The Peat Bog : Friday Fictioneers

© Dale Rogerson

© Dale Rogerson

The Peat Bog

I took a seat in the auditorium and listened attentively.

“… it’s a wetland with acid peaty soil and one of roughly sixty freshwater islands in Loch Lomond.”

My old accomplice turned the page of his notes and continued, unaware of my presence.

“ … too small to be of interest to anything except wildlife.”

I chuckled as I thought of my drones currently filming the islands. With the exceptional drought, the metal structure marking the location would be apparent, and the diamonds would finally be mine.

I waited for the message that would allow me to gloat over his loss.

(98 words)

It’s time once again for Friday Fictioneers. A satisfying challenge of writin=g some fiction in not more than 100 words prompted by a photograph. This week’s photo is by Dale Rogerson. Thanks Dale, and thanks once again to Rochelle for organising the challenge.

The Lady in Red : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

The Lady in Red

© Pixababy

© Pixabay

D.I. Morgan holds the photo of the female victim delicately by the edges and examines it attentively.

The corpse, arranged over a wooden table was dressed in a long red evening robe and the train had been spread out behind her in an impossibly neat but artistic fashion.

D.I. Morgan slips the photo back into an envelope and drops it onto the interrogation table that separates him from the bearded man opposite.

Smiling, he gazes first at his colleague and then turns his attention back to the suspect.

“Mr Sulfiman, can you explain the presence of this photograph in your camera?”

The man swallows hard, “I just …”

“The problem Mr Sulfiman, is that the digital stamp of the photo places you exactly where the body was found, and just moments after the unfortunate woman’s time of death.”

The accused slumps over the table and sobs.

(145 words)

This is my entry to this weeks Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Why not run over and  enter the challenge or look at the other entries by following the link!

The Vulture and I : Mondays Finish the Story

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

The Vulture and I

I watched the vulture looking at me hungrily as I lay on the ground bleeding and injured. Holding my hand flat against my right side I pressed hard, trying, but not succeeding, in stopping the flow of sticky, red fluid. It was seeping unhindered through my shirt.

Looking back to the vulture, I attempted to shout, but no sound came out of my weary body. Head spinning, tongue glued to the roof of my mouth, jaws clenched with excruciating pain, I felt the inexorable encroaching darkness, and the inevitable extinction of my life’s spark.

A surge of sharp pain brought me back momentarily from the brink, and reaching into my left pocket I took out my revolver, aimed squarely between the vulture’s eyes and squeezed the trigger. I was already in the tunnel as the bullet hit, contemplating the irresistible, bright white light.

(126 words)

Another inspiring prompt from Barbara this week for the Mondays Finish the Story challenge. The first sentence is imposed and the story should be completed in less than 150 words.

Please spend some time looking at the other entries!

Penny-farthing : Sunday Photo Fiction

© 2015, A mixed Bag

© 2015, A mixed Bag

Penny-farthing

“Penny-farthing!” Tom shouts, looking out the window.

“It’s a bicycle Grandad,” quips Martin – stressing each syllable, looking up an instant from his Lego.

“Shhhh – Martin,” Maria chides, unfolding a handkerchief and going across to her Dad.

“Penny-farthing,” repeats Tom, stressing the P and the F.

Maria reaches down and delicately wipes some dribble from the corner of his mouth then slowly passes her fingers through his soft, silver hair.

He looks up, and turns his head towards the window. “Penny-farthing?” He pleads.

“Ok Daddy,” she replies closing the window.

He seems so frail and his feet rest awkwardly on the footrests of the wheelchair. She stoops to align them, lifting each foot in turn; gently cradling the weight of each leg under the knee.

She looks at Martin, still playing silently on the rug then back over to her Dad who catches her eye. His face lightens and relaxes, exposing fleetingly a glimpse of the wonderful Dad he had been.

“Penny-farthing,” he whispers, holding her gaze intently.

“I love you too,” she replies softly, warm tears escaping effortlessly.

(182 words)

This is this weeks Sunday Photo Fiction.

The Summit : Literary Lion

Literary Lion is a fortnightly writing challenge organised by Laura Gabrielle Feasey. This time it is around 400 words with the prompt : Edge.

© David Lawrence

© David Lawrence

The Summit

After a quick pint in the World’s End Pub I crossed the road and continued my march down Edinburgh’s Royal Mile. The paved road was slippery and wet and I was glad to get back onto the pavement.

It was late in the season and there weren’t too many tourists, so the walk to Holyrood Palace only took around ten minutes. I took a right along Horse Wynd and quickened my stride as I approached the next roundabout and the entrance to Holyrood Park.

There were a few cars left in the car park and some children were skipping and shouting, delaying as much as possible the ride home.

I ignored them as I prepared myself for the hike to the top of Arthur’s Seat.

Climbing Salisbury Crags I found myself curiously out of breath as the path steepened. A couple were walking down, hand in hand, and we all smiled as I walked nearer to the edge to let them pass. It was a long drop and I was glad to move back away from the brink.

Images flashed in my mind as I made my way upwards. As a teenager the Crags were just a means to attain the summit, whereas now in retirement they were much more of an obstacle. I chuckled to myself as I imagined hiring a helicopter to get straight to the summit and was relieved as I turned the last corner before the final ascent.

I had to bend over to catch my breath, holding my knees with both hands, struggling, embarrassed and a little ashamed; glad I was alone.

After a few minutes I felt the air returning to my lungs and strength returning to my legs.

I was ready.

Taking the same path as all those years ago I took my time and reached the top without passing a soul and found myself all alone at the highest point.

Perfect!

What a feeling! My heart soared as a tidal wave of memories swept back over me.

I reached my arms over my head to the sky above and turned my gaze to the Castle and the city of Edinburgh below.

I let out a roar of pure, primal, raw pleasure.

It still felt like home to me!

My favourite place on Planet Earth. (382 words)

The photo was taken by my son David when he was studying in Edinburgh a few years ago.

When I lived in Edinburgh I never took a camera. It’s a pity 😦

Holyrood Park Arthur’s Seat