BROKEN - a story in 90 words.

BROKEN

I knew as I walked up the path – the very air hummed with violation. I turned the key on an unresisting lock and my feet crunched as I stepped inside.

My art speaks uncomfortable truths, but never before has it incited violence. The shrouded mummy of my lost childhood stood useless guard over a month’s work reduced to rubble, and my latest work had been turned upside-down – the ultimate insult.

I swept up carefully, saving broken pieces to re-use.

My next work already has its name.

I will not be silenced.

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A bit of a weird this week - I'm not sure where this piece came from, but it wrote itself in ten minutes. 
Thanks to Rochelle for the image - I hope this didn't happen to her!

NIGHT BUS - a story in a hundred words

This week's Friday Fictioneers image reminded me instantly of a story I wrote three years ago, so I adapted it to use again. I have a busy few days coming up so I hope you will forgive the repetition!

NIGHT BUS

After Dave vanished, George was alone and scared – rough sleeping was dangerous. He was huddled in his doorway when a bus stopped and a voice called, “Free ride, mate?”

Bright lights obscured its destination but George stepped aboard into welcoming warmth. The door snapped shut, leaving his belongings outside, but Dave emerged from the misty interior and handed him a bottle. “Wondered when you’d be along.”

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

“All what time?” Dave’s voice was vague, his eyes empty.

George turned to get off, but the bus was already moving.

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RONDA - a true story in one hundred words.

In Great Britain we drive on the left, so we turn left at a roundabout, not right. This photograph reminded me so strongly of my years spent living abroad that I had to write about it, so here is my own piece of potted history - every word of it is true!

RONDA

We were living in Tenerife when the Cabildo introduced rondas. Many locals had never seen a roundabout, let alone driven round one.

 The first instructions in newspapers were wrong and had to be amended. Leaflets appeared in letterboxes, posters in supermarkets, there were endless discussions in bars.

Then, suddenly they were here.

Wise people stayed off the roads for a while, but others had jobs to get to, or shopping to do, and had no choice. There were countless accidents, many gesticulating arguments, a few deaths.

Years later the local drivers still hadn’t learned that a roundabout wasn’t a parking zone.

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Thanks as ever to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers, and to C E Ayr for the photo which brought back so many memories. To read other FF stories, click on the frog on https://rochellewisoff.com/

IN STORAGE - a story in 100 words

IN STORAGE

My family sold everything to send me abroad, where the agent promised I would earn good wages, a hundred times more than was possible at home.

The lorry driver packed us into crates like chickens, where we took turns breathing through the air-hole, but when we felt the sea beneath us we were happy. We heard English voices as a fork-lift moved our crates, then others were placed around us, more above us, we heard metal shutters closing, then silence.

My phone is dying, so this is my final message.

Tell my family I’m sorry.

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J Hardy Carroll's photo might be of a simple storage facility, but to me it looks sinister. Whenever I see images of those enormous ships with containers stacked high on deck, I wonder how many poor deluded souls are hidden inside one. I am inflicted with too much imagination! Thanks as ever to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/

REHEARSAL - a story in 100 words

I'm not sure what this building is - a synagogue without the Star of David, perhaps? A church or Masonic temple? For the sake of my story I imagined it as a decommisioned whatever-it-is, and being put to use as a rehearsal hall for actors.I spent many years watching my first husband on stage and those memories linger!

So, with apologies to Roger Bultot, who took the photo, and to anyone else who thinks I ought to know, here's my story.
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REHEARSALS

The alien clung to the beam, watching as the creatures made the same moves and said the same words repeatedly, while others scuttled round changing the colours on canvas walls. Hunger gnawed but there were always too many of them. It waited patiently.

The next day one plump specimen was on stage alone and the alien saw its chance, but when it dropped beside it the creature whipped out a sword, cried, “Have have at ye, ye varmint!” and pinned the alien to the stage. 

After a dramatic pause a shaky voice called from the darkness, “Darling, you were wonderful!”

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KITCHEN SINK DRAMA - a story in 100 words

KITCHEN SINK DRAMA

“I really don’t understand why you did it, after all these years.”

“That’s just it – years of the same irritating little things are like Chinese water torture, drip-drip-dripping until you could scream. At breakfast, for example, leaving the lid off the marmalade, toast crumbs in the butter...”

“I agree that’s annoying, but...”

“Dirty socks on the floor, changing channels without asking...”

“My Jim does that too, but even so...”

“He promised to fix the tap months ago. I was making pastry with that drip getting louder and louder – it was just his bad luck I was holding the rolling pin.”

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I assure you this is fiction - honest! Aren't we writers lucky we can take our frustrations out in words? 

Thanks to Ronda del Boccio for the photo and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog. https://rochellewisoff.com/     You can read what others made of the prompt by following the frog from there, after you've commented on my story first, naturally!

SHOPPING - a hundred word story

SHOPPING

Joan managed their pensions with an iron fist but, as she divided bargain mince into plastic boxes, Andrew ventured, “I’d love a steak sometimes.”

“I’d love a Caribbean holiday,” Joan snapped, slamming the freezer door. “Now where’s my purse?”

“How should I know? I’m not allowed to touch money.” Andrew sipped his coffee and watched her search her handbag and her pockets without success. “Did you open that window?” he asked.

“Yes – it’s stuffy in here.”

As the net curtains wafted in the breeze, Joan slumped into her chair – stolen! - even mince would be off the menu next week.
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I must admit that Joan has an element of me in her makeup, as I too buy food when it's on offer and freeze it in batches. So far - touch wood - I have not had my purse stolen!


This week has been a busy one so far, with various appointments already and more to come. As I have picked up a cold - I blame my granddaughter - I shall be driving to those under the influence of medication! The sore throat did not stop me from carving a pumpkin to display on my doorstep tomorrow. That's a home-grown Scotch bonnet chilli beside it  :) Happy Hallowe'en!

The photo that prompted this week's rash of stories in Friday Fictioneers was taken by Fatima Deria and posted by Rochelle on  https://rochellewisoff.com/