The press and public were behind the fence that circled the property, far enough away to prevent them seeing inside the old house.

Horowitz looked out at the growing crowd. News had spread fast.

He had got the call as he was about to end his shift. A dead body, suicide. He recognised the address.

Now he looked at the faded entertainer slumped behind the desk, gunshot wound to the temple. Note on the desk ending ‘Please forgive me.’

The investigation would take time. The grounds would be dug up. The truth about the rumoured bodies would finally be known.

© J Hardy Carroll

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.


The last note faded on the strings. The gathered handful of listeners gave polite applause. One guy flipped a coin into my bag.

People bustled past on their commutes. As I was about to begin my next song I saw her. She was exiting the train station in a hurry as usual.

For the last three months I had seen her every weekday morning. She never stopped to listen, just kept on walking without pausing. I had tried different songs: fast and slow; loud and soft; romantic and angry. Nothing seemed to interest her.

Last Friday, as she sped past, a piece of paper had fallen from her pocket. I stopped mid-song to pick it up.

Now it was time to put my weekend’s work into action. I struck the opening chord on my guitar and sang as loudly as I could.

‘Hey Jude…’

I saw her stop and turn. Our eyes met. She smiled, turned and walked on.

Tomorrow she will be back. Maybe she will smile at me again.

© Sunayana MoiPensieve

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.


Reverend Timpson looked down at the packed pews. His congregation had more than trebled in size since last week. Their fearful faces stared at him.

It had all gone smoothly to start with. The annual church play had been a retelling of the Ten Commandments.

In the final scene Rosie appeared as the burning bush, a green glow behind her.

There had been an unexpected bang as the lightbulb popped, a flash of light and flames rose round Rosie’s feet. She carried on with her lines while Bill, the stagehand, desperately crawled round her dress, trying to beat out the fire.

Awe in the audience changed to fear. Rosie let out a strangled, unearthly shriek. Cries started spreading through the audience.

‘God forgive this blasphemous theatre!’

‘Lord forgive us taking your name for entertainment!’

The curtain was brought down as the panic-stricken audience fled from the hall.

The burnt spot where the event had occurred was turned it into a shrine to mark the miracle of Thornberry Hall.

Reverend Timpson knew he should explain the truth, but business was business and the church roof was in need of repair.

‘Last Friday night we witnessed a miracle, ladies and gentlemen. The Lord sent a message to us all.’

A ripple of ‘amens’ spread through the congregation.


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.


‘Pull over here, Kisekka,’ Arnold instructed the driver of the jeep.

‘We are not there yet, Sir,’ Kisekka replied.

Kukomesha!’ Arnold utilised one of the few Swahili words he knew.

Kisekka brought the jeep to a stop.

‘What’s in there?’ Arnold asked, pointing at the white structures that covered the fields.

‘They grow flowers, Arnold Sir.’

Growing flowers on an industrial scale miles from Kampala made no sense, and according to his map, this was government-owned land.

He jumped down. ‘Wait for me here,’ he instructed Kisekka.

He saw no sign of any security cameras or guards.

Arnold jumped the fence. He heard chatter. Young voices among the sound of machinery.

There was a gap in the sheeting. Arnold peered through.

Hundreds of young boys were inside the tent. Each had a table of metal pieces in front of them. They expertly assembled the various pieces.

Arnold had found what he had been sent to discover: Idi Amin’s weapons factory.


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 Uganda, a country with a long history of civil war and child labour.

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


Leonard woke and rubbed his head. A few too many last night at the annual Spring Harvest festival. He should have steered clear of the cider.

He put his hand in his pocket to find his watch missing. He must have dropped it on the way home last night.


Emily looked at the huge metal disc lodged in her front garden. Every minute the huge arm ticked round with a mighty clang. She would have to get in touch with the local council to have it removed.

‘Every year the same,’ she muttered, sweeping the garden path. ‘Pesky giants.’

© Jennifer Pendergast

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.