THE HOUSE ON FULTON - a 100 word story

THE HOUSE ON FULTON

The photograph had obviously been in the agent’s window for months, and normally we would never have considered Fulton, but if we didn’t find somewhere soon our buyer would drop out.

When we saw the shabby house on the run-down street my heart sank, but I said to Maria, “It’s got a garden for the kids - and it’s all I can afford.”

She gave me one of her looks and climbed the porch steps, but then she turned to the agent and said, “We’ll take it - it has a happy front door.”

 I will never understand women.

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Happy New Year to everyone!  This first post of 2016 is another entry to the Friday Fictioneers, prompted by the photograph from https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  Follow the Blue Frog trail from Rochelle's blog to read what other bloggers have made of the picture.

WASHER - a story in 100 words

This week's story is a short kitchen sink drama - a warning ahead of Christmas to be careful what you say!
Thanks as always to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her own blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  and also for the photo - I wonder if that's her own kitchen?  Follow the Bloe Frog trail from her blog to read other takes on the ptompt.

WASHER

“That tap’s driving me mad,” Julie complained, plonking toast on Andy’s plate and pouring mugs of tea.

“I said I’d fix it after the match,” he growled, “Stop bloody nagging.”

“It’s dripped for weeks,” Julie protested, “But everything has to wait for your precious football.”

Andy’s fist shot out and scalding tea soaked Julie’s sleeve. She rushed to the sink for cold water but the tap came off in her hand, and as the flood spread Andy yelled, “Fetch my tools!”

Julie ran to the door, only pausing to throw the electric toaster into the rapidly growing pool around his feet.

SCANDAL - a 100 word story

SCANDAL

The scandal broke on Tuesday and whizzed around the town at the speed of sound. Sandra from Glebe Close was having it off with Dave Wilson, and there were photographs on Facebook as proof.

This was infinitely more exciting than the recent speculation about the parrot that had been spotted flying around in erratic circles, and the flood of calls to the animal rescue centre dwindled to a trickle as people discussed the latest Glebe Close developments with shocked delight.

Who had taken the photographs was a complete mystery – until the parrot drone crashed into the plate-glass window of the supermarket.

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Thanks to Rochelle who hosts Friday Fictioneers on her blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ and this week to Luther Siler for the photograph that prompts my story and scores of others, which you will find if you follow the Blue Frog trail on Rochelle's site.

EMAIL TO THE BUILDER - 100 word story

EMAIL to HYDDEN HOLMES : Our ref: New Build No:3847

Sirs

We are in receipt of your final invoice for the above property, which we will only settle when you have completed the work to our satisfaction.

Your architectural drawings showed an idyllic rural setting, not this urban wasteland in the shadow of high-rise offices, and the admittedly well-constructed underground dwelling is ruined by the stench of sewage which indicates a serious malfunction in the extraction system.

The major problem is with the access. In view of recent world events, we ordered the Deluxe version with concealed entrance which, from the attached photograph, it is clear you have failed to deliver.

Regards.

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Yet another swiftly-written story, prompted by the photo taken by Roger Bultot and posted on Rochelle's blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  for Friday Fictioneers.  To read how other writers interpreted the photo, follow the Blue Frog trail on her blog.

A PATH MUCH TRAVELLED - a 100 word story

A PATH MUCH TRAVELLED

Jack and Jill went up the hill, via the chalk path which had been worn deep into the headland by generations of courting couples, in search of a warm, unoccupied hollow.

Jill’s mother watched them go, her arms stilled in soap-suds. Twenty years ago she’d climbed that path with her boyfriend, and consequently her dreams of escaping her home town were shattered. She returned to her chores, praying that Jill would be more careful.

Jack’s father, on his boat in the bay, smiled at remembered passion and then returned to his nets, hoping the boy would remember to use a condom.

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I feel obliged to mention that, although two of my four children were unplanned, they were all equally welcomed and loved.

Thanks to Sandra Crook for the photo that prompts this week's ventures into flash fiction by the members of the Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle, who is the recently-published author of Please Say Kaddish For Me. Follow the Blue Frog trail from her blog at https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  to read dozens of other sotries.

BRAIN DRAIN - a 100 word story

BRAIN DRAIN

Howard’s family owned the local mill and he was educated at Eton. He was an intellectual snob, so the town was amazed when he married Sally from the butcher’s.

All too soon the sexual fervour wore thin and Howard began to regret marrying beneath him. He constantly criticised Sally’s accent, grammar, and celebrity magazines, but when he banned her television soaps she snapped.

She butchered the body expertly. Howard ‘pork’ sold well and his ribs roasted on many barbecues that weekend. Sally flushed the more identifiable scraps down the toilet, including the brain that had caused her so much grief.

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Thanks as always to Rochelle for hosting Friday Ficitoneers, a group of around 100 people who write 100-word storied each week prompted by a phtograph.

This week's photo comes from C E Ayr. To read other stories go to https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  and follow the blue frog trail.

BOYS WILL BE BOYS - a 100 word story for Armistice Day

BOYS WILL BE BOYS

“Your boys should be more respectful,” old Cyril grumbled to the new vicar, “Graveyards aren’t playgrounds.”

“All those dead grandparents probably enjoy their laughter,” Peter retorted, but at teatime he told his sons they must play elsewhere.

“But the others will miss us!” Harry cried.

 Peter was puzzled. ”I’ve not seen anyone else with you.”

“He means the old ones,” Ben explained, “The boys who played here before.”

“Before when?” Peter asked carefully.

“Before they went away, of course. Their names are on that pillar by the gate.” He raised innocent eyes to his father. “Are they dead too?”

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Thanks to https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to J Hardy Carroll for the photo that prompts this week's story. 

Follow the link on Rochelles blog to read many other takes on the photograph.

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You may have noticed I've been absent for a month. This is because we have moved back to England after nearly sixteen years living in Tenerife, and such a move was bound to take up all my energy!

Now we are settled in a flat in our old village, and as I am no longer an expat I have changed the name of my blog to http://lizy-writes.blogspot.co.uk/ .

 So if you're a regular follower, please adjust your search accordingly - I should hate to lose you.