ANOTHER YEAR

Back on the usual spot. It’s nice to get out of the dark box in the attic.

The first minutes were rough as always – turned upside down, shaken around, played with like a toy, before being settled on the mantelpiece.

The youngest is tall enough to reach me now, so I had a couple of rude awakenings, plucked from my perch at risk of being dropped, until the parents came to my rescue.

A nice tree this year. I wish I could smell the fresh pine, but I’ll settle for the gentle glow – new lights I think. There was lots of laughter while the tree was decorated.

It was only on the big day itself I noticed mother crying. Later on Grandad turned up on his own. I assume it was old age and nothing worse, but the day was lessened without the presence of Granny.

There were more presents than ever. The youngest got a small drum kit from Uncle. The parents weren’t thrilled. Even through water I can hear the vibrations when he starts banging.

It will be back into the box soon, forgotten about until winter returns. I can’t wait to be shaken upside down again.


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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.

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MOLLY

She stood at the window looking out at the harbour.

They told her to give up. They told her there was no hope. Years had gone by.

They’d lost her Molly once before when she wandered off into the woods and didn’t return. She was found the next day in her bivouac of branches and leaves. Molly laughed at her parents’ worrying, ‘I’ll always come home,’ she smiled.

If only she had stopped her. But she could never say no to Molly, never bring herself to restrain that natural joy of life, that spirit of adventure.

Now she had lost her husband, her looks, her job. She refused to lose her Molly.

The traditional lighthouse at the end of the sea wall had gone, replaced by a metal abomination. Around their small house modern hotels crowded in. The cargo ships grew larger every year.

Still she waited and each time a sail appeared her heart would beat a little faster. Each time another little part of her crumbled.

They had never found any wreckage of Molly’s boat.

A small sailboat rounded the wall, tacking against the breeze. Her Molly would come home one day. She had promised she always would.


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Copyright A Mixed Bag

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.

GRANDPA’S LUCKY SHOES

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.


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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.

MARKSMANSHIP

The first one was for the mother-in-law. Ten years of interference and nagging. I felt the anger start to build. I was never good enough for her daughter. Well, now she had what she wanted. Harley was gone. I took a deep breath. I squeezed the trigger. 200 yards away the china tea cup exploded into pieces.

I moved onto the next cup. The best friend. Every time there was an argument Harley would run to her. Then I would get Samantha screaming down the phone at me, or hammering at the door, threatening to show me what a weak man I was. The cup disappeared in a puff of small particles.

The last cup was for Harley herself. She was coming over now to collect the last of her things. She wouldn’t get her precious tea set. Ten years worth of shared existence. Now, nothing. Dammit, I could feel the tears welling up again. I squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew wide. The cup remained untouched. I heard the windscreen shatter, the screech of tyres and then the crunch of metal hitting the wooden fence.


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Copyright Dawn Miller

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.

STORM DAMAGE

The boxes of her water-damaged possessions took up three-quarters of the hotel room.

Until the destruction caused by Hurricane Matthew was repaired this was her home. The restoration firm said they would gain access next week. Until then, all she could do was sit and wait.

The flowers of condolence sat on the table. They stared at her, a constant reminder.

Bill was missing presumed dead, a victim of the storm.

She prayed that the cement in the cellar had dried in time and held once the water receded.


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Copyright Dale Rogerson

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.