Sarah Potter Writes

Pursued by the Muses of prose, poetry, and music.

Archive for the tag “Friday Fictioneers”

Friday Fictioneers — Rewind

Genre: Mainstream fiction
Word count: 100

REWIND 

“Over & out” (your last text message).

No, I didn’t mean it. Come back…

My fingers type panicked nonsense.

Text not sent. The word “not” blanks me, as an opaque oblivion wedged between two possibilities.

This is the story of my life, its path strewn with the litter of my impetuosity.

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“Love u xxxx” (your first text message).

No, you can’t mean it. Moi?

My fingers type lovey-dovey nonsense in ecstatic knots, rendered more rubbishy through my somersaulting heart.

Text sent. “Am counting the minutes” you reply. The possibilities are endless, but I know this relationship will end in disaster…   

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 Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: copyright © Ted Strutz

Friday Fictioneers — Lipstick and High Heels

Genre: Mainstream fiction
Word Count: 100

~~LIPSTICK AND HIGH HEELS~~

“Lunar, my dear, you’ve a heavenly body but, for heaven’s sake, keep your mouth shut in front of my parents.”

“What’s it worth?”

“My everlasting love.”

“Liar! All you care about is your inheritance.”

“Not so. I just don’t want my snot-bag of a sister getting her hands on the money.”

“What if she’s at the dinner party, too, and wants to engage in girl-talk.”

“She doesn’t do girl-talk. …Look, it’s essential that my parents don’t get wind of my sexuality, or they won’t leave me a penny.”

“I can’t wait to kick off these stilettos and become Michael again.”

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 Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: image copyright © Dale Rogerson

Friday Fictioneers — Nineteen years later

Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for choosing one of my pictures as the Photo Prompt for Friday Fictioneers this week.

Last week, some of you will remember that I wrote some alternate lyrics to the song “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic” but, because of the 100-word restriction, had to end mid-verse and complete my word count with the promise of a further instalment for this week. Well I meant that as a joke, but a few people said they were looking forward to Part II, so here it is!

For those who missed “The Crazy Bears’ Battle” last week and wonder what on earth is happening below, here’s the link. And please feel free to sing along to both instalments.

Genre: Alternative song lyrics
Words: 100

THE TOMBOY AND HOMICIDAL DOLL’S VENGEANCE

If grown lads go to the potting shed
They’re in for a huge surprise
If grown lads go to the potting shed
It could end in their demise. 

For every year since skiving from school
They’ve met up there for certain
Because today’s the day they
Commemorate that battle.
 

Laughter time for lazy louts.
The pot-smoking hillbillies are having
A dopey time today.

Watch that doll creep up on them
And see her snaggle-teeth go clickety-clack.
 

See her bite the lads with glee.
They’re off their heads alright,
They never feel a thing…

Epilogue: ‘Rich Compost For The Asparagus Bed’

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To read other Friday Fictioneers’ stories for this week, or to add a 100-word story of your own, please click on the blue frog below.

 

Friday Fictioneers: The Crazy Bears’ Battle

Genre: Alternative song lyrics
Word count: 100

THE CRAZY BEARS’ BATTLE

If girls go down to the mudflats today
They’re in for a foul surprise.
If girls go down to the mudflats today
They’d better go in disguise!

The worst boy’s gang that ever existed
Will gather there for certain,
Because today’s the day the
Crazy bears fight a battle.

Wrestling time for crazy bears
The mud-slinging boys’ bears are having
A filthy time today.
Watch them catch dolls unawares,
And see them battle on their skive from school.

See them pelt the dolls with mud.
They love to taunt the girls…

Next week’s instalment: The Tomboy and Homicidal Doll’s Vengeance

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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo prompt: image copyright (c) Karuna

Friday Fictioneers — The Ancient School at “D–wh–n-e”

This week’s photo prompt brought to mind the horrendous terrorist attack in Manchester on Monday night. I am so overwhelmed with emotions about this, that it has rendered me mute with regard to such atrocities. Therefore, I’m going to avoid the subject of explosions and move forward to the year 2183 and write about a ruin instead.

This is another chance for you to meet Morag in my not-yet unpublished novel Counting Magpies. On the previous occasion she was in York, having trouble with her decrepit bicycle (A Rare Specimen). This time, she’s in the Highlands of Scotland in a village that has some of the letters missing from its signpost.

