Breakfast Epiphany – Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by the wonderful Rochelle, the undisputed master of what I call Sound Bite Fiction.
She sets the weekly challenge, and he standard.
Today’s
somewhat moody image by Roger Bultot reminded me of my last Great American Adventure, a few years ago, and pancakes for breakfast.
And this conversation.
The idea, as always, is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture, below.

© Roger Bultot

© Roger Bultot

Click here to hear me read this 70-second story:
Breakfast Epiphany

So did you do it?
Pancakes, I think.
I guessed you would react badly.
Maybe bacon.
But that was rather extreme, don’t you think?
Orange juice.
I mean, I know what they did was wrong, but…
I am hungry now.
All three of them, and what a mess!
Where’s the server?
There are bound to be repercussions, something pretty drastic, I’d say.
Ah, there she is.
There are others to consider.
Let’s order, okay?
Do you never worry about the knock-on effect of your actions?
Mmm, what were you saying?
Glad we talked, good to hear your side of it.

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The Cyclist – Sunday Photo Fiction

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge presented by my old friend Al Forbes.
The idea is to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by what you see in his picture (below).
This week, once again, Al provides us with a photo with a million options.
This is probably not one of them.
Click on this link to enter your tale, and to see what others have written.

Copyright Al Forbes

Copyright Al Forbes

Click here to hear me read this 100-second story:
The Cyclist

The hill seems steeper tonight.
The cold snap is not helping my breathing.
And my old knee trouble has flared up again.
So I am toiling upwards, my mood, like the sky, growing rapidly darker.
I pause for breath, gazing up the long steep slope ahead.
A cyclist comes into view.
I see him as he passes under a street lamp, he has no lights himself.
He is sitting upright, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other.
He hurtles downhill, relaxed and unconcerned.
I am filled with an unjustifiable, irrational dislike, bordering on hatred, for this inoffensive youth.
I move to the kerbside, swinging my arm.
The heel of my hand catches him flush on the nose.
I don’t even turn my head to see the wreckage I have caused.
I go on with a spring in my step.
The hill seems much less steep now.

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Divorce – Friday Fictioneers

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
wintry photo is by the lovely Lady R herself.
I look at it, look through my open windows at the sunshine and the blue Mediterranean sky, and decide to create something spiritually uplifting.

The idea, as always, is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture, below.

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Click here to hear me read this 1-minute story:
Divorce

I hate Horace, her horse.
He cost me a fortune to buy, and exorbitant amounts to maintain.
I still love her, but she wants a divorce.
I am working on the corral as she dismounts.
Labouring work, she mocks, that’s your level, isn’t it?
Please, I say, can’t we try to work things out?
You couldn’t work out your age with a calculator, she scoffs.
I worked all my life, I shout, I paid for all this!
Sign the papers, hero, she sneers.
I raise my hand, still holding the hammer, bring it crashing down.
Horace drops like a stone.

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Plane Sailing – Sunday Photo Fiction

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge presented by my old friend Al Forbes.
The idea is to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by what you see in his picture (below).
This week, once again, Al’s photo has me confused.
I am not sure whether it shows the new model Dalek or a thingy for dispensing cold drinks.
A pint of laser, please?
Click on this link to enter your tale, and to see what others have written.

Copyright Al Forbes

Copyright Al Forbes

Click here to hear me read the story:
Plane Sailing

We are both pilots, and have been friends since childhood.
We are back in our home town, using our little seaplanes to do trips for tourists.
It is a nice little business, we make reasonable money.
And every day we fly over the Mediterranean, the world’s most beautiful sea.
Life is good.
Except for one thing.
Long ago, after he left here, I married his childhood sweetheart.
It seems that there may now be a rekindling of interest.
I decide to resolve the problem.
I slip into the dark hangar where we house the two planes.
It is totally secure, there are only two keys.
I find his fuel pipe in the light of my pencil torch.
Then something catches my eye.
Someone is under my plane with a torch.
I think it is safe to say our friendship is over.

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I am a Rock – Friday Fictioneers

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
spectacular photo is by Lucy Fridkin, who apparently has been a friend of Lady R for over a century.
The idea, as always, is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture, below.

© Lucy Fridkin

© Lucy Fridkin

Click here to hear me read this one-minute story:

I am a rock

You can’t do this, she says.
Do what, I ask, although I know.
Go through life as though you’re a wretched Paul Simon song, her voice rises.
What do you mean, I ask, enjoying her aggravation.
She is my best friend, but we have very different philosophies of life.
You are not a flipping rock, she snaps, or a flipping island.
She does not say flipping.
I’m whatever I choose to be, I say, I live my life my own way, hurt no one.
She growls, marches off.
And a rock feels no pain.
And an island never cries
.
Yeah, right.

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Snow Fall – Sunday Photo Fiction

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge presented by my old friend Al Forbes.
The idea is to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by what you see in his picture (below).
This week Al’s supposedly seasonal shot has me confused.
Good try, buddy, but here on the Côte d’Azur I am basking in brilliant sunshine, with not a hint of frost, far less ice or snow.
How I miss Scotland in December!
Click on this link to enter your tale, and to see what others have written.

Copyright Al Forbes

Copyright Al Forbes

Click here to hear me read this 90-second story:

Snow Fall

Sometimes I am just stupid.
Skiing alone on a mountain I do not know, I see a group go off piste and follow at a distance.
I soon lose them in the trees, and get hopelessly lost.
Then I crash, painfully twisting a knee.
I find myself on the edge of a crevasse, with darkness falling.
My only direction is up, so I toil along as the cold starts to bite.
Exhausted by the deep wet snow, I collapse under an overhang.
I am not sure I have the strength to continue, but know I will not survive a night out here.
Then I hear voices above me.
I am all but frozen, and my injured joint has locked.
I find I cannot rise, and I cannot call out.
I reach up, shake a branch, causing a small snowfall.
The voices continue, unchanged.
I have one last hope.
I summon all my remaining strength, breathing deeply.
I roll onto my back, throw off my gloves.
With my numb hands I pack snow into a ball.
And hurl it into the night sky.

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The Bear – Friday Fictioneers

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 our mighty leader’s other half, Jan Wayne Fields, who might well be loitering with intent.
The idea, as always, is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture, below.

© Jan Wayne Fields

© Jan Wayne Fields

Click here to hear me read this 1-minute story:
The Bear

I am a big dude.
Actually I am a 600-pound North American brown bear.
What most folks call a grizzly.
I am pretty laid back, usually, until someone does something stupid.
Like these morons who leave their rubbish behind with no thought for the animals who feed here.
Cans and bottles, aluminium foil, paper, whatever.
Plastic bags, really?
These are lethal for some smaller creatures.
Occasionally I get riled enough to take revenge.
This lot are bad.
I watch them leave their tent.
I act.
I won’t tell you what I did, but I didn’t do it in the woods.

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