Friday Fictioneers : The bubble gum pink coat

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll


Mum lifts Danny onto the seat, the Umbrella car giddy under his weight.

‘Will you come?’ He isn’t scared, but Mum’s been sad for so long and fairground rides make everyone smile.

She shakes her head, tells him to hold the bar in front but he’s old enough to know that. The car moves – loud music shakes the air in his ears. Mum has already turned, her bubble gum pink coat a spot of colour growing smaller. When the ride has turned once, the pink has gone.

This is what Danny tells the police lady when she comes.


Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. See the picture and write a tale. Share yours and read others here.



Friday Fictioneers : When the world froze

PHOTO PROMPT © Victor and Sarah Potter


Winter was hard.

The streets were slick and glassy, icicles sang from every tree – a high, unearthly tune – and even the harbour was clogged, jagged plates of ice knocking, sliding one over the other, only for their cold geometry to refreeze each night as the sun vanished.

We were standing by a brazier when we saw the strangest thing. Webs, the spokes and lines frilled white and at the centre of each, the crystal bauble of a spider, waiting for a last meal that never came.

‘A sad sight,’ said Barney, hands purpled and blotchy.

He’s a good man.


Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers, the best prompt on the ‘web’. See the photo and write a tale and don’t forget to share and read the other contributions here.

Friday Fictioneers : Ariadne leaves the maze

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot


Ariadne wove along the tangled path, through nodding rosebay willowherb and scabious, nettles snatching at her skirts.

Her mind wandered ahead to the hive, the warm, sweet buzz of the comb then back to him, his warmth. He was often sweet but always tinged sour with beer or sweat, hard words, hard hands.

The sound reached her first, a thousand singular insect voices weaving to form a low hum. The brown cloud enveloped her as she drew close, furry bodies bouncing against her hands, her cheeks, welcoming her.

‘He’s dead,’ she whispered.

She turned and followed the path back home.


Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. Join in, read and share here.

At first glance there may seem no connection between my story and the prompt photograph, but the shapes in the net reminded me of a honeycomb, which led my mind to bees and the tradition of telling them when someone in the family dies. To read more about this tradition take a look here.

Friday Fictioneers : Ernest’s last adventure



Ernest Blower was not an academic man.

If he wished to learn the progress of the war, he would pass the evening paper to his daughter to read aloud. Literature, algebra, trigonometry – all were foreign worlds to him, as frightening and unfamiliar as the jungles of Borneo or the far face of the Moon.

No, Ernest’s gift lay in machinery, which he seemed to know by instinct, as if he had been turned on the same lathe, burnished from the same metal.

His own mechanism seized when he was 64, in his workshop, oil can clasped in his gnarled fist.


Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. Come write a tale yourself – see here to read the other stories.




Friday Fictioneers : Christmas 1914

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg


Winter of 1914, we made a parcel for Albert – a block of Ma’s sherry-soaked Christmas cake, two packs of Woodbines, a bar of Fry’s chocolate and a hat she’d knitted herself.

‘He’ll need summat warm over there.’ She carressed the stitches, brown and thick as our Albert’s flop of hair.

I hadn’t told her what I’d heard whispered down the pub – the ankle deep water, the bodies lain still and stiff in No Man’s Land till bombs turned them to Flanders mud … the rats.

She slipped a card in too, signed ‘your loving Mother’.

‘That’ll warm him.’ I tried to smile.


Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. See the pic and write a tale. Visit Rochelle’s site to share and to read the other stories.


Woodbines – at the time, a popular brand of cigarettes mad by the Wills tobacco company here in Bristol. Cigarettes helped with morale in the trenches and were also used as currency.

I was going to use the brand name Five Boys chocolate but didn’t quite have the word count. Five Boys was made by Fry and Son – another Bristol company – and was famous for the image on the front of the wrapper, see below.


Image result for five boys chocolate


Friday Fictioneers : Tommy’s wish

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson


Tommy walked on, watched the sun set over the canal, the rays twinkle like fairy lights on the frosted trees.

Another hour and he could go home. The man would have left and Ma would be done for the night. The flat would smell different for a few hours, of sweat or cheap aftershave, but at least they would have money for chips – maybe battered fish too – and in the morning it would smell more like home again.

He was too old to believe in Santa, but if he was a little boy again, he’d ask for just one thing.


Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. See the prompt and write a tale. Visit here to read the other stories and to share one of your own.

Friday Fictioneers : A nighttime visit

PHOTO PROMPT © What’s His Name


The path is overgrown with grasses that reach to Prim’s knees. The lamp swings, stretching and shrinking the shadows into grasping fingers.

Ma says Prim’s too small to visit the privvy on her own at night, but then Da rolled in three sheets to the wind one day and the chamber pot was broken along with the vase Ma puts her violets in.

The wind is blowing in her face, bringing night smells with it as the privvy door creaks open.

A snuffling sound. A yelp.

A vixen and two small cubs’ eyes glow in the dark.

Her secret.

Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers. Write a story and join the fun. See here to read the other tales.