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.
Today’s photo is by her Cousin It, or Kent as she calls him.
It reminds me of my childhood, when the winds from Siberia would hurtle across the North Sea and into our little town just south of Edinburgh, bearing gifts of snow, sleet and hail.
My mother habitually ejected us from the house with the immortal words ‘Fresh air is good for you’.
The idea, as always, is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture, below.
We invade Russia.
A terrible idea.
Not mine, of course, I am just a grunt, a foot soldier.
Whoever made the decision didn’t know much about the weather here in winter.
It is around -30 degrees.
In some cases fatally cold.
We are turning into savages.
We do anything to lessen the chill.
We come upon a village strewn with corpses.
Their weapons are still in their hands, frozen in place.
I say weapons, but they are clubs, knives, broom handles.
We want their coats.
We can’t get them off over their fists, clenched around what they were carrying.
So first we smash their fingers.