THE CUP RUNNETH OVER RESTAURANT

The Cup Runneth Over, the latest trendy art restaurant, had been open for two months. The wait to book a table was three months.

Harold fought through the protesters. Their cries about the misuse of the scriptures for commercial gain had provided further publicity. Business was booming.

He was shown to his table where Cleo was waiting.

The abstract sculpturist was the only one of Harold’s clients successful enough to get a table in a place like this.

‘I ordered while waiting,’ she said, behind sunglasses.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Harold mumbled in the dim light.

A waiter arrived with drinks. Cleo’s champagne fizzed over the side of her glass. Harold’s café au lait overflowed.

The food followed. Two plates of Kobe beef in a garden pea purée that dripped onto the table.

Cleo sighed in ecstasy. ‘Isn’t it marvellous? The statement about the rich overabundance in a world devoured by poverty.’ She crammed succulent meat into her mouth.

Harold burned his fingers as he tried to pick up his spilt coffee. ‘They could be more helpful by just serving smaller portions.’


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Copyright Artycaptures

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.

TANDEM

‘Are you pedalling back there?’ puffed Archie as the tandem bicycle crawled up the incline.

‘Of course I am,’ Agnes lied, giving her pedals a few cursory turns for appearance’s sake.

They reached the crest of the hill. Archie pulled on the brakes. Agnes jolted forward at the sudden stop.

‘Why have you stopped?’ she asked.

‘Just need a minute to get my breath back.’ Archie pointed to the valley ahead of them. ‘Wonderful view.’

‘Not from where I’m sitting,’ said Agnes, who had spent the last hour watching Archie’s oversized behind wobbling in front of her.

‘I did ask if you wanted to go in front. Perhaps we should have got two separate bicycles.’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s been much more fun like this.’

‘Have you got the camera? Get a photo of the view.’

Agnes tutted and clambered off the bicycle. As she raised the camera, Archie pedalled past her, picking up speed on the downward slope.

‘Pub’s at the bottom of the hill,’ he called back. ‘Enjoy the walk.’


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Copyright Dorothy

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.

Click here for more adventures featuring Agnes and Archie: THE AGNES AND ARCHIE STORIES

CASTAWAY

The sea was calm and a brilliant clear blue, mirrored by the cloudless sky above.

The storm had railed against the mysterious island for three weeks, the same surge that had capsized the cargo ship and driven them to the unknown land in the canoe life rafts.

‘You’re sure which direction?’ Gideon asked.

Cyrus shrugged. ‘We can’t stay here. Nothing but sand and rock and we haven’t seen another ship all the time we’ve been here.’

‘There must be a search party looking for the wreck and survivors. Why haven’t they picked up our emergency beacons?’

Cyrus shrugged again. He wanted to get away from the island. Something felt wrong. They had explored it all and found no sign of life but still he couldn’t shake the feeling they were not alone.

They shook hands before each solemnly getting into their meagre craft.

As they pulled away from the beach Cyrus looked back.

He saw the glint of sunlight reflected on glass. Standing on a rock he saw the man watching them leave through his telescope.


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My small tale was suggested by the classic novel ‘The Mysterious Island‘, by Jules Verne.

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.

LUXURY HOLIDAY

Archie sat in the small boat. ‘Is that it? We’ve hardly got out of the bay. You didn’t even put the sail up.’

‘No wind in the bay for that,’ the boat owner answered.

‘Well, I haven’t found anything luxurious about my cruise at all.’

‘I’m sorry you feel that way, although as you’ve had the full hour, I can’t offer you a refund.’

Archie jumped over the side and landed in the shallow sea, soaking his shoes and trousers. He trudged up the sandy beach to where Agnes was sitting. She peered at him over the top of her book. ‘Well, how was it?’

‘Splendid. you would have enjoyed it,’ Archie replied through gritted teeth.

A tanned, young man walked passed. He gave Agnes a wave. She waved back with a beaming smile.

‘Who’s that?’ Archie asked.

‘The hotel masseur, Ricardo,’ Agnes replied, picking up her book once more. ‘I decided to treat myself to a little bit of luxury too.’

Archie removed his shoes and began scraping the wet sand from his feet.


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Copyright The Storyteller’s Abode

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.

Visit THE AGNES AND ARCHIE STORIES to read more of their adventures.

THE PLOUGHMAN AND THE NAZI

The droning grew louder. McLean, leaning on his pitchfork,  scanned the sky looking for the source.

An RAF flyer, he thought. Not unusual in the evening, although this aeroplane sounded much lower than normal.

The noise exploded over the ridge, knocking McLean off his feet. As he fell backwards he saw the low-flying ‘plane, with the Balkenkreuz insignia painted under the wings.

Lying on his back, McLean watched a parachute mushroom from the cockpit. The plane carried on for another half mile, before it careered into the freshly-ploughed field.

McLean picked himself up. He could see the pilot struggling to free himself from the parachute.

Brandishing the pitchfork in front of him, McLean approached. ‘I think you’re a wee bit lost, laddy,’ he called.

The pilot, dazed from his ordeal, raised his hands to the sky and stared at the menacing man coming towards him.

Hauptmann Alfred Horn, I have an important message for the Duke of Hamilton.’

‘David McLean, ploughman. I think you better come with me.’


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Copyright J S Brand

In May 1941, Rudolf Hess, Deputy Fuhrer to Hitler, flew from Bavaria to Scotland, crash landing at Floors Farm, south of Glasgow. Ploughman David McLean, brandishing a pitchfork, captured Hess (who initially identified himself as Alfred Horn), before handing him over to the Home Guard. The real reason for Hess’s bizarre flight remains a mystery, although it is believed he wanted to negotiate peace, possibly without Hitler’s knowledge. Read more about Hess and his flight on WIKIPEDIA.

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.