copyright -Janet Webb
We stood on the sand and watched them go. ‘We’; the sick, the old, the crippled and the slow, surrounded by the debris they left behind; discarded bags, empty trolleys.
Some were still arriving at the bay, dragging injured legs behind; their expression turning to unspeakable desperation when they realized they were too late. Continue reading
Copyright – John Nixon
The dress was made at a bargain; a war was on and all the bride cared about was her prince in his freshly-pressed uniform. The groom left for France the day after the wedding. He was shot in a ditch a week later.
The second bride, a cousin of the first, married a doctor in that dress. The bride died of a fever her husband couldn’t cure.
Being a scientific man, the doctor never suspected that it was the curse on the dress that carried his girl away, and so the dress now stands in the shop, attracting prey.
—
For Friday Fictioneers, I really like this week’s picture, particularly because I love vintage wear! I love the story each garment can tell; who wore the dress? Why was it thrown away? Was there a first kiss in this dress? Was there a break up?
I had about 10 other ideas for this picture, but since I’m quite late, all my crispy concepts where taken by the time I read through all the brilliant posts. So, I settled for this one. Hope you like it 🙂
Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields
Invasion, NY
We watched them stomp across the water into the harbour; marching in a disciplined straight line, their giraffe-like necks moving backwards and forwards with each stride.
We were the last to leave; squeezed into the only remaining boat that was much too small.
The invaders made it inland and the screams became a howl; a frenzied cry of terror that carried over the water, past the broken statue.
Then another sound.
The motor on our boat coughed and died. Our eyes mirrored terror, then resignation as we waited while the current carried us back towards the screams.
—
For Friday Fictioneers. Hope you liked it 🙂
Copyright -Claire Fuller
‘What! They left already?’
‘Yup.’
‘What happened? Was it Peter with his drop-the-ball-down-the-stairs trick?’
‘No, it was Rose.’
‘Rose!’
‘You know how she gets when Carter floats to the attic to chat up the new ghost…’
‘And Rose got jealous?’
‘Yes. Freaked out. All the lights went berserk. The mortals thought that it was cos the house was old, but then Carter started dancing with the new girl.’
‘And Rose saw?’
‘Yes. She went mental. Crockery started smashing against the walls. Then she started wailing … The whole family was out of the door before Carter gave the new girl a second twirl.’
—
When I first saw the picture posted by Rochelle for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, I was rushing out of work with my glasses already packed safely in my handbag. I got a whole story going – title and all – by the time I got home. Only now that I downloaded the picture have I realised that it is in fact a church. But the story was done by then and it refused to leave. So there you have it and I hope you enjoy it.
Copyright -Renee Heath
A girl was dancing in the street, her braided hair spinning at the exact same angle as her skirt. Her figure shone bright with each revolution that brought her out of shadow and into the pouring sunrays caressing the asphalt.
A man leaned against Bidwell’s doorframe, looking on but not seeing the girl. His eyes were glazed over like he was recalling something distant.
The images are seared inside my mind still. Only the useless details though. Years of therapy have yet to bring back the face of the man who left the bag against the hydrant, right before it all went black.
—
For Friday Fictioneers. I added my dark tale to the many dark inspirations that this week’s picture has instilled in the brilliant minds of the Fictioneers.
Copyright – Jennifer Pendergast
‘It’s the Beesity epidemic?’
‘The what?’
‘You know… what they were saying on the news the other day…the obesity epidemic that’s hit the bees!’
‘Oh! … What the hell is that?’
‘It doesn’t matter, just stay away from the damn things. Charlie from work said that his mother’s cousin’s daughter was stung by one and it split her in half.’
‘Oh!’
‘If it comes anywhere near you just don’t move and stay calm.’
‘Oh! … OH! … Brady…?’
‘Yes, sweetie?’
‘Don’t panic…’
‘Why should I panic, sweetie?’
‘Do. Not. Move.’
‘Shit! Sweetie? … Sweetie? Where are you going? Sweetie!’
—
For Friday Fictioneers. Not particularly proud of my attempt this week, but it is what it is. Hope you like it better than I do!
Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy
Lying down hand in hand with a boy with no other intention except to gaze up at the passing shapes above, we used to hypothesise and ponder; were they strong enough to walk on?
A few years passed and I was up among them, looking at them. I saw cotton valleys and mountains; a whole magical world made of white and I wondered; was there anything more beautiful?
Now, glancing up I see rain coming and when up among them, looking through them, all I see is my tomb thirty-five thousand feet below; is there a death more horrible?
—
For Friday Fictioneers. No dark fiction from me this week; just stark, cold reality. Hope you like it anyway.
