SUSHI - a 100 word story

SUSHI

Kura hadn’t wanted to retire to the country, yet here they were.

Each morning Shin sat on the wall, fishing in the pond, his temper worsening as his efforts yielded nothing. Meanwhile Kura cleaned her spotless house, yearning for the sticky handprints of her grandchildren.

One day she bought a fish still gasping on the fishmonger’s slab and raced home to throw it in the pond. Shin caught it the next day and ordered Kura to prepare sushi, which she did with careful fingers.

A week later she poured Shin’s ashes into the pond and returned to the city.

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Thanks to Rochelle for posting C E Ayr's lovely photo on her blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  from where you can follow a link to read how other members of Friday Fictioneers interpreted the prompt.

SHOPPING - a 100 word story

SHOPPING

“I don’t need it,” I said, grabbing my backpack. “I’ll be five minutes – it’s only round the corner.”

I gave Mum a kiss – I’m glad about that – and as I went I was thinking what to get for her birthday. She likes Milk Tray and Dad doesn’t, and I’d just decided to get her a box when this enormous truck appeared out of nowhere. Then there were sirens and red-hot pain and now this corridor. It doesn’t look much like a hospital.

I should have listened to Mum and worn my helmet – she’s going to be so mad at me.

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Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog -  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  . To read other stories prompted by the same photograph, follow the links on there.

STAIRCASE TO HEAVEN - Flash fiction

STAIRCASE TO HEAVEN

As the afternoon sun slid towards evening, the starburst of light rose up the tower wall enticingly.

“It’ll be an amazing view,” the twins urged, but neither parent fancied the climb after a day of sightseeing.

“You go – we’ll be in the cafė,” Phil said. They watched from below as the two silhouettes shrank, four childish hands playing catch with the quivering reflections. 

Other eyes watched from above.

“It looks like a staircase to Heaven,” Jane remarked before heading for tea and cake and a nice sit down.

But appearances can be deceptive – Hell isn’t always underground.

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Why this lovely photograph taken by Roger Bultot prompted me to write this story is a mystery even to me. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  from whence you can follow the link to read how other wirters interpreted the photo.

SLEEPING BEAUTY - a ghost story

SLEEPING BEAUTY

When old Maureen died, her long-absent nephew searched fruitlessly for her rumoured fortune and departed, cursing.

For years the cottage slept within its thorn thicket, guarded by savage nettles, while Maureen waited with the patience of the grave.

Then Clare saw the mossy roof from the road, fell in love, and bought it. Cheerfully they scythed the jungle, cleaned the windows, stripped wallpaper, and built a fire. When smoke belched into Clare’s face she merely laughed and poked a stick up the chimney to clear it.

Out fell a tin box.

Maureen’s ghost smiled with satisfaction – finally, a worthy successor!

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I have just returned from visiting my daughter who, with her husband, has bought a cottage in Northern Ireland. They had to chop down man-high undergrowth to reach it, and they've got their work cut out for months to come, but they're loving it. Hence this story, prompted by a different fireplace. Thanks to Shaktiki Sharma for the photo and to Rochelle at  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  for hosting Friday Fictioneers.

This is the NI cottage - its owners consider they've already found their treasure.

YELLOW DRESS - flash fiction

YELLOW DRESS

The whirr of Mum’s Singer was a constant rhythm as I played on the rag rug, sorting her buttons, so naturally I chose Needlework at school.

We progressed agonisingly slowly from aprons to peg-bags to pencil-cases with concealed zips, but finally we were allowed to make a dress for the end-of-term social. I bought bright yellow cotton - although Miss Clutterbuck thought ‘young girls should wear pastels’.

In the evenings, to the heady rhythms of ‘Six-Five Special’, I sewed a shirt-waister with huge black buttons from Mum’s button-box, and at the social I glowed like a sunflower – a pastel wallflower no longer.

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This week's photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers plunged me into reminiscence and nostalgia, so thanks to Sandra Crook for the photo and Rochelle for hosting us so indefatiguably on her blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/

I shall be in Northern Ireland over the next few days with family, so please don't be offended if I am slow to respond to your comments. Oh, and I must extend a warm welcome to Perry who became my 100th 'follower' this week. :)

SOUL CLUSTER - flash fiction in 100 words

SOUL CLUSTER

“Fifty people lived there,” the man said, “Including my family.”

The camera crew began filming as the reporter asked, “In that small house?”

“We couldn’t use the house – we lived in the cellar. “

“All those months?”

“More than a year.”

“What did you eat?”

“Dogs, rats, even grass. And there are always cockroaches.”

“No-one can live on that.”

“Many didn’t. My mother died first, and then the babies, but a bomb got them all in the end.”

“All except you.”

“I was fetching water. It is a small comfort to know that their souls reached heaven together.”

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Thanks to Rochelle for posting Vijaya Sundaram's photo on her blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  To read other interpretations of this photo, follow the blue frog link from there.

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.