Wednesday already and time for a hit of Friday Fictioneers. A 100 words of fiction based around the weekly changing prompt, graciously hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Follow the link to join in.


Photo Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Does she do it?

Does she not?

Does she love him?

Does she not?

So many questions.

He looks at her. She knows he doesn’t see her, not really. Not the real her.

Guilt balances on her shoulders. As though emerging from water, one minute she staggers, stumbles back. The next she dances, teases delicate steps that whisper through the spray.

He thought he could heal her, wash away the past.

But she likes the dirt, likes the black that coats her soul. She’s thirsty for it.

He turns his back.

She smiles. Her tongue licking hungrily across her lips.

The drought is almost over.

Night Night, Sleep Tight

Time again for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 words of fiction based around the photo prompt provided. The sun is shinning, tomorrow is payday and yet I’ve once again channeled the dark side. Maybe next week I’ll write about bunnies!!  Follow the link to join in the fun.

j hardy carroll

Photo Copyright : J Hardy Carroll

She gripped the wall for support. The hairs on the back of her neck stood. The temperature dropped 20 degrees.

“DON’T GO IN, WALK AWAY” screamed the voice in her head.

She couldn’t listen.

The window bounced light across the floor. Prisms of colour, frenzied and feverish, danced to its frantic score.

All that pain, all that shame. Echoes that still ricochet 60 years later.

The baby had never taken a breath.  No cries to give her away. Swaddling the body in her bloodied school skirt, she’d buried it beneath a stack of broken chairs.

Then left the school.

Left the town.

Left herself.

The Last Ferry Home

Wednesday again and another fix of Friday Fictioneers. A 100 words of fiction based around the photo prompt provided. Follow the link and hop on board.
ceay r

Photo Copyright : C. E. Ayr

The late night shuttle was almost at the jetty. Jack stood, his back against the rail, watching. He’d seen her every night for the last 3 weeks.

A child, chasing a ball, brushed past her leg and she looked down and smiled. But he saw a sadness burn through her smile. She couldn’t hide it. He could make a story of her smile.

He wanted her to become a story, a story just for him.

Tonight he was going to speak.

She looked up and caught his eye. He stilled.

Sinking back into the crowd, he watched her leave.

Maybe tomorrow.


This weeks entry to Friday Fictioneers. A 100 words (or there abouts) of fiction based on the weekly photo prompt provided. Follow the link to read and participate.

roger bultot

Photo Copyright : Roger Bultot

She was sat on the step. Rain hood tipped back, framing her face, hugging a doll tightly to her chest.

“I told Dr Smith, Sarah would do it” she said in a detached whisper.

Sgt. Reynolds took her hands, against the thickness of his, hers were soft and small.

He wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

Her lemon cotton dress was stained with blood. Its heavy scent caught in his throat.

“Sarah said I didn’t need Mummy anymore”

He sat looking at her. Electricity sizzled in the wet air.

“Where is Sarah now” he asked.

She opened her arms and silently passed him the doll.

“Hello Sarah” he sighed.