This on-going collection of stories has been and are being written in my current home on the Côte d’Azur.
Many of the tales are based in and around the town I call Medville, others are situated in Scotland, and the remainder take place in less exceptional parts of this and other worlds.
Mysterious and enigmatic, served with a splash of humour, nothing here is ever quite what it seems.
Expect the unexpected.
There is always a twist in the tail.
Nearly.
Following the demise of Doug’s Min Min Challenge, we – Jenne and I, but mostly Jenne – have decided to continue with more or less the same idea, a story of anything up to 250 words based on a prompt, which this week is Jenne’s photo, above.
Crossroads
Life, when you live it to the full, can be short periods of calm, interlaced with a fair number of ups and downs, and the occasional roundabout.
And then, now and again, you arrive at a significant moment, a crossroads, where you have to make a decision, knowing that your future, and perhaps also that of others, depends on the direction you choose.
So you pause, take your time, ponder your options, and wait for a sign.
You can’t really expect some unknown and perhaps non-existent deity to shine a big light in your eyes and tell you to get a grip and go that way and do such-and-such.
Hell, that such-and-such might not be your idea of fun anyway.
No, you mostly have to decide for yourself and then, if you screw up, learn to live with the consequences.
Bed, made, lie in, sort of thing.
But, sometimes, just sometimes, you get lucky.
Maybe you were stuck in a rut, at a dead stop, when something happened, and the lights changed.
So you got yourself into gear, you picked a route, and you drove off.
Maybe not into the sunset, you don’t know that yet.
But at least down a road you hadn’t driven before, that you had glimpsed en passant, maybe in a dream.
And there you found something you hadn’t expected.
You found yourself.
The Carrot Ranch Challenge:
In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story inspired by “Shots fired”.
Click here to hear the author read his words:
The Shot
I hear a gunshot.
Through the gloom I see a figure slumped against my car.
I run towards it, my eyes sweeping the area.
Nothing.
As sirens approach, I recognise the pale, huddled form.
And struggle to breathe.
It is Val, the woman I loved and left all those years ago.
Her face is pale, blood seeps through her coat.
Her eyes flicker recognition, her lips twitch almost into a smile.
Take this, she whispers, pushing something into my hand.
I look down at the still warm gun.
She clasps her gloved hands around mine.
Got you, she says.
The Great New Min Min Challenge:
In less than 250 words write a story about “Dark Side of the Moon”.
Click here to hear the author read his words:
Woke as a Duck
I’m the first to admit that I’m not the wokest guy around.
Apparently my Wokitude sucks.
In my day, if your name was Russell, you didn’t just say ‘Mummy, I want to be a girl, boys are rough and smelly’ and turn up for school in a dress.
Or, for that matter, ‘Mummy, I want to be a boy, Ms Oscar Knuckledrag tickles me with her beard’ and learn to curse and spit.
I blame Pink Floyd.
Based on the success of their uncle Pretty Boy, they merged a girly colour with a blokey name to become a popular musical combo, their success culminating in an album so famous that I wrote a poem about it: https://ceayr.com/2021/03/07/the-night/
But I digress, mainly so I can pretend that this rant has anything to do with Doug’s prompt.
The other day I see my friend Rodney strolling along and waving his (I say ‘his’ because he’s a guy, okay?) arms around like a numpty.
‘Hi Dave,’ I say. ‘What in tarnation y’all a-doin’ there?’
Why I decide to become a hill-billy remains unclear.
He looks at me askance.
‘I’m practising flying, of course.’
I look at him even askancer.
‘You think you’ll fly by waving your arms around as described above?’
He shakes his head sadly.
‘Not now, obviously, because I’m a man. (See, I told you!) But next week I plan to self-identify as a canary, so I’ll need to fly or I’ll just look stupid.’
Anybody got a cat?
The Carrot Ranch Challenge:
In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story inspired by “Where Children Played”.
Click here to hear the author read his words:
The Tree
The children don’t play here so much nowadays.
I remember when they swung from ropes tied to branches.
When they hung sheets and blankets for tents, playing Cowboys and Indians.
When they climbed up, pretending to be pirates sailing the seven seas.
It was wonderful.
Then Benny, no, Bernie, decided to build a tree-house.
Carried that wood all the way up the hill, brought his dad’s best hammer and those long, sharp nails.
I wasn’t quite so keen on that, thought an accident could happen.
Well, they thought it was an accident when my branch bent under his foot.
The Great New Min Min Challenge:
In less than 250 words write a story starting “Paint It Black”.
Click here to hear the author read his words:
Paint It Black
So, for One Million Pounds each, that’s a grand total of, erm, let’s see, yes, Two Million Pounds, all you have to do is answer this last question.
And Hamish, you’ve got lucky, it’s on your specialist subject, The Rolling Stones!
Hamish MacDoughnut and his randomly selected partner, the voluptuous Ms Wanda Wowbody, grin and high-five!
Here’s the question, you have sixty seconds to answer.
Are you ready?
What controversial Rolling Stones single, released in May 1966, opens with the words ‘I see a red door’?
Ooh, cries Wanda, I know this one! Let me answer it, Hamish! I’ll be ever so grateful!
