Twittering Tales #149


Photo by Wal_172619 @

Bangkok 11.25 pm

Pandemonium at the airport.

All flights are cancelled.

Bundled to a nearby cheap hotel.

Awoken at 3.23 am.

No coffee.

No breakfast.

No buses.

Crammed into 55 taxis and driven in cavalcade back to the chaos.

Too tired to think.

Was it just a bad dream?

I’m afraid not. (269 characters)

This is my Twittering Tale for this week.

They say that truth is stranger than fiction but this actually happened a long time ago. I remember the long line of taxis flanked by Police on motorcycles. Surreal 🙂

Sunday Photo Fiction July 21 2019

Photo by Arun Sharma on Unsplash

The Waiting Room

Just another waiting room. Clean, white, and functional. Eight seats and a map of the world.

It had a big frosted window at the end, reminiscent of a ship’s porthole.

They waited patiently in line outside, behind a closed door. Each one had his numbered ticket in hand.

There were no smiles and no conversations. With their free hands they each held a black leather briefcase and either gazed into space or turned their regard inwards.

A loudspeaker erupted from out of nowhere.

“The candidates can go into the inner waiting room and take a seat. Please respect the order written on your tickets.”

They entered without a word.

All nine of them.

They sat silently, each one after the other, until they realised that there were only 8 seats.

They had been trained for action.

The last to enter unclasped his briefcase and plunged his hand inside, reaching for his gun.

The eight others were much faster, and eight single bullets to the heart stopped him.


From the loudspeaker came a soft male voice.

“Please dispose of the body through the porthole and await instructions.”

They waited. (189 words)

It’s Sunday and therefore Sunday Photo Fiction Day. Thanks again Donna for this wonderful weekly challenge.

My feature photo was taken in Napier, New Zealand and I thought it looked better in Black and White than in colour.

FotoFlash Fiction July 19 2019

Photo Source:

The hand

We took a long time to understand what the hand coming from the handbasin in the bathroom really meant.

Now that we do it always makes us smile.

Billy lost his smile as a baby. He would only smile to himself and no longer outwardly to others.

Communication was exceedingly difficult and he rarely uttered single words or less frequently two word or three word phrases.

From waking to bed time he refused eye contact, seemed to live in his own little world and was constantly restless, continually making the same endless gestures with no apparent reason.

He would flap his hands while rocking back and forth with seemingly untiring effort. When he moved from room to room it was often on tip toes as if he was carefully negotiating the space between where he was coming from and where he was going to

We painstakingly learnt, mostly by trial and error, and over time, what we needed to do.

The most useful aid was silence and calm. We kept our own noises to a strict minimum in his presence. All arguments and disputes, because there were many, were always held as far away from him as possible.

As long as we avoided innovation and continued as normal, family life was good.

I think our greatest frustration was not being able to cover him with our love. No kisses or hugs, no caresses and as little body contact as possible.

There were those extremely rare occasions, when Billy would suddenly be there, almost within touching distance, and you’d just want to throw your arms around him and hold him close, but suddenly he was at the other side of the room again, shut off and fully concentrated in something incomprehensible, again.

He used to have frequent meltdowns, but over time they seem to have flared up less and less. In overwhelming situations he used to totally lose any control where he would lash out, kicking and screaming. I think we have mostly learnt how to avoid them now.

When he attained double digits we gave him a Magic Set for Christmas.

He keeps it with him at all times. He loves to take each item out and lines them up so that they touch. Then he spends as much time putting them all back into the box and closing the box with a large elastic that he twangs against the box lid a seemingly uncountable number of times.

So it is a very special occasion when we spot the hand coming from the washbasin.

We take it as if it was a little wave hello.

So one of us takes the hand and puts it on the floor near to where Billy waits, his Magic Box open, a very slight smile on his lips.

After a while he takes the hand from the floor and puts it back in his box. He pursues his routines.

It’s going to be better. I just know it.

(496 words)

As it’s Friday, it’s time for FotoFiction, a weekly flash fiction challenge to write less than 500 words inspired by a photo provided by Donna B. McNicol our host.

Twittering Tales #143

Photo by Ryan McGuire at

Mac was a busy man. If you passed by the garage you could see him lying down, hard at work.

He was also sly and devious, and changed the dummy and number plate each morning.

Mac was elsewhere, fishing in his favourite spot with a crate of beer at his side. (254 chars)

ooo ———- ooo

This is this weeks Twittering Tales after a short absence while I was taking a short break in the South of England.

Today’s feature photo was taken while we were away in a picturesque village in West Sussex. I don’t think the car has moved for a while!

Sunday Photo Fiction 30.6.2019

Pexels from Pixabay

The story of the Chair

Let’s contemplate on this orange chair.

It’s full of symbolism isn’t it?

A comfy chair placed in the middle of the road.

What stories does it evoke?

Did Sheila throw him out of the house or did Peter ask her to leave?

It looks well worn doesn’t it?

It might be a chair that Peter and Sheila purchased when they got married.

Perhaps it’s been replaced by another chair or even a set of chairs.

Maybe these new chairs are in black leather or striped yellow and green fabric.

We don’t know do we, and to be honest, I don’t really care.

Conceivably there might be traces of blood splatter, or other incriminating fluids. An item in a crime scene.

Hmm, that’s interesting isn’t it?

Peter finishes vacuuming the living room carpet, goes out to recover the chair from outside, and finds that someone has moved it from the courtyard to the road outside the house.

From my vantage point I watch him as he stoops to grab the chair.

I aim to the head, and ease the trigger, killing the unfortunate bastard with a single shot.


Well that’s another story to tell isn’t it. (196 words)

Sunday Photo Fiction has a new Host! Yay! Welcome Donna McNicol. I’m looking forward to this weekly challenge and I love the new look.

My featured photo this week was taken by a beach in the Outer Hebrides last year.

Twittering Tales #138

Photo by Moritz 320 at

After 30 indecisive years, she took the 35mm wedding photos from the forgotten reaches of the wardrobe, removed dust and gunge, and sent them off for digital copies.

Then continued with her perfect life.

Weeks later, Detectives arrived and arrested her.

It wasn’t the wedding photos. (280 Characters)

Tuesday is Twittering Tales Day. Thanks Kat!

The featured photo was taken on the Queen Victoria when we visited Hawaii in 2014. Good memories.