PARTING - A story in 100 words

PARTING

PARTING

“I’m sorry,” he said, “It isn’t you – I just can’t do it.”

“But why?” she wailed, willing herself not to cry – he hated tears – “What will we tell people?”

“It’s no-one else’s business.” He stood abruptly, knocking his chair over as he slammed out of the diner. She grabbed her bag to follow, but the waitress called, “That’ll be five dollars,” and when she ran outside he was a hundred yards away. She held her breath as he crossed the tracks just ahead of the engine.

In the interminable five minutes it took for the wagons to pass, he had vanished.

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This may be the last FF post I do for a week or two - Blogger have forced a new format on me which I loathe. For one thing I can't get rid of the underline in draft, though it isn't there in the preview, and although I've opted for black type it's blue in draft and a horrid pale green on the preview! So when the weather - and my temper - cools down a little I shall be fighting technology. Grrr!

TWO GIRLS TALKING - a story in exactly 100 words

This story has been simmering since yesterday but that was also my husband's birthday, so cake-making had to take precedence. It does seem that if I don't get my story out on Wednesday I don't receive nearly so many comments, but that's life, I guess.
Thanks to Dale for the photo and to Rochelle for running the entire Friday Fictioneers shebang on her blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/
ps. I do hope this actually IS a baseball pitch - not being American or Canadian I can only surmise!
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TWO GIRLS TALKING                                    

‘How’s the big romance going?’

‘All he thinks about is baseball. Our dates consist of holding hands on a hard wooden bench – I’ve had so many splinters my behind looks like a pincushion.’

‘So tell him you want to be taken out for a romantic meal.’

‘Didn’t you see the photo? It was all over Facebook – I nearly died of embarrassment – a table smack bang in the middle of the pitch.’

‘At least he’d made the effort to carry it out there – and getting the pizza delivered can’t have been easy.’

‘Huh! There wasn’t even a candle on the table!’

ADVENT CALENDAR - DAY TWELVE

Today's Flash Fiction is two separate stories from my archives, linked with another. Apart from changing the names of couple one and three to match the new middle chapter, the stories remain as they were - only the middle one is new. If you've followed all that, read on...

D.I.Y. 

CHAPTER ONE

“It feels like we’ll never be finished.” Julie straightened up from chasing in an electric cable and gestured at the tasks still remaining. Mark murmured sympathy, but they both knew DIY was the only way they could afford their own home.

Spending every weekend working on the house left no time or energy for romance, but Julie was still hurt that Mark had forgotten their anniversary. Until she opened their new front door to the sight of a candlelit picnic table, and Mark ushered her to a packing-case seat.

 CHAPTER TWO

“Get your idle bum off that sofa and cut the grass!” Julie yelled.

Mark sighed theatrically, but he plugged the lawn-mower into the kitchen socket and started up the machine.

Julie was making tea when the fuse blew. Mark stormed through to the fuse box and flipped the trip-switch back on. “Where’s the toolbox? I ran over the cable.”

“Unplug the mower before you touch it.”

“No need - I know what I’m doing, woman.”

Julie stood motionless, counting to ten. When Mark screamed she waited several seconds before she pulled out the plug.

CHAPTER THREE

Mark was building a fence - to stop old Mrs Williams sticking her nose in their business - when Julie brought him a mug of tea.

He gulped a mouthful, spluttered, “Stupid bitch - no sugar!” and swung his fist, forgetting the hammer until it was too late. Acting quickly, he drove into the forest to bury her body deep, then went home and finished the fence. 

When Mrs Williams asked after Julie, he said she had run away, but the old lady suspected otherwise. 

So did the police. Two months later the mushroom spores he’d carried home on his boots put Mark in jail.

THEIR OWN HOME - flash fiction on Good Friday

To wish you all a Happy Easter, here is a happy story prompted by Ted Strutz's photograph posted on  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/
To read stories by other members of Friday Fictioneers from around the world, follow the Blue Frog trail from Rochelle's blog.

THEIR OWN HOME

“It feels like we’ll never be finished.” Julie straightened up from chasing in an electric cable and gestured at the tasks still remaining. Mark murmured sympathy, but they both knew DIY was the only way they could afford their own home.

Living with parents, working all day, then spending evenings and weekends on the house left no time or energy for romance, but Julie was bitterly disappointed when Mark forgot their anniversary.

Until she opened their new front door to the sight of a candlelit picnic table and a mass of flowers arranged with Mark’s unique sense of humour.

SHIPWRECKED! a 100-word story

A peculiar photo prompt this week for Friday Fictioneers from Rochelle
http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/
It reminded me of mejillones en salsa. Other writers saw different things and thus there are a variety of stories which you can read by following the link on Rochelle's blog.

SHIPWRECKED!

Kyle and Dana lay surrounded by the wreckage of their boat, victims of a freak wave.

Kyle spat seawater. “Where are we?”

“No idea, but GPS will find us – let’s enjoy our own desert island.”

They sunbathed and swam naked on their tiny atoll. They drank rainwater and ate shellfish, made love under the palm trees, but after four days and no sign of rescue the romance palled.

It took them a week to fell a tree, another week to make a raft and fill coconut shells with water.

When the rescuers came, all they found were mussel shells.