fridayfictioneers – Writing and Works

Fixer-Upper #FridayFictioneers

‘You realise no one is going to buy this place, right?’

Adam’s hand appeared above the back of the sofa, stray screwdriver retrieved. Sally took it off him, one knee wedged so firmly between the cushions that she stayed stuck when she tried to stand.

‘It’s a fixer-upper,’ she shrugged. ‘People like that sort of thing.’

‘No, they think they like it,’ said Adam. He’d stood up and Sally choked down a laugh at the dust wig haloing his bald head.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ Sally spluttered. ‘Just maybe you’re right. It might be time to get a hoover.’

dales-broken-door — PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Luck Of The Draw – #FridayFictioneers

The heating has been on since six and the kitchen is warm.

Beyond the windows trees are grey skeletons, the lawn knotted with weeds. Three fence panels slump away from their posts, and the sun is out.

Through the glass it pretends that the heat in the kitchen is its doing.

Kara knows it’s lying and pads barefoot across the tiles.

The kettle has boiled but she leaves it, takes the jar beside instead, twists a slip of paper free.

‘Live,’ it reads.

She folds it and places it back, rooting it towards the bottom.

Tomorrow she may pull different.

bokeh-priya-bajpal (1) — PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

Down In The Dust – #FridayFictioneers

‘There’s never much green out here is there?’ said Bobby, reaching out to pinch the thorn end of a twig. The bush had rooted into one of the fissures running along the face of the valley and Bobby could see its thin, grey roots spidering outwards in tendrils.

He twisted his hand and the twig crumbled.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered and dusted the debris away.

He turned and walked the fifty yards back to his car.

The boot was still open, the spade inside.

‘I should have found somewhere nicer,’ he muttered, gripping the handle. ‘You would have preferred somewhere green.’

Giants

Kittles Bay had been a family vacation spot for the Jones longer than Kaitlin could remember. One February, when her brother was off for half-term and she wasn’t quite old enough to have started school, her father had driven them out to the craggy shoreline ‘just because’.

Hunched up in his hoodie, her brother complained it was too cold and hid from the churning, grey sea in the rattling tin can their father coaxed awake each morning.

‘This!’ said her father, feet wide apart on a giant link and arms spread outwards, ‘is where the giants fled the Old King!’

The Locals

balcony — PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

You learn certain things about people when you live in a small village.

Like Mr Bartlett who always order three pints of lager before a pint of bitter, or Mrs Caraway who will always bake a malt loaf for the August fair despite claiming for the past six months that she was going to try something new.

Everyone is odd. You just notice it more in small villages.

Thomas Green however, was very odd. One Christmas he collected odd socks from the neighbours, and hung them around his porch.

I asked my mother why.

“Because,” she said. “He just does.”

[100 Words]

I was really stuck for what to write this week, and since my car’s suspension decided to give up on me over the weekend, leaving me stuck in Shropshire with my parents, I thought why not draw upon local inspiration. [In the sense of odd neighbours, no one I know actually hangs odd socks as decorations.]

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this: