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/

FLIGHT - 100 word flash fiction

FLIGHT

Father said they wouldn’t come this way, but this morning we could no longer ignore the thunder of guns.

“Ten minutes!” Grandfather roared, and like hens we scattered, gathering food, clothes, and suddenly precious things – mother’s mixing bowl, father’s books, my doll – and piled into the motorcars.

We could actually see the enemy when we reached the ferry.

“Everyone!” Grandfather ordered, and all, from eighty to eight, hauled on the rough rope, bullets hitting the leather seats to prove that our lives depended on speed.

As Father’s axe cut the rope I cooled my burning palms in mud. Mother scolded but she was smiling.

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My regular readers may recognise this week's photo prompt, taken by Al Forbes, as it was used on Friday Fictioneers last year, but this is a completely new story. If you'd like to read what I wrote before you can find it archived in February 2016.

Thanks to Rochelle @ https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for hosting FF - follow the link on her blog to read many other and vastly different stories.

Oh - and welcome to James, who has become my 100th follower - check out his blog @  http://jthargreaves.blogspot.com/  for longer short stories.

EL HIERRO PIRATAS

You may remember I have blogged several times about El Hierro, the smallest of the Canary Islands that recently had an undersea volcano erupting two kilometres off its coast.
They have been struggling to survive ever since. The fish stocks have dwindled or fled the contaminated sea, decimating the income of the fishermen. Diving schools, that are another main source of income on the island, were also badly hit, though they are recovering since the ban on approaching the now quiet volcano has been lifted, but their economy is still fragile.
It wasn't helped when the ferry company Armas announced it would no longer be going there because the route was losing money.
So last week the Mayor (whose name is Armas, oddly enough) and fifteen other El Hierro politicians took matters into their own hands and prevented the ferry from loading. Eventually the boat sailed. The Captain radioed ahead to say he had "several stowaways on board." and asking for the Policia to meet the boat. The politicians were referred to in the press as "Piratas". They seem to have talked their way out of being arrested - politicians are good at that.
Someone arranged with Fred Olsen to take the abandoned goods to El Hierro in one of his ferries, and he began talks with the Canarian Government about taking over the route.

Surprise, surprise! Armas Ferries have now decided they might be able to see their way clear to operating a service after all.

The yellow tree I commented on three days ago was buzzing this morning. There must have been a bee on every twig and the ground underneath was bright yellow with fallen blossom. I wonder what the honey tastes like?

And this is the latest photo of the cactus, with my hand to demonstrate the scale of the bud that is growing fast.