“You paid how much?”

The strains of Born to Be Wild blared through the open window.

“40 dollars on EBay”.

“You were so ripped off”.

“Don’t be stupid, it’s a bargain, have to work on it a bit, that’s all”.

“A little?  You are dreaming, look at the rust on the thing, where’s the engine”?

“Well clearly it doesn’t have one”.

“So that means you have to peddle it?”

“What’s wrong with peddling for goodness sake, it’s good exercise, I could do with it, my legs aren’t in the best of shape”.

“Mildred honey, you’re 89 years old, how do you think your legs should look?”

100 words or less for friday-fictioneers


Click here to visit more Friday Fictioners   This week’s photo by Sandra Cook

As a tree grew so did love

From Scott Vanatter with permission-Copyright- Indira

From Scott Vanatter with permission-Copyright- Indira

“Tell me about Molly, grandfather, please?” Ewan pleaded, as they nestled against the gnarled tree.

Eugene looked into his grandson’s eyes and saw himself many years ago, a curious youth.

“Molly be the first girl I stole a kiss from, red flowing curls, eyes as blue as the ocean, skin like milk, lips the colour of strawberries, aye such a beauty”.

“In fact this very tree is where we kissed.”

Ewan blushed. “Did you hide grandfather, because you were my age, behind the tree, so no one caught you?”

“No”, Eugene laughed, “your grandmother and I never hid our love from anyone”.


102 words For Friday Fictioneers

Tell a 100 word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count.)

No room for whimps Friday Fictioneers



“Rochelle, we shouldn’t be here, what if they come home?”
“Ted, stop panicking, you’re such a wimp”.
“They left the lamps on, it’s daylight outside, who does that, please?”
Rochelle studied the contents of the kitchen, running her fingers over the bench, the empty jars and gazed out of the window.
This would be her house someday, when she grew up and married Ted.
Pimply skinned and 13,  Ted was oblivious to her agenda.
“Please, he pleaded, can we just go, it’s freaking me out”.
Rochelle paused staring at the lamps.
Perhaps I need to marry someone willing to take risks.
OK already”.

104 words (oops)

For:      friday-fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers My dad and I

Genre: Literary Fiction Word Count: 100 Brought to us by FRIDAY FICTIONEERS

The photo prompt this week comes courtesy of Jennifer Pendegast.s6001144

His head shook slightly, his trembling hands reaching out to hold mine.

They stilled.

“I know I don’t have that long, my body grows weaker by the day, you have seen me struggle even to walk”.

“I remember running in the snow, or up flights of stairs, a young boy then, when I could hold a knife and fork without shaking when I ate, now ..I’m too embarrassed to eat in public”.

“You are my only daughter, my ginger, when I go, you will look after mum…promise me?”

I cry.

“Pop…with all the love in my heart…I promise you”.


For Friday Fictioneers and for my father who calls me ‘Ginger’ though I am not a red-head – the most amazing man in this world.

Excuse the completely different way I looked at the ‘Stairs’.  I immediately thought of how my father is battling to walk right now and the staircase was a reminder to me of his struggles.

Friday Fictioneers – March 1st prompt Moving Mountains

This challenge (100 words) proudly brought by
and Friday Fictioneers. This is a toughie, so a deep breath, a shake of the head and off I go!


“Ray,  honestly mate do you think it will run? I mean look at it?”
“ doubting his..our ability here?”
“Hell, no man, but take a look at it..surely…”.
“Trust me he knows what he’s doing, just hasn’t had the glorified touches is all”.
Ronnie shook his head, picked up his can of beer.
“Listen mate, you know the old saying love can move mountains“?
“Well didn’t we build this together, because we had fun doin’ it ?”
“Yeah but still…”
“It will move mate,” Ronnie grinned, pointing, cross those mountains over there”.

Open for critique and telling me “what a load of cods” 🙂

Friday Fictioneers – The Lonely

copyright-janet-webbMy contribution for


Ben is his name that’s what he’s called …elderly but still an ‘air’…his head held high with dignity he walks around his town …where children mock and point at pants that bear large holes and worn red cardigan …a cane that he depends upon… that enables him to walk without the limp from hip and body …that has let him down… Ben how is the life …where you live… all alone behind picket fence …where the roof is in such disrepair…tell me truly are