OVIDUCT - Flash fiction

OVIDUCT

The entrance beckoned across the dinosaur theme park – gentle curves in the warm white of a breakfast egg. The children clamoured, so I paid the entry fee.

I walked easily through the first two arches, but when the third one touched my hair I felt a frisson of unease. 

“Wait for me!” I called, but they scampered ahead, and by the time I’d ducked through arches four and five they were nowhere to be seen. Childish giggles drew me further in until I was crawling on hands and knees.

When I couldn’t even force my shoulders through, the screaming started.

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I'm late on parade this week. I had my second cataract operation on Tuesday, and at the moment I'm managing with off-the-shelf reading glasses.

Today's prompt photo was taken by Dale Rogerson and posted by Rochelle on her blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/  You can follow the Blue Frog link from there to read other stories, after you've commented on mine, of course. Thank you.

STRIKE - a 100 word story

STRIKE

I promised her she’d regret leaving me, so when I’d collected enough pills I dissolved them in my morning coffee. Bloody doctors and a stomach-pump put paid to that plan.

I faint at the sight of blood, so knives are out of the question, I’ve no idea where to buy a gun, and the gates to the canal towpath were locked.

So here I am on this railway bridge, sitting with my legs dangling over the edge, waiting for a train, and I’ve just remembered the drivers’ strike. Who would have thought it would be so flaming difficult to commit suicide?

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Another story prompted by a photograph on Rochelle's blog  https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ , from whence you can follow the link to read how other Friday Fictioneers interpreted  C E Ayr's photo.

THE MILLS OF GOD

THE MILLS OF GOD

Each of Dusty Miller's first two wives had drowned in the mill-race. Tragic accidents, he claimed – they’d slipped on the steps whilst drawing water – but his temper was legendary and people had seen the bruises. 

After failing to find a third wife locally, he settled for a woman he met in the town tavern.

The first time Dusty raised his fist she ducked. The second time she struck back. There never was a third time. Somehow his smock became trapped in the machinery – they had to scrape him off the wheel to bury him.

Missus Miller III was strangely dry-eyed at his funeral.

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'The mills of God grind slowly / Yet they grind exceeding small / Though with patience He stands waiting, / With exactness grinds He all '  

On seeing this week's prompt photo, the 'Mills of God' sprang instantly to my mind - If you've never heard the quote, this link will explain it.  http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/2000/l/long52.html

Thanks to https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for hosting Friday Fictioneers. a link from her blog will take you to a list of other FF writers whose 100 word stories were also prompted by Sandra Crook's photograph..

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL THE KIND PEOPLE WHO READ AND COMMENT ON MY BLOG.

NIGHT BUS - a 100 word mystery

NIGHT BUS

Since Dave vanished weeks ago George was the only one left and he’d already been beaten up twice – sleeping alone was dangerous.

It was past midnight when a bus stopped and a voice called, “Free ride, mate?” Light obscured its destination but George didn’t hesitate. As he stepped aboard, the door shut so fast he lost his belongings, but then Dave emerged from the glistening mists that filled the interior and handed him a bottle. “Wondered if you’d be next.”

George drank deep, tasting strange flavours. “Have you been here all this time?”

“All what time?”

George stared. Too late - the bus was moving.

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Thanks to Rochelle at https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for the photo prompt. The picture was taken by Shaktiki Sharma and I'm not sure what it is, but the configuration of lights made me think of a double decker bus! 

This is the worst time of year for rough sleepers - far too cold and too many drunken revellers - so perhaps one cannot blame Gerorge and Dave for taking a leap into the unknown. 

CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE DINER

SAME PICTURE, DIFFERENT STORY!
I wasn't totally satisfied with my first response to this week's Friday Fictioneers' photo prompt, so here's another story. Do feel free to scroll down and read the other two stories I've posted this week.


CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE DINER

Sally’s feet ached. Christmas Eve had been a long, hard slog.

Lorry drivers had merely grabbed a burger without leaving a tip, every family had brought over-excited, noisy children, and someone had thrown up in the toilets.

The moment the last customer left, Sally grabbed the keys to lock up – with luck she’d be home before midnight – but just then a couple stumbled out of the darkness.

“Don’t lock us out,” the man pleaded, “My wife’s in labour,” and as Sally held the door open for them, one brilliant star came to rest in the night sky over the diner.

NOT ALL SANTAS

NOT ALL SANTAS

I still believed in Santa until he took off his red outfit that time and hurt me – my own Pa – but this year I couldn’t face Christmas again so I packed my bag and quit

I almost didn’t get into Brad’s truck when I saw his Santa hat, but I was more afraid of Pa catching me, so I chanced it.

Then Brad stopped at this diner and bought me dinner and I thought, Here it comes – payment time, but he just showed me photos and talked about what he’d bought for his kids.

Not all Santas are monsters after all.

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Finding a Christmas story to fit the photo prompt wasn't easy this year, but I've managed it. Also if you scroll down you will find a slightly longer Christmas story I wrote at the weekend. 

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 writers interpreted Roger Bultot's photograph.

Please leave comments on my stories before you go, and I wish you all a very Happy Christmas, and Happy Holidays to those of different faiths or none.

IF IT HAPPENED NOW

IF IT HAPPENED NOW - A STORY FOR CHRISTMAS

“What’s up, babe? Your latte’s getting cold.”

“I’ve gone off coffee, Joe – get me an orange juice instead.”

Joe returned from the counter wearing a worried frown, “You’ve been moody all week and now you’ve gone off coffee – are you breaking up with me?”

Mary couldn’t meet his soft brown eyes. “You might want to dump me when I tell you – I’m having a baby.”

“I’m going to be a dad? That’s brilliant!”

“It’s not yours.” The words dropped like a stone between them and Joe leapt up so violently that other customers stared. “Whose is it then? I thought you loved me.”

Mary shrugged helplessly. “I do love you, Joe, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“You mean someone forced you? I’ll bloody kill him!”

“It wasn’t like that. This angel turned up and told me God’s been watching me and decided I’m the right one to have His baby. The angel said this baby will save the world one day.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” Joe’s voice dripped scorn.

Mary shrank back in her seat, her hands protecting her belly, and a tear trickled down her cheek. “I’m having a hard time believing it myself, but it’s the truth. I’m dreading telling Mum and Dad.”

Joe sat down slowly and wiped her tears with his calloused carpenter’s thumbs, “I can’t deny it’s a bit of a shock, Mary,” he said gently, “But I love you and we’ll work it out.” He grinned suddenly. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”

Written for no particular reason other than the need to do so! Leave a comment if you'd like to, and I wish you a very Happy Christmas. Thank you for staying with me and reading my blog through the year. Lizy.