissure that zigzags down the continent, and the land immediately spews lava in a frantic effort to weld itself back together. Burning vegetation pours smoke into the thickening atmosphere, the stars vanish, and morning never comes.

All grazing creatures starve and the predators follow them to a premature grave, insects eat their flesh until that, too, is gone, and there is no life left on the face of the earth.

For centuries the world is in darkness. The fissure scabs over in time, and the crater, two hundred miles long and girded by mountains high enough to be ice-clad even in summer, is gradually filled by rain, snow-melt and glaciers until it becomes a vast inland sea, from which three rivers spill south. The dust-cloud settles, and in this deep layer of fertile soil long-dormant seeds crack open, and the earth shines with new green.

Eventually a few fish crawl out of the sea on muscular fins and the slow process of evolution re-starts, but when water seeps into the underground lava-flows, the impatient earth mixes it with minerals to create instant life. Before apes learn to walk upright, a race formed of liquid rock has spread out to inhabit the lands divided by the three main rivers.

Near a tributary of the most easterly of those rivers stands a small mountain which, when viewed from the plain, resembles a recumbent giant. Half-way up its steep side, just where the giant’s mouth appears to be, is a cave...

 ......................................NOW READ ON...............................................................................

This photo of sea-polished pebbles proves there are many more rock colours than brown and grey, just like the Rockmen in my books. If this prologue has piqued your interest, you can buy all four books in the series from Amazon by clicking on these links:

A Volcanic Race: a novel: Volume 1 (Living Rock): Amazon.co.uk: Liz Young: 9781979086578: Books

WOLF PACK (LIVING ROCK): Amazon.co.uk: LIZ YOUNG: 9781790375080: Books

LANDSLIDE: a LIVING ROCK book: Amazon.co.uk: LIZ YOUNG: 9798618061049: Books

ROCK FESTIVAL: a LIVING ROCK BOOK: Amazon.co.uk: YOUNG, LIZ: 9798677548314: Books

I ALSO WRITE A PIECE OF FLASH FICTION EACH WEEK WHICH CAN BE READ FREE ON THIS BLOG. I WOULD BE DELIGHTED TO SEE YOU HERE, AND TO READ YOUR COMMENTS!

26.8.20

FELIPE'S TROUPE


 

FELIPE’S TROUPE


Total darkness in the Big Top – the audience holds its breath, hearts throbbing in time to a syncopated drum-beat.

 A single spotlight ignites a man dancing in a kaleidoscope of red and gold, a second figure leaps into weightless flight onto his shoulders, then a third flies through the air to land like a feather on the flaming tower. The semblance to fire is so vivid the Big Top appears to burn.

 Then the topmost figure somersaults once, twice and off, the stack tumbles and disintegrates gracefully, all three figures bow and the clowns come in.

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I hope you can see these acrobats as clearly as I can see them? Thanks to J Hardy Carrroll for the image and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog.  https://rochellewisoff.com/

I am excited this week to announce that the fourth and last book in my LIVING ROCK series is now available on Amazon. ROCK FESTIVAL, in paperback or ebook format. Follow the link to get your copy.

ROCK FESTIVAL: a LIVING ROCK BOOK: Amazon.co.uk: YOUNG, LIZ: 9798677548314: Books


19.8.20

MY GRANDPARENTS' HOUSE

 


MY GRANDPARENTS’ HOUSE

I have no conscious memory of the house in Victor Harbour where my grandparents lived. Mum tells stories of her brothers sleeping on the veranda, and of me crawling out of the garden one afternoon and being found, after a frantic search, eating fallen kumquats next door.

 But after forty years in England I flew back, and as the perfume of eucalyptus assailed my senses at Adelaide airport, I recognised the land of my birth.

And that house, with its cool inner hall and gingerbread-trimmed veranda, seemed familiar – or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

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This week's image is so reminiscent of the house where my mother grew up that I couldn't write fiction - this piece is 100% autobiographical.

Thanks to Ted Strutz for the memory, and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog. Welcome home, Rochelle - I hope your holiday was restful. X


13.8.20

CARVED HEART - A STORY IN 100 WORDS

 


 CARVED HEART

At preschool, Sam and Josie shared paint-pots and finished each other’s pictures. They weathered the storms of senior school together, and at fourteen pledged eternal love, carving SJ inside a heart on a tree.

