The Walk – Friday Fictioneers

AnElephantCant write a rhyme this week
He only has time for a very short addendum
Please take it on trust
He does what he must
He is home to back Yes in the Independence Referendum

Once again it is Friday Fictioneer time.
The wonderful Rochelle prompts us to write a story in 100 words.
And AnElephant crosses his fingers.
The idea is to write a very short story, circa 100 words, based on this picture prompt (below).
That’s it.

Copyright – Dawn Q. Landau

Copyright – Dawn Q. Landau

The Walk

I sit outside the little café in the square enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.
She will be here soon, I tell my friends, but I know in my heart it is not true.
She has gone walking in her favourite calanque, among the slippery rocks, a potentially hazardous venture at the best of times.
Recent heavy rainfall and today’s strong winds make it more than usually dangerous, even with her stick.
So my heart skips a beat when she sits down with a smile.
I knew, she says, so my man got your man.
And you are next, my love.

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The Prisoners

For copyright information please click on image

For copyright information please click on image

The Prisoners

The five men have been prisoners for 300 long years.
They have attempted to escape previously, but a lack of unified commitment has always thwarted them.
That, and the guards, ten times their number, who spread lies, doubt and fear among them.
Divide and conquer, that is the motto of the fifty-strong group.
But now a man has come to them with a key to their shackles.
He can set them free but, because of how they are chained, it is a case of all or none.
He tells them that outside there is a great cliff.
It requires a leap of faith into the darkness, but at the other side there is a land of plenty.
I will lead you to this cliff, and I will jump with you, he says.
And who will rule us in this paradise, one man asks suspiciously.
You will elect your own leader, of course, from among your number.
I hope you will pick me, but the choice is entirely yours.
The men discuss it for a while, but they have great courage.
They know there can only be one answer.
They stand looking into the unknown, then hurl themselves forward as one.
From all their lips simultaneously comes a mighty war cry.
Freedom!

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Partick Station – Sunday Photo Fiction

AnElephantCant always speak plainly
He often writes bizarrely obscure rhymes
If you want to understand
His story as planned
You may well have to read between the lines

This is a weekly invitation to write a short piece of fiction (c. 150 words) based on a photo prompt (below) provided by Alastair.
Just click on the link to find some parallel pieces of poetic parables in response to this week’s excellent prompt.
But please cast an eye over AnElephant’s offering before he goes off the rails.
Oh, Partick is a district of Glasgow with a major transport hub.

Copyright Al Forbes

Copyright Al Forbes

Partick Station

I am a pretty easygoing kind of guy.
So when they announce that my train is cancelled I amble down to the ticket office and enquire why.
What difference does it make, is the response.
Now I really do not like rudeness, but I stay polite.
Well, I point out, if the driver has stubbed his toe there will probably be another one along in half an hour.
However, if there has been a major earthquake in the Coatbridge area, then I should probably consider an alternative mode of transport.
How should I know, he asks.
I look around, people everywhere on mobile phones, and shake my head.
This is the third such incident.
The bad manners and indifference, I mean.
It is maybe the 500th train problem.
And the last.
The last train tonight will be the last for a long time.
No one will be hurt, that is not my style.
Did I tell you I bought shares in the bus company?
With the profit I might buy a car.

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the mirror’s purpose

 

the mirror's purpose by Phil Burns

the mirror’s purpose by Phil Burns

he reflects the mirror’s purpose
and he writes of far off things
there is the whisper of an echo
in the second song the angel sings

in the second song the angel sings
the rhymes are clearly forced
the silent partner loves the sun
she remains always indoors

she remains always indoors
her departure urgent but not soon
she waits once more for darkness
she dances naked for the moon

she dances naked for the moon
while he watches her in awe
he thinks she is quite perfect
she knows he is badly flawed

she knows he is badly flawed
but he is deep beneath the surface
so when she needs to understand herself
he reflects the mirror’s purpose

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Reflected Glory – Friday Fictioneers

AnElephantCant look into a mirror
A truer word you will never hear spoken
It is rather a pity
But he is not very pretty
And the mirror would be catastrophically broken

Once again it is Friday Fictioneer time.
With reflective Rochelle asking us to mirror our dreams in 100 words.
And AnElephant cracks more than a joke.
And apologises for a major overrun this week.
The idea is to write a very short story, circa 100 words, based on this picture prompt (below).
That’s it.

Copyright – Janet Webb

Copyright – Janet Webb

Reflected Glory

I am alone now.
My youngest has just left home, and for the first time in almost 30 years I have no one.
I don’t even have a cat.
I don’t use a computer, so I can’t use that Skyte thing to see them when I talk to them.
So I can only phone, and I don’t like to bother them.
I look at the present she left me, all beautifully wrapped in pretty paper with flowers on it.
And a little card that just says Thanks, Mum.
I open it, not very interested, but I might as well.
It is a mirror.
Just what I need, something to remind me how old I look.
Then words appear in the glass.
Touch here.
I touch it carefully and her face appears, smiling.
Hi Mum, she says, do you like your present?
And her hand comes out and gently wipes away my tears.

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This is the land

All images courtesy of Martin Mckane

All images courtesy of Martin Mckane

This is the Land

This is the land of Robert Burns
Of William Wallace too
Of Baird and Bell and Smith and Hume
All Scottish through and through

 This is the land of loch and glen
Of rivers and fields of green
From Galashiels to Stornoway
Stranraer to Aberdeen

 Many come from all the world
These simple words we tell them
Help us to build our paradise
And you and yours are welcome

 This is the land we hold so dear
Its past never forgotten
Creative and enlightened
This is Freedom This is Scotland

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CSI – Sunday Photo Fiction

AnElephantCant claim to be nimble
He doesn’t find it easy to gallop up and down stairs
He is at his best
Having a short rest
Or snoozing in a couple of great comfy chairs

This is a weekly invitation to write a short piece of fiction (c. 150 words) based on a photo prompt (below) provided by Alastair.
Just click on the link to find some fascinating flights of fancy in response to this week’s excellent prompt.
But please cast an eye over AnElephant’s up and down imaginings first.

Copyright Al Forbes

Copyright Al Forbes

CSI

I sit distraught, hardly hearing the detective’s words.
My beautiful boy, only four years old, dead.
Killed.
And Christina, my lovely young wife of less than a year, is being questioned at this moment.
She is apparently the main suspect.
In fact, the only one.
The police were called by a neighbour who was alerted by Sara’s hysterics on the front lawn.
Sara is seven, my little angel, still getting over the death of her mother three years ago.
The responding officers find Christina sitting in tears at the foot of the stairs, cradling my son in her arms.
His neck is broken.
They assume an accident until they find blood on the back of his head.
And traces on her engagement ring on the wash basin in her bathroom.
But they were getting along so well, I think to myself, Sara has been more difficult.
The detective shakes his head sadly as Christina is taken out to the cruiser.
Then I see the look on Sara’s face.
And I know the truth.

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