Category Archives: short stories

This folder contains all of my short stories.

The Sommelier. Friday Fictioneers

I have used a paragraph of an assignment I am writing about memory for uni for this challenge. In fact, the challenge prompt has assisted me in writing my assignment. Its a few words over the 100, but the entry in my assignment was way more. I edited and adapted for the challenge. I hope you enjoy.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

 

I tried to finish the article I had been working on before I got the news that my father’s body had been found. I found it difficult to remember the nuances of the wine I was reviewing, so poured a glass from a fresh bottle.  Colour, deep and mysterious, Swirl, even and smooth. Sniff…sniff. The room in which my father lay was very sterile, unlike the usual smell of my father He usually smelled manly, of aftershave and hair-oil. Sniff, dark like a Christmas cake. Sip, I took one and couldn’t gauge it, so I gulped the whole glass. And Savour, yes, the taste, like memories are lingering.

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The Curtain Closes: Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Word count 99 words.

The final show was over. Most of the cast were going for drinks. I won’t be joining them. This was a long season. My children had suffered. Goodbyes, hugs and signed programs were exchanged. I had a carriage waiting.

“Welcome home ma’am”, James said. “The children are waiting. They haven’t had dinner yet”.

“Splendid” I said.

Opening the door, the children looked up. I was handed a rat, as the first of my children approached. “Hello Bertha” I said. She hissed, opened her mouth and swallowed the rat whole before wrapping her long shiny body around me in love.

 

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Abysmal: Weekend writing prompt 145. 

“Your handwriting is abysmal”, said the teacher as I handed her a piece of paper. “I can’t read it at all”. she said.

“Yes Miss Jenkins”, I said, my eyes turned downwards towards my desk.

 “How is anyone supposed to read this?” She thrust it towards me.

“Miss Jenkins”, I said. “You were my teacher once, but I am your doctor now. Take this to the pharmacy and they will give you the right medicine. They can read my writing and if they can’t, they will call.  Good day Miss Jenkins”.

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My apologies if this story is not the correct word length. I am in hospital today having been brought here by ambulance this morning. I did have the idea for the story before hand but was not able to do it on my laptop, with which I can keep an accurate word count . 

I am ok  I just require some blood and couldn’t drive myself to my regular place. Fun and frolicks.

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The Old Barn. Friday Fictioneers

Below is the story that I am submitting to the Friday Fictioneers challenge. I had to edit significantly from my original which was over 145 words. The shortened version is 107 words. I have done something here that I don’t normally do. Under the submitted story for Friday Fictioneers, you will find the original. You can choose which is better.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn Miller

The Old Barn

“We gotta tear the old barn down dad.”

“Why?” I turned angrily towards Jim.

“It’s not useful anymore, its an eyesore and well, its old”

“That barn has done a lot of good in its day. It’s given shelter to needy folk, looked after the animals during storms and birthing, it did you all right as a youngster.”

“Well, I’m in charge now and I’m gonna tear it down. I just wanted to tell you that’s all”.

There was no arguing with him. I stood up and walked to the barn for the last time. There I sat on my old useless chair and closed my eyes.

 

Original

“We gotta tear the old barn down dad.”

“Why?” I turned quickly and angrily towards Jim.

“It’s not useful anymore, its an eyesore and well, its old”

“That barn has done a lot of good in its day. It’s given shelter to needy folk, looked after the animals during storms and birthing, it did you all right as a youngster. It’s still sturdy, sure it has its leaks and needs a new coat of paint but…”

“Well Dad, you don’t run this farm anymore, I do. The barn is past its used by date now and I’m gonna tear it down. I just wanted to tell you that’s all”.

There was no arguing with him. Anything not productive was just discarded. I stood up, put my coffee mug in the sink and walked out to the barn for the last time. There I sat on my old useless chair and closed my eyes.

IM000622

An old but still useful barn I took a picture of prior to 2010

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A Morning Like This: Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

Word Count 100

“Nothing good can happen on a day like today”, I think to myself as a look out the window.  “Cold and wet”.  I’m holding a steaming hot mug of black coffee, my first for the day.  “Footprints and tyre tracks don’t hold in slush”.

The call comes over the radio. “Sarge, better head over to Marion’s place first. Officers are on the scene and the ME is on the way. Marion’s sister Doris was found stiff as a board in the driveway. Shot dead. Marion said she didn’t even know Doris was coming”. An appropriate start to such a morning.

Image result for police on slushy driveway

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Elysian: Weekend Writing Prompt

Image result for elysian

 

 

Elysian.

Death is the end of struggles. Whether it is Elysium, Heaven, Nirvana or Paradise, all represent the same thing. Freedom from all difficulty, from hunger, pain, heartache, everything removed. Well done good and faithful servant, enter into your rest. But what if we were able to have the Elysian feeling without death, without aging. It’s possible.😉

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Up we go: Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Ulrika Undén

The above photo was the prompt for the story below. Word count 100.

Up We Go

“Are you sure we will fit in” Forb asked

“I’m sure, we were here only 200 Earth years ago. How much can the fashion of this primitive people have changed?”

We all donned the clothing given to observe the humans below.

“This building looks like a temple”, said Veex, “Everyone enters with offerings of their money and receives gifts from the Gods”.

It’s a place that needed exploring. That’s when we saw the technology we gave from our homeland, the escalator. “Let’s see if the altar is this way”, Binf said.

The outfits we’d chosen certainly did not blend in.

Image result for aliens

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Looking Glass

I have written two responses to the above challenge. One dark, deep and sad. The other not so. The second I view as a Victorian young lady, or perhaps I am being influenced by a Clint Eastwood Western I saw yesterday, as a young woman fit to be married, in the early pioneering days of America.

But read as you will. I am just the author and not in control of your imagination. I just steer occasionally.

Dave

Looking Glass.

I spray mirrors around my house with white paint. I avoid going near still bodies of water, plate glass windows, and even keep the sheen on my cookware and cutlery low.  I wear a niqab but I am not Islamic. After my husband attacked me, I wish never to see my deformed ugly face again. I wish this life would hurry and be over.

Image result for niqab"

Looking Glass.

When I looked, I could not see my outward reflection, but how others saw me. Is there a difference? Indeed. Sometimes subtle but nonetheless real. How I wish to be perceived, is not always the same as how I was received. I shall try harder to reflect, not only the light airy self, but the colourful swirls that are my emotions, feelings and thoughts.

 

Image result for young victorian lady with mirror"        Image result for lady with mirror 1800"

 

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Its our secret, ok? (Friday Fictioneers)

Prompt is the above photo, Word count:100

I confess that I am a bit of a mischief maker. When I was younger, it was penny fireworks in letterboxes or painting the principal’s car tyres pink. Nothing malicious mind you. Just good old- fashioned pranks. Everyone laughed and shook their heads. “What will you amount to Billy Saunders”.

Of Course, when I got married, I needed to be responskible (on purpose for that’s how I spoke), but since retiring, widowed, the children gone, I can be mischievous again. So, its crop circles in the Summer and Snow circles in the winter. HEHE. Nobody will ever know it’s me.

 

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Checkmate

How could you let Chess take precedent over basketball in the sports complex?”

The principal calmed the coach. “They use live pieces. The queen is taken, she dies. Checkmate? The school surrenders.”

“Whose lives are at stake?”

“The pupils of course.”

Image result for live chess

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