Friday Fictioneers is hosted by the wonderful Rochelle, the undisputed master of what I call Sound Bite Fiction.
She sets the weekly challenge, and the standard.
This week’s photo by The Reclining Gentleman is a peaceful shot of a lovely flower.
My tale features less tranquil happenings.
The idea, as always, is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture, below.
© The Reclining Gentleman
Let Battle Commence
They study the enemy across the level sward.
They are trying to spot the danger, to prepare themselves for the inevitable strike.
The invaders are from a country with ten times their numbers.
They are powerful and threatening.
They have not come to offer friendship.
They plan to crush us.
On the surrounding heights non-combatants shuffle their feet nervously.
Everyone is on edge, waiting for the first attack.
The silence is almost overwhelming.
Then the hairs rise on a hundred thousand arms.
The skirl of the bagpipes fills the air.
As one the voices are raised.
O Flower of Scotland…
Sound Bite Fiction 
a great tale using the prompt!
LikeLike
What a great take on the prompt.It stirred my heart.
LikeLike
Aye, Joseph, the pipes can do that to the most stalwart of men!
LikeLiked by 1 person
True.
LikeLike
Such tension as the two sides wait for battle – and the climactic skirl of bagpipes. And there’s a new flower for Scotland – that’s interesting.
LikeLike
The bagpipes will do it – every time. What a climax to the tension of waiting for the action to start.
LikeLike
Aye, they fair stir the blood, dae the pipes.
LikeLike
Oh I love this! All of the sights and sounds of an incoming battle… and the Scots 🙂 delightful!
LikeLike
I am smiling now, Lori.
Thank you so much.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are most welcome 🙂 it was well done!
LikeLike
A sward and skirl…both educating and entertaining. (My ignorant spell checker wanted to change skirl into skirt).
LikeLike
Happy you found it so.
I guess that your spell checker is from the colonies.
Or at least south of the wall!
LikeLike
Such a powerful story and after reading the poem, it stands even stronger.
LikeLike
Penny brings something special every time.
Glad you enjoyed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reminds me of the old testament battles.
LikeLike
And goes back almost as far
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m not educated in Scottish history, but this must be akin to a Moonshiner with Revenuers breathing down his neck.
LikeLike
I am barely educated at all, Russell, but I guess that what you refer to is best avoided?
LikeLike
Great build-up of tension – the hairs on my arms rose with those of the hundred thousand in the story
LikeLike
Excellent!
Happy it worked for you.
LikeLike
This gives me goosebumps.
LikeLike
Then my effort was not in vain.
Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Excellent surprise ending, and setendipitous that I have just read about a competition for the prize if a Scottish writing retreat!
LikeLike
Don’t forget your brolly and midge-repellent.
LikeLike
National anthems and patriotic songs do raise hair on several occasions. Nicely done.
LikeLike
Thank you.
Interestingly (or otherwise), Samuel Johnson said ‘Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel’.
LikeLike
I’m not sure exactly what it all means but I think Mel Gibson and I are on the same side in this one. “Then the hairs rise on a hundred thousand arms” and it seems almost anything might happen next.
LikeLike
Just a bit of local tribalism that goes back a thousand or so years, Perry.
As for Mr Gibson, fun movie with the historical accuracy of The Flintstones.
LikeLike
Simply excellent composition! And for those who truly want to understand the depth conveyed with your words:
O Flouer o Scotland,
Whan will we see,
Yer like again,
That focht and dee’d for,
Yer wee bit Hill an Glenn,
An stuid agin him,
Prood Edward’s Airmie,
An sent him hamewart,
Tae think again.
The Hills is bare nou,
An Autumn leafs,
Lies thick an still,
Ower land that is tint nou,
That thae sae darlie held,
That stuid agin him,
Prood Edward’s Airmie,
An sent him hamewart,
Tae think again.
Thir days is past nou,
An in the past,
Thay mun remain,
But we can aye rise nou,
An be the naition again,
That stuid agin him,
Prood Edward’s Airmie,
An sent him hamewart,
Tae think again.
