Mum watched me anxiously from the window. I gave her a smile and a wave.

The curfew had been lifted two days ago. I was the only one outside. The National Guard had gone home. Maybe it was the rain that kept everyone inside.

The new President had lifted the ban. Dad said things would get back to normal soon.

None of my friends had ventured out yet. Dad said my best friend Anwar wouldn’t be back. I was sad about that.

It was great to feel fresh air again. To splash in the puddles. To have the room to run around.

I’d probably have to go back to school sometime, but that didn’t seem so bad anymore. Better than being stuck in the house.

I spotted another kid at the end of the street. I went up to her and said hi. There wasn’t any place to go so we just splashed in the puddles together.

The rain stopped and the clouds blew away. The sun came out.


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. This week is the 100th Challenge, congratulations and thanks to PJ for hosting and reaching this milestone. For more information visit HERE.

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



An oil tanker spotted the small sailboat drifting across the shipping channels. The captain attempted to hail them with no response.

The coastguard were scrambled to intercept. I got the call just as I was sitting down to dinner.

Two hours later the sailboat was tethered to the coastguard cutter, five nautical miles from the coast. There was no sign of movement. I jumped aboard. Using the grabrail to steady myself on the swaying deck, I made my way to the cabin door. Locked.

Frank handed me an axe. One swing and the rotten wood gave way. The human stench hit us. Frank shone the torch into the cabin.

Through the darkness hollow eyes stared out from dirt-covered emaciated faces. Men, those that could still stand, formed a protective line in front of huddled women and children.

I stepped towards them slowly, hands raised in reassurance. I stumbled over a body on the floor.

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘English? Do you speak English?’

One man at the front nodded.

‘We’re here to help you. Where have you come from?’

The man looked blank.

‘Syria? Libya? You are from there?’

The man shook his head.

‘America,’ he said.

© CE Ayr

I make no apologies for the political nature of this story – the shameful executive order from Donald Trump and the pathetic acquiescence from Great Britain’s government fill me with anger, disgust and fear for the future of all people around the globe.

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

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


I walked down Urban Street where the kid had taken the bullet last night.

The Community Center sat on the corner. It looked like a vacant lot. All the windows were boarded up.

I heard singing. A mournful gospel voice. I pulled open the door and edged in. The choir broke into a powerful cry.

A minister spoke as the choir subsided. He demanded change for the nieghbourhood. More jobs. More money. Stop the violence. Stop the drugs.

I saw who I had come for. He turned and saw me. He knew. When the choir started their next song, he walked down the aisle towards me.

‘I just wanted him to stop,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’

‘You shouldn’t have shot him then,’ I replied and took him out the door.

Another beautiful Buffalo day, another family torn apart by gun violence.

So what’s new?


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.

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

Interview with the Television Editor.

I have had the delightful / surreal experience of being interviewed about my writing experiences and self-publishing my first book by some hamsters… You can read the results below. Many thanks to Shehanne for taking the time and constantly being supportive. You can visit her varied and entertaining blog here

shehanne moore















Ha, well I’m being facetious when I say in my spare time.


My full-time job is as a Post-Production editor for television, but between trying to write and having twins aged 2 1/2, work can sometimes feel like the time that’s left over! Glasgow is a good city to work in at the moment for post-production as there are several companies based here, along with STV and BBC Scotland. I work at BBC Scotland, and have done for the last ten years. I started out doing various jobs – photo-copying, runner, camera assistant and eventually worked my way up to editor. The work of an editor involves, at it’s most basic, telling a story with moving pictures and sound. It’s often difficult to describe exactly how that happens and it varies between different types of programs. The basic mechanics involve sitting in front of a computer screen and television monitor…

View original post 1,900 more words


Tam stumbled out the pub into his car.

‘Off home then, Meg,’ he patted the grey metal, named after the horse she had replaced. After several attempts he managed to crank the engine into life and got behind the wheel.

He weaved drunkenly along the single track road. As he passed the old church and graveyard he veered as bright lights sped past him and a loud shrieking horn blared out.

‘Aha, the ghosts and witches are about tonight!’ he cried.

Behind him a blaring siren and more bright lights pursued him.

‘They shan’t catch us tonight, Meg,’ and on he charged towards the river.

Reaching the Bridge of Doon, the car clipped the stone wall and the rear bumper clattered off, colliding with the police car that had chased the erratic driver.

Tam looked back and shook a gleeful fist at his stricken pursuers.

‘Kate, I’m coming my love,’ he laughed. Only when crying her name did he begin to fear what Kate would do when she saw he had arrived home drunk again.

© Al Forbes

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).

I apologise and hope I can be excused for exceeding the word limit this week as today is Burns Day in Scotland, celebrating the life and work of our national poet, Robert Burns. One of his famous poems is ‘Tam O’Shanter, A Tale’ – based on the prompt I have attempted an updated version in honour of Burns.

The original poem can be read here: TAM O’SHANTER, A TALE

A straightforward explanation of the poem can be found here: Wikipedia

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