Letting Go

I’m running a bit late this week, but didn’t want to miss Friday Fictioneers. A 100 words of fiction based on the photo prompt provided. Follow the link and join in the fun.


Sometimes, there comes a time when resilience is no longer enough. It’s no longer a strength or a crux to be indebted to. Sometimes it’s more important to let go. To watch the dead wood fall away and the barren earth crumble, to let worry and indecision slide into the ocean and be swallowed.

Sometimes we just need to watch all the pieces fall before we know who we really are. It’s what makes us walk when others want to run, sing when others want to whisper and smile when others want to weep.

The truth is in what remains standing.

Capturing A Moment

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Can you photograph a moment,

Just one moment at a time,

Can you capture all its essence,

All its lustre and its shine,


Can you bottle every second,

Catch emotions as they fall,

Can you drink until you’re sated,

And not drown amidst the squall,


Can you savour every minute,

Taste its spice upon your tongue,

Can you sample every flavour,

And know when each begun.

A Different Kind Of Ball

Time again for the fabulous Friday Fictioneers. A 100 words (give or take) of fiction based around the photo prompt provided. My last few attempts have been quite deep so thought I’d lighten up a little this week. A change is as good as a rest, or so they say.


Photo Copyright : C.E. Ayr

Outside, away from the crowd, he saw only her. She looked up, met his eyes. He wanted to move, go forward, touch her, but his legs were like lead, rooted to the ground.

It must be the street lights, he thought, as the tic in the corner of her eye raced faster; her hair lengthened, past her neck, then onto her shoulder. A shoulder suddenly wider, more muscular.

She turned and ran.

He watched.

He picked up the shoe she’d lost. He’d find her again. He knew it.

Turning it over he read the label –Male, size 14, xxx wide fit.

“She must have a brother”!

A Box Of Memories

Time again for Friday Fictioneers, a 100 words of fiction for the photo prompt provided. Follow the link and join the parade.


Photo Copyright : J Hardy Carroll

We cannot remember their voices or see their faces clearly. But the memories never really faded.  We didn’t let them, we took them with us, carried them with us from place to place.

Though eventually even those began to wane. The sheen of the when and where, it dimmed to a weakened hue, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of loss. Even in our dreams.

So in the here and now, those long remembered memories, like faded sepia photographs, are put into a box in the corner of an attic. A box no one will open.

All our brightest hours.

The Town Of Wicked

A 100 words of fiction for the fabulous Friday Fictioneers. Follow the link and have a go. Let your imagination run riot, paint the town red or dance like a hippo in a tuto, where ever inspiration takes you.


Photo Copyright : Connie Gayer…..(Mrs.Russell)

They called the town Wicked. A rat infested cesspit, where despair lingered on the skin like the stench of stale sweat and cheap whiskey. It was a rotten town.

Men played hard and fought harder.

Women survived. As best they could. In the fields, in the bars, on their backs, anything to survive.

Then the missionaries came, bringing promises and hope. But hope was dangerous. Hope made you want more. Made you feel more, need more. It made the rotten, rottener.

So when the prospectors left and the missionaries moved on, the devil pulled Wicked back into the earth.

And hope caught the last wagon out.