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thank you, my dear Penny.
I am sure Roy Williamson of The Corries is now smiling down from the Great Glen in the sky.
LikeLiked by 1 person
WONDERFUL! And strikes “home,” so to speak. We are two months in Bermuda (Feb and March) and shall attend a Skirling Ceremony — bagpipers. Enjoyed this very much — excellent and unique take on the photo!
LikeLike
Happy it gave you pleasure, Lillian.
Two months in Bermuda, how will you survive???
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a wonderful heroic tale… love the way the bagpipe works into this… you are a poet my friend.
LikeLike
You are too kind, Bjorn.
Your words put a swing in my kilt and a spring in my sporran!
LikeLike
Hmmmm. Must be celtic vs Rangers.
LikeLike
Not on my blog, Patrick.
LikeLike
…and then we went and lost again. The only thing we are assured to beat England at these days is tennis i.e. not Rugby!
LikeLiked by 1 person
And it was a rubbish match.
But yes, Dunblane did win the Davis Cup!
LikeLike
Reblogged this on anelephantcant and commented:
AnElephantCant pretend he’s a hero
Sometimes he looks at the opposition and quails
You see he’s not grinning
He does not see Scotland winning
This Saturday we head down to Cardiff to play against Wales
LikeLiked by 1 person
Proud Edward’s Army,
And sent him homeward,
To think again.
I looked up the song “O Flower of Scotland…” I figure it meant something. It did.
A song like that would rally the troops to victory.
LikeLike
Sadly, it didn’t!
LikeLike
Darn!
LikeLike
Beautifully written. You make me lament that I was not able to visit Scotland years ago when I visited Europe. Thanks for this wonderful contribution.
LikeLike
You are most welcome, sir. I am very happy you enjoyed.
Interestingly, laments are what we do best!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Vividly described scene. And I, too, was much taken with these lines:
“Then the hairs rise on a hundred thousand arms.
The skirl of the bagpipes fills the air.”
I happen to like bagpipes, though at a distance of fifty feet.
I must confess that I thought at first that the invaders were weeds, ready to kill the flowers. Was I wrong?
LikeLike
Glad you liked the lines, they seem to be firing imaginations all round.
There are no wrongs in 100 word fiction, just interpretations.
But, I confess, that is not what was in my mind.
LikeLiked by 2 people
🙂 Oh, I realize it wasn’t what you had in mind. The sense of battle was strong, but my mind took me there, anyway.
LikeLike
I’ll nae say it as it’s already been said… that phrase was great! Couldn’t help myself!
Love the build up and of course, I must root for the underdog!
LikeLike
Ah yes, Dale, why not just tell me what you’re not going to tell me and then tell me!
It is fortunate that you are adorable, because you are slightly wacky.
(and no typos this week, you are some gal!)
LikeLiked by 1 person
You wouldn’t have me any other way… 😉
LikeLike
I ken the feel as the tension builds! Well done!
LikeLike
Is the lady a Scot too?
It is a pleasure to welcome you to my blog, regardless.
And thank you for your kind words, glad you enjoyed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
‘Then the hairs rise on a hundred thousand arms.’ An amazing line!
LikeLiked by 1 person
And non-fiction!
Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That makes it even more fabulous.
LikeLike
I must confess, the skirl of the bagpipes raises the hairs on my arms too. Not in a good way – sorry. 😉 Stirring stuff CE. And full of suspense and nervous anticipation. Well done.
LikeLike
Nae luck, and nae culture, that’s your problem!
But happy you liked the tale.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Dear C.E.
The skirl of bagpipes made the hair on my arms stand at attention as well. There’s an almost poetic rhythm to this story as only a Scotsman could write it. In fact I heard it in brogue. Lovely.
Shalom,
Rochelle
LikeLike
Aye, thanks, lass, them’s richt kin’ words, y’ken.
LikeLiked by 2 people