Then Josie went to university, promising, “I’ll be back.”

“But you’ll be different,” said Sam, sadly.

Josie became Josephine, MD of a successful company, her photo in the papers, while Sam built houses with his Dad.

Eventually Josie returned. “I should have stayed – we belong together.”

Sam showed her their carved heart, the initials divided by time. “Not any more, Josie – we’ve grown apart.”

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Here we go again with another Friday Fictioneers' image that prompted a 100 word story. I still haven't mastered Blogger's new format - why DO these site insist on changing thigs? - but my thanks still go to Rochelle for hosting us from her seaside holiday spot.

29.7.20

BLUE - a story in a hundred words.

Foreword!

Memory's a funny thing.
I last saw this image in 2013, yet I recognised it instntly, and I also recalled the story I wrote seven years ago - I even remembered the title, so it was easy to find in my archives!
So here it is again, with only a couple of tweaks and no apology - I think it's worth another outing - what's your opinion?

Oh yes, and thanks to Jean L Hays for the photo and Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog.  https://rochellewisoff.com/
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BLUE

If I stand on a chair I can see people through the dolphin window. The postman’s face looks really funny all blue, like an alien. So does Daddy’s, but he turns pink indoors, which is so boring.

When Mummy came home from hospital last week I waved at her, but she didn’t wave back because she was holding our new baby. His face changed to pink in the house too, but I wished it would stay blue like my Smurfs.

Then yesterday Mummy screamed “He’s turning blue!” and the ambulance came.

Did I kill my baby brother with my wish?
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For thos who don't know what they are, this is a Smurf. My children used to collect little plastic models of them, and there are several films.




22.7.20

MY MOTHER'S PAINTBOX - a story in 100 words

MY MOTHER’S PAINTBOX

Mum was never without a project – running up dresses on the Singer, knitting jumpers or darning socks in the evenings.

After we left home, she turned her talents to less mundane pursuits. I still have some exquisite lace she made for a petticoat, two of her wood carvings stand on my windowsill, and she loved painting watercolours.

She said she wouldn’t need her paints in the nursing home, and gave them away, but recently the activities have included painting and she yearned for ‘some decent paints’ – a hint of artistic snobbery resurfacing.

So I bought her another paint-box.

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Not fiction this week - the image reminded me of something so recent that I couldn't think of anythng else in the few minutes I had before rushing off the get my first haircut in six months! Thanks to Rochelle for the photo and for hosting Friday Fictioneers. And now I must dash!   https://rochellewisoff.com/

16.7.20

PASS THE PARCEL - a story in 100 words


PASS THE PARCEL

When the social worker put Josie into my arms she was a silent, smelly little bundle – a two-year-old weighing less than our Christmas turkey. A life of being passed like a parcel between a drug-addict mother and a series of careless minders had almost killed her.

She slept in my bed that night and for months afterwards, gradually emerging from her shell, shrinking back when her feckless mother dropped in, but we fought off the woman’s attempts to reclaim her.

Now she's about to marry Martin – if he doesn’t treat her right he’ll have me to answer to.
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You don't have to be a birth mother to be fiercely protective, as I learned in my earlier life a a foster mother. Even some of my own children's friends became very dear to me.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog   https://rochellewisoff.com/  and to Jean L Hays for the photograph.

9.7.20

KITCHEN SINK DRAMAS - 3 stories in 100 words each

KITCHEN SINK DRAMAS

This week's photograph prompted three stories, two of them also inspired by a friend's recent experience of the strain lockdown can put on relationships. I hope none of them are too close to home for any of my readers.
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KITCHEN SINK DRAMA 1

“I really don’t understand why you did it, after all these years.”
“That’s just it – years of the same irritating little things are like Chinese water torture, drip-drip-dripping until you could scream. At breakfast, for example, leaving the lid off the marmalade, toast crumbs in the butter...”
“I agree that’s annoying, but...”
“Dirty socks on the floor, changing channels without asking...”
“My Jim does that too, but even so...”
“He promised to fix the tap months ago. I was making pastry with that drip getting louder and louder – it was just his bad luck I was holding the rolling pin.”
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KITCHEN SINK DRAMA 2

