When The Lights Go Out

Another week, another Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word (give or take) fiction prompt based on the photo provided. It’s fun, it’s clean, it’s both eclectic and electric. Get yourselves over and join the fun.


 Photo Copyright : Ted Strutz

Ricochets of light echoed off half-empty glasses as flashes of colour shimmied across the bar; dancing flares of red, of amber, of burgundy and oak.

She watched him. The overhead lights flickering on and off, every alteration revising the one before. One minute highlighting the smooth angled edge to his jaw, the next, a shadowy mask darkening across his eyes.

In the corner, she drank, the subtle burn of whiskey diluting her anxiety. He walked towards her. She looked up. He raised his hand. She smiled. He walked passed her. She stilled.

As he kissed the girl behind, she felt the lights go out one by one.

Stormy Waters

Time again for the weekly sail into Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. A 100 word piece of fiction based on the photo prompt provided. It may be cold outside but dabble you feet in the water, you’ll soon feel yourself warming up. boatpilxr_-antiqued

Photo Copyright : Georgia Koch

I watch as the skies turn darker, as the mist sweeps in from the shore.  I feel the chill seep into my skin and the tightness take hold of my soul. I know that the tide is turning, that the storm is upsetting the calm, but I can’t stay away from the danger, I can’t accept the alarm.

I drown in a sea of dejection, swallowed up by a swale of regret. Adrift in a small wooden tender, while my oars float off out of sight.

And I know there’s no land on the horizon, we’re just ships that pass in the night.

Through The Storm


Original Photo : www.flickr.com/photos/shahidsababa/7991660063


When the mist rolls in,

I’ll call your name,

You’ll hear my voice,

Through the falling rain,

And as echoes weave,

Their web of need,

I’ll catch your tears,

So your sorrow’s freed,


When the storm begins,

I’ll hold your hand,

The lightest touch,

But you’ll understand,

And as darkness falls,

When all seems wrong,

You’ll sense me there,

And I’ll keep you strong,


When the lights go out, I’ll guide you home.

The Meal Of Life

I’m afraid to say that work, life and chaos got in the way and I have done very little writing for the last few weeks. I’m gutted to have missed a few weeks of Friday Fictioneers but thankfully things are slowing down and I can once more feed my craving.

dining-roomPhoto Copyright : Jan Wayne Fields

The first course was fresh, lighthearted and fun. Little hints of sunshine on a bruschetta of optimism. We laughed and we talked, we loved and we hoped. We drank to be drunk and our glasses stayed full.

The second course was richer, a little tough yet still tender; layers of compromise on a bed of responsibility. The wine was full bodied but the bottle never emptied. We sat and we thought and talked about nothing.

The last course, the cream, the sweet reminiscences. The taste of past memories on the tip of my tongue. Now I eat and I drink and remember you’re gone.