Come on, you clever clogs. Let’s see who’s going to be the first to fill in those blank letters (each em dash stand for two missing letters and the hyphen for one)…

Genre: Dystopian speculative fiction
Word count: 100

~~THE ANCIENT SCHOOL AT “D–WH–N-E”~~

I pick my way through the rubble, tripping once and almost twisting my ankle on a rusted kettle.

At first I mistake the bundle for a heap of rags, until I prod it with the plank and turn it over. The thing has a face, or rather bones with empty eye sockets and a gaping jaw. I let out a reflexive scream, despite knowing a skull can’t harm me. The rest of the skeleton is clothed in rags covered in mildew. 

Who was this person with unusually long leg and foot bones and narrow hipbones? Perhaps it was a man.

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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo prompt: image copyright © J Hardy Carroll

Friday Fictioneers — Fixing The Past

Genre: Time Travel
Word count: 100

~~FIXING THE PAST~~

“Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.” Before and after, actually.

“You look so familiar.”

“They say that everybody has a double somewhere in the world.”  He shouldn’t remember me.  Have I returned once too often?

“I finish at nine. Perhaps we could have a drink.”

“Yes, why not?” That demon, alcohol. Why do I keep returning to this point in time? It’s too late to save him.

“I’m looking forward to it, babe.”

“Likewise. But I’ve an errand to run between now and then.” Off to locate that 12-year-old boy and lace his first alcoholic drink with purgatives.

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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: image copyright © Roger Bultot

Friday Fictioneers — She Needs Glasses

auto-aftermath

Genre: Humour
Word count: 100

~~SHE NEEDS GLASSES~~

That idiot human has just demolished my home and scattered my babies to the wind. I’ve lived here forever, festooning the wing mirror on the passenger side of the car with webs built to ensnare a bountiful roadkill of gnats and resist a driving speed of 70 mph.

The Idiot isn’t car-proud and only washes her steel beast once or twice a year, at which time I reel in the main lines of my webs and retreat to safety behind the mirror cover casing.

My size makes me easy to overlook, but a giant brick pillar is quite another matter.

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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: Image copyright © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Friday Fictioneers — The Deal

Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 100

~~THE DEAL~~

When my name was Humphrey, I had Aspergers and lived in a room with closed curtains. My mother bought me pizza with carrot and jam topping every day.

When I became Jared, I still had Aspergers and lived in my room, but belonged to a worldwide community that appointed me their hacker-in-chief.

Now I’m in a strange room with bars on the windows and no curtains. A man says to me, “Humphrey, you have two options. Either you go to prison, or you work for us.”

“Will you bring me pizza with carrot and jam topping every day?” I ask.

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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: copyright © Sandra Crook

Friday Fictioneers — Unholy Epitaph

Genre: Dark humor
Word Count: 100

~~UNHOLY EPITAPH~~

hic iacet sepultus

DOMINIC SEAMUS HEGGARTY
a gardener who loved Nature minus Man.

Born in Islington, June 13th 1836
Died December 27th 1891

Bastard son of Michael de Humpe, VIIIth Earl of Stitchbury
 who cavorted with Molly Frimble, an unfortunate, and contracted the French disease and died most horribly of raging insanity,
thereby bestowing upon his beloved illegitimate son nothing of note other than an unconsecrated burial plot at the far end of his Estate,
for when his own time of passing came, alongside Molly,
dispatched to the afterlife by Lady Stitchbury in a fit of apoplexy.

requiescant in pace

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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: copyright © Liz Young

 

Friday Fictioneers — Him with the Dog collar

Genre: Humour
Word count: 100

~~HIM WITH THE DOG COLLAR~~

Susanna thought her husband, the Reverend, the worst public speaker in the universe. Whenever he climbed into the pulpit, he underwent a personality change: those unfunny anecdotes, the sepulchral voice, and the platitudes.

To cure her boredom, Susanna thought not of God but of shoes. Even vicars’ wives like to dream about shoes, especially in Lent when temptation expands in proportion to self-denial. Sometimes her frustration spilled over into an angry confession, and the Reverend told her, “It’s the Devil who distracts you with shoes, my dear.”

True, she couldn’t wear her sandals anymore due to her feet turning cloven.

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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: copyright © Magaly Guerrero

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