Molly looked at Sadie in horror. “You’ll have to get married.”
“What – and spend my life chained to the kitchen sink? No way!”
“In my day nice girls saved themselves.”
“We’re not in the Dark Ages now, Mum.”
“Have you told him?”
“Yes – he wants us to get married, but I turned him down. He did this on purpose because I want a career.” Sadie’s voice softened. “It’ll be okay, Mum – you’ll get your grandchild, just not the mother-of-the-bride hat.”
Molly’s eyes strayed to the cupboard where she kept her knitting patterns and Sadie knew she was weakening.
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 KITCHEN SINK DRAMA 3

Belinda put his plate in front of Dennis – three bacon rashers exactly in line with two perfectly-browned sausages, crisp fried bread cut into meticulous triangles, the egg trimmed to a neat circle. She poured his tea and started the washing up – Dennis hated eating with used pans in sight.

His shout startled her, “This is dirty!” and a knife whizzed past her head to land in the bowl, cutting her hand. A bubble of rage burst in Belinda’s chest and, without conscious thought, she threw it back, watching with detached interest its slow-motion flight towards her husband.
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So there you have it, folks! My first impression of the photo was that it was of my own kitchen, but in fact it has more cupboards than mine, and any resemblance to my own home life is purely accidental. Thank you if you have read all three - feel free to state a preference - and apologies to Rochelle for breaking the 100 word rule - I don't do it often. :)


2.7.20

ON THE HUNT - a story in 100 words


ON THE HUNT

He sits slumped in the outpatients’ department like a fly-tipped sack in a side road. Drunk, or high on something, though it looks more low than high – a life out of control.
Alone.
I sit beside him, inhaling the sour, unwashed smell like perfume.
A nurse asks, “You with him?” Hopeful.
I shrug. “Sort of.” Non-committal.
She shines a light in his eyes. “He’ll live.” Looks round the crowded Saturday night room and sighs. “Take him home.”
I scrawl an illegible signature, heave him upright. “Come on, mate.”
The nurse moves on, he's forgotten already.
He’s mine now.
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Control was the word that sprang out of this otherwise unremarkable scene, though as it was Canada Day yesterday and my youngest lives over there with his Canadian wife and daughters, I was reminded of the wide Canadian roads and traffic signs waaaay up high - very strange to my English eyes. I guess they have to be that high up because the trucks are so enormous!
Thanks to Na'ama Yehuda for the photograph and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog, from whence you can follow the frog link to read other stories.  https://rochellewisoff.com/

24.6.20

NUMBER ONE - a story in 100 words.


NUMBER ONE

Sean took over the business from his father when he was twenty, after working his way up from sweeping the floor, so when the pandemic forced a shut-down he was devastated. No money coming in and rent still going out – a disaster.
As the rules slowly relaxed he bought masks and gloves, deep-cleaned the premises, posted a notice.

On The Big Day there was a long queue – his clients hadn’t deserted him after all. Unwilling to turn anyone away, he let them in four at a time, shampooed them quickly and sped along the line, giving every head a number one.
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I have literally no idea what Todd Foltz'a photo is, but to me it looks like a line of bald heads. Once that idea was in my mind, the rest was easy - possibly fuelled by the fact that today I made a hair appointmentfor the first time in months.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting us on her blog, https://rochellewisoff.com/

18.6.20

WINDOWS - a story in 100 words


WINDOWS

     Looking out of this window I am twenty again, in my first flat, swallowing tears and trying not to admit I’m homesick to Dad, who is fixing my aerial. I might stay here all day.
Yesterday’s window was open to Mediterranean air, the rattle of palm leaves in the breeze and click of cicadas.
Tomorrow – who knows? As long as my memory still functions I can be anywhere I choose. Anywhere other than here.

I always imagined my last sight on this earth would be my children’s faces, not bare white walls, zigzag lines on a screen, and masked strangers.
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I'm still here, still fighting, still writing - though not as much as I should, but this pandemic seems to have frozen some of my brain! One bright note is that I am now in a bubble with my daughter and granddaughter, and was able yesterday to pick our five-year-old up from school, bring her home with me, and dig potatoes. Simple joys make life worth living.
This week's photo prompt took me to a darker place, somewhere I hope not to experience personally, but I know people who have been there.
Thanks to Rochelle for the photo and for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/