‘Five miles. Average pace ten minutes and thirty seconds per mile. Total duration fifty-two minutes and thirty-five seconds. Last mile duration eleven minutes.’

Paul fumbled with his smartphone and found the ‘stop’ button on his running app.

‘Run complete. Congratulations,’ the calming American female voice told him.

He sat down on the low wall of the narrow bridge. It was peaceful in the middle of the forest. He could only hear the sound of the water rippling under the old stone bridge.

Hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees, Paul took in gasps of fresh air. Gradually his breathing returned to normal. He wiped the sweat away from his eyes. Six weeks into his new fitness regime it wasn’t getting any easier.

He was dying for a cool shower and an ice cold drink. The serene water looked tempting, if it was only a few degrees warmer. He imagined jumping straight in. Standing up he leaned over the edge, his hands resting on the top of the wall. Continue reading “A HELPING HAND”



‘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.’

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


Archie mounted his bicycle as the whistle from the steam train blew.

‘Go!’ shouted Malcolm, giving Archie a push.

The bet was simple.

Archie had made it one night in the pub. He could leave the station at the same time as the train and arrive at the next stop first. Most of the money was placed against him.

Pub regulars turned out to watch the big event. Archie thrust his feet on the pedals.

He failed to see the pothole. He crashed into it, sending him spinning through the air. The bystanders cheered.

Malcolm picked him up. ‘Better luck next time, Archie.’

© Jellico’s Stationhouse

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.

This month I am taking part in the A to Z Challenge 2017 – a post each day based on the letters of the alphabet and a theme. You can visit my A TO Z CHALLENGE 2017 page here to read the story.

As this challenge will take up a lot of my blogging time I may not get round to commenting on everyone’s posts, but I hope to find time to read all your stories as usual, and still be able to participate in Friday Fictioneers each week.


Sand paused once more at the grave of his wife before turning away. He walked back to the bench he had sat at and picked up his bicycle. The cemetery was at the top of a hill, Sand free-wheeled down the path, scattering tourists along the way. The rush of air, leaving the resting place of death behind him, lifted the shadow that had enveloped him.

He made it back to the office as the lunch hour was ending. An afternoon of paperwork lay in front of him. As he sat at his desk he felt a nip on his ankle. He wiped away a stray ant that had survived his earlier attack.

This was the part of his job he hated the most. The hunt was over, the adrenaline vanquished, the mundane form-filling reducing life and death to paperwork and box-ticking.

The murder of Lene Olsen had been a straightforward affair. Most homicides were. A jealous husband, drunk and abusive, had gone too far once too often. It had taken Sand all of ten minutes to piece together the scenario. Then it was just a matter of gathering the evidence and finding the husband, who had woken up hungover and fled, leaving the battered and bloody remains of his wife on the bedroom floor. The manhunt had lasted only a few hours. The husband had been found in his local pub, drowning his regrets in more drink. Continue reading “B IS FOR BICYCLE”