AnElephantCant think of Scotland without shivering
It is cold and it’s dank and it’s wet
He remembers vast lochs and great glens
Purple heather on high bens
But the weather he tries to forget
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.
Her own somewhat dreich image almost makes me feel homesick.
The idea, as always, is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture, below.
My mates slap me on the back, full of congratulations.
I am outside the little café in the square, displaying the stuff.
St Tropez, they say, admiringly, you have cojones!
Thing is, I have technology.
I can break into any car.
So I did the parking lot in the richest town on the coast.
The haul is amazing.
I see the little man watching.
He looks insignificant, even nervous.
What, I ask him, aggressively.
Anything nice for a lady, he asks.
It’ll cost you, I smirk.
No, he says, it…
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