BURNING THE PASSPORTS - and TRAVELLING - TWO stories in 100 words each.

BURNING THE PASSPORTS

It was supposed to be a day of relaxation – drive into the French countryside, eat moules in a tree-shaded cafė, stock up with goodies and head home.

It was dark when we zigzagged through burning tyres, dodging masked men brandishing weapons.

“They only stop lorries,” Dave said, just before a torch blinded him and the door was wrenched open. Not a gendarme in sight as our wine hit the road and two men squeezed into the boot.

“We have guns,” they said, “Drive.”

If we don’t end up in prison I’m burning our passports.

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And here's another story in a much lighter vein - two for the price of one this week!
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TRAVELLING

I was happy in that quiet close – trees for shade, some lovely flowers, and the cats kept the birds at a respectful distance. The furthest we travelled was to a local market – nothing too adventurous, until we went on a day trip to France.

Miles on the motorway, far too fast – anything over fifty upsets my digestion. Then, after hours in a smelly ship, we’re driving on the wrong side of the road!

The moment we got home I moved out. The people next door never go anywhere – I’ll be much safer living behind their wing mirror.

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One of the treats I looked forward to when we returned to England was a day trip to France such as we used to enjoy in the 1990s. Though the news reports are no doubt exaggerated, with the turmoil that fills our present world, the very idea now fills me with dread.

The second tale? Well, that cobweb appears with predictable regularity on my car, and on one occasion I actually spotted the spider nipping back behind the mirror. Which I can't take out, so he stays, living an exciting life in the fast lane and catching flying insects in his seine net.

These stories were prompted by Ted Strutz's photo posted on Rochelle's blog for Friday Fictioneers. To read other stories, follow the links from  https://rochellewisoff.com/

CAYUCO - a 100 word story

CAYUCO

A fishing boat spotted the ninth cayuco of the year wallowing in the trough between massive full-moon waves, its occupants’ faces grey with sickness and terror.

Tourists took photographs as people struggled up stone steps to policia and medicos, silver blankets and bottled water on the harbour wall. There were disbelieving gasps when another layer was revealed – second-class passengers under the feet of the first, their hair and clothing soaked in brine and vomit.

Just one woman remained, searching desperately through the filth until she found, wedged beneath the lowest seat, a bundle that had stopped crying hours before they sighted land.

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The above photograph, taken by Georgia Koch, is this week's prompt for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. When you've left a comment on my story (please!) you can read other writers' interpretations by following the Blue Frog link from her blog 

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/

My story is based on fact. When we lived in Tenerife I witnessed similar scenes in  Las Galletas, the village where I shopped - these photos were taken at sea and on the beach there.

THE SHOE - flash fiction for the weekend

I am back at home! Two weeks in Canada was long enough to get to know my fifteen-month-old granddaughter, but not nearly long enough to be close to her and her parents. Skype is wonderful, if you can work out a mutually acceptable time with a five hour time difference, but I shall miss the cuddles.
Now I am home I can ease back into the routine of being around my UK-based family and, of course, of writing.
This week's photograph for Friday Fictioneers was taken by Rochelle herself and posted on her blog https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  Follow the Blue Frog link from there to read stories from other Friday Fictioneers. After you've read mine - and left a comment if you can!

THE SHOE

We were on a half-term break, walking along a beach, when Alice ran up to me. “Look what I found, Mum!”

It lay in her hand, soggy and salt-encrusted – a small shoe with a barely legible name written inside – an Arabic name on an Italian beach.

I write Alice’s name in her shoes too, but the fear of losing clothes at school hadn’t been this mother’s worst nightmare.

“Why are you crying, Mum?”

I shook my head helplessly and Alice ran off again. 

How do you begin to explain such tragedy to a five year old?

IMMIGRANT - a 100 word story

IMMIGRANT

The Boss had driven away and the shelves hummed as the assembled devices watched the big screen, waiting for Mac to blink into life. Finally he spoke.

“Fellow workers – Management has betrayed us again by importing foreign goods!”

Laptops flashed angry kaleidoscopes and some of the smaller tablets peeped in distress. Mac hushed them with an impatient growl and continued.

“These inferior devices should never have been allowed to enter the country. They are sure to carry viruses which will contaminate our network.”

He indicated the desk where a small mouse trembled. “And to add insult to injury, they’re coloured!”

Thanks again to https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for the above photo which prompted my odd little story-with-a-moral this week.

For those who have been following my recent news, we have found a flat and will be moving into it in two weeks. All being well. DV. Fingers crossed!