Archie looked at the overhanging branches from the neighbours overgrown sycamore tree. Every Autumn the leaves fell into his garden, burying the flowerbeds and lawn. Every Autumn he had to clear them.

It had taken him all morning to sweep the leaves up. Now they sat in one big pile in the middle of the garden.

Agnes tapped the kitchen window. ‘Lunch.’

Inside, Archie removed his hat and gloves. ‘You can see your breath out there,’ he remarked. He stretched his back, stiff from stooped exertion.

‘They really should cut back those branches.’ Agnes said. ‘And you should let your son-in-law sweep them up. You’re not getting any younger.’

Archie rolled his eyes. ‘Are Julia and the boys still coming round this afternoon?’ he asked.

‘Don’t worry, they’re still coming.’

An hour later Agnes and Julia stood at the window watching Archie and the children in the garden. Leaves flew everywhere accompanied by squeals of delight.

‘I’ll send Gary round tomorrow to clear the leaves.’ Julia said.

‘Don’t bother,’ Agnes sighed. ‘You’d only spoil his fun.’


Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Al Forbes. For more details visit HERE.

To read more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE

You can read more short stories featuring Agnes and Archie here: THE AGNES AND ARCHIE STORIES



Chavy watched the dusty streets of Phnom Penh gradually fade away behind him. The  brown water of the Mekong river disappeared to the east while the bus headed north.

The roads changed from tarmac to dust. The buildings from stone to wood. The beggars remained regardless.

The bus stopped.

‘Checkpoint,’ the young white man next to him said. ‘Just present your papers and stay calm. You’re on a pilgrimage to the Sambor Prei Kuk temple. You don’t know me.’

With that the man stood and pulled his own papers out. He walked forward waving them. ‘British diplomat. You see?’ The bewildered Khmer Rouge soldier shoved the man roughly off the bus.

As the bus pulled away, Chavy saw the man called Phillips arguing with four heavily armed men. Someone tapped his shoulder.

‘Don’t worry. He was the diversion. He’ll be okay. The main thing is we get you out.’


Written for ‘What Pegman Saw’, a weekly prompt based on a view from Google Maps. The idea is to write a piece of fiction of around 150 words based on the prompt. Full details can be found HERE. This week we’re off to Cambodia, the World Heritage site of the Sambor Prei Kuk temple and a glimpse of the past that still haunts the history of this country.

For more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.

Read more stories featuring the British spy Phillips: THE PHILLIPS SPY STORIES.


The black leather gleamed.

It had taken a lot of scrubbing and polishing to restore them to this state. The nest of spiders in the toe of the right shoe was a nasty surprise.

They slipped onto the withered feet with ease.

‘Why the old shoes?’ the undertaker’s assistant asked.

‘Family request. Apparently they were his lucky shoes.’

‘Wonder what made them lucky?’

The undertaker shrugged. ‘British Army issue, First World War.’

‘Could’ve taken better care of them.’

‘Perhaps he couldn’t face what he managed to survive.’

Task completed the coffin was closed over ready for the funeral tomorrow.

Copyright Sarah Potter

Written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above).

To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.


Blackness enveloped the city.

The power curfew began at midnight. The grid was shutdown.

Homes were silent. Streetlights dark. A flicker of rare candlelight betrayed the restaurant or club that refused to close.

An occasional set of car headlights crept passed, driven by those lucky enough to still have access to the electricity needed to power them.

Beside the river rose two bright towers, the only illumination for miles around. The weapons factory was kept open twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

A shuttle train deposited the night shift. A fleet of robots fully charged and ready to work. The exhausted day shift departed, taken back to their pods to be re-energised.

As the train left the security monitor didn’t notice the tiny figure who leapt across the tracks.

In the shadows, Alejandro waited. He double-checked the wiring and the fuse on the package.

His death was imminent. His hope was that it would not be in vain.

Tonight, humanity began the fight back.

Copyright Pamela S. Canepa

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story in around 150 words, based on the weekly photo prompt. Thanks as always to the challenge host Priceless Joy. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE


‘OMGosh, Dad!’

Frank froze, knife with butter held over his bread. ‘What?’

‘Your bread.’ Sophie pointed.

He looked at the bread. ‘I know, it’s got a hole in it. It’s not the end of the world.’

He motioned the knife towards the bread.

‘Wait!’ shouted Sophie, hustling Frank out the way and snapping a picture of the bread on her smartphone. ‘Bread with a heart-shaped hole. This will so go viral on my Instagram.’

Frank stared at the piece of bread that was now more famous than he ever would be.

He shrugged and spread the butter over it.

Copyright Kelvin M. Knight

Written as part of the Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above).

To read stories of 100 words based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.