Haud yer wheesht, wummin, says Hamish, scowling. You don’t think I’d risk a million pounds on an uneducated wench like yourself!
I’ll have you know, Hamish, I’ve got a degree in Needlecraft and Eastern Philosophy, so there, you tartan toerag!
Well, I have a Masters in The Influence of Rock and Roll on Alien Culture! Or was it The Influence of Alien Culture on Rock and Roll? Whatever, I’m the expert.
The two have been bickering and squabbling since they were pulled from the hat together, and yet they’ve answered every question to reach this critical point.
Okay, folks, time’s a-ticking! Get this right, and you get One Million Pounds each. Get it wrong and you go home with nothing! I need your answer now. Yes, Hamish?
I’ll answer, he says over Wanda’s protests. Final answer.
Sympathy for the Devil.
The Carrot Ranch Challenge:
In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story inspired by “GLORIA”.
Click here to hear the author read his words:
Silver Spoon
I was the Golden Child, the first grandson, born with every conceivable advantage in life.
With family money behind me, I went to the best schools, then Edinburgh to study medicine.
I was blessed with good looks and charm, and girls flocked to me.
When I was thirty, wild oats well sown, I married Gloria, the right girl from the right family, who soon produced two fine sons and a darling daughter.
But I drank too much, abandoned the practice, my looks faded, and things fell apart.
Now my wife has left me, taking the children.
Sic Transit Gloria.
The Great New Min Min Challenge:
In less than 250 words write a story starting “Long Ride Home”.
Click here to hear the author read his words:
Almost Home
The hills look impossibly distant.
The desert is vast and dry, dotted with forlorn cactuses.
Maybe I mean cacti, I never know.
If I ever escape this hell-hole I’ll find out, I promise.
But for now I just keep walking.
It feels like it hasn’t rained in a couple of centuries.
My horse trails behind, reins loose in my hand.
He has the same chance as I have of getting out of here.
Practically none.
But I can’t leave him, can I?
Far to my left I see dust rise.
Maybe the wind?
I turn my head.
To the right, behind me, there appears to be more wind.
I sigh.
They’ll be here soon.
And, after what I’ve done, they’ll be understandably unforgiving.
I’ve a few bullets left, but I know this isn’t a fight I can win.
There’s no cover, nowhere to hide.
And I can’t run.
Far ahead I see another dust cloud.
I cannot imagine they’re coming to rescue me.
The hills look impossibly distant.
* * *
I’ll never have a luckier escape.
That sudden sandstorm reduced visibility to mere feet.
I walked through them unscathed.
Now there’s grass under my feet, the hills look much closer.
They won’t follow me over the ridge, their honour forbids it.
Then three more days and I’ll be home.
Not quite the conquering hero, but job done.
I’ll be forgiven, at least by her.
The wind has dropped again.
I look behind me.
I’m not safe yet.
The Carrot Ranch Challenge:
In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story inspired by “Onions”.
Click here to hear the author read his words:
Onions
She always smiles when the Frenchman appears.
He’s almost a caricature, with a beret, droopy moustache, ramshackle old bike and onions around his neck.
He speaks English with a heavy Breton accent, but the ancient eyes are kindly.
The road is narrow, he says, indicating the toys on the lawn, we must be careful for the children.
She buys, of course, more than she needs, still smiling as he says au revoir.
Later, speeding through country lanes, she sees onions scattered on a dangerous bend, and brakes to see the wrecked bicycle and broken body abandoned in the ditch.
The Great New Min Min Challenge:
In less than 250 words write a story starting “CANCELLATION”.
Click here to hear the author read his words:
Cancelled
It’s Christmas Eve.
Charles de Gaulle airport is packed with about a million people all desperate to fly south.
The blizzard still prohibits any take-offs.
Outside things are no better; the streets of Paris are gridlocked.
No one is going anywhere.
Worse still, there is no sign of a break in the weather.
We watch every news bulletin, every news channel, with increasing anxiety.
It seems as though everyone in the world has a phone pressed to an ear.
What is happening elsewhere, in the UK, in the USA, in China?
I get a call from my son, only fifty miles north of here.
‘Did you get away yet,’ he asks.
I can barely hear him above the background chaos, at his end, and at mine.
‘You’ve got an hour, absolute tops,’ he says. ‘Maybe even less.’
‘These things are indestructible,’ he is shouting now.
‘We can’t stop th…’
Click here to hear the poet read his words:
first date
my first sight of you
tells me it’s true
nothing my friends told me
was an exaggeration
you are stunningly beautiful
your eyes sparkle with light and life
your smile brightens the world for everyone
we eat and talk
and I discover that
you’re smart and funny
you listen carefully
then ask relevant questions
I watch your lips when you speak
they are full and sensual
and promise delights beyond words
when we dance
you move with easy grace
elegantly following my lead
or sinuously swaying in isolation
strangely – to me at least –
you seem to like me
and when I take you home
you stretch up
and brush my lips with yours
I hesitate as I’m leaving
and you catch my arm
and laugh
and then
when you ask if we’ll meet again
I don’t know what to say
the thing is
you see
I don’t care
because you’re not her
Sound Bite Fiction 