ISLAND PICNIC - a 100 word story

ISLAND PICNIC

When Tom was young his parents used to take him over the reed-bed to picnic in the summer-house.

“Walk quietly,” his father would warn, “Don’t wake the troll,” and Tom would tiptoe across in delighted terror.

Later, Tom played the troll game with his own children, and even his worldly-wise grandchildren trod softly over the bridge.

One afternoon, at an island picnic, Tom collapsed. His sons raced homewards carrying him, their footsteps loud on the bridge, and they were halfway across when a massive arm reached up and snatched the body.

 “It’s what Tom would have wanted,” they said at his coffin-less wake.

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Firstly I am proud to tell you that I have had a poem accepted for World Poetry Day, which you can read under the 'Melting Pot' tab on Liz Brownlee's blog at:  https://messagepoemstotheplanet.wordpress.com/
Secondly I would like to say 'Welcome' to another two followers who have appeared out of the blue - thank you for your interest in my blog!

And thirdly, this week's photo was taken by Adam Ickes. I remember the photo, so presumably I have written a story about it before, but I can't remember when or what, so here's a new one! The prompt was posted for Friday Fictioneers on Rochelle's blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  To read other stories, follow the Blue Frog trail from there.

BLUEBELLS and a 100 word story

I have spent the past two weeks in England visiting family. I won't bore you with the details except to say that roughly 60 people attended my granddaughter's christening, and about two-thirds of those were related to the baby!

Spring in England is glorious, and especially so in Sussex and the South Downs. One lovely morning I went with my two daughters, their husbands and the baby to admire the bluebells around Ditchling Pond, and this photograph prompted my first 100 word story of the month.

TROLL

 They peered over the rail, trying to locate the source of the sound.

“I told you to tiptoe across,” Mandy scolded, “Now you’ve woken it up.”

“Nonsense - that was only a frog.” Alan raised a chauvinistic eyebrow at Jon and they stamped their feet defiantly.

“Stop it!” Debs pleaded, “I’ve just got her to sleep,” but it was too late. As Millie began to whimper, Debs wheeled the buggy away towards the bluebell field. Mandy treated the lads to a withering glance and followed her sister.

“Women’s hormones,” Jon scoffed, just as a huge hairy hand grabbed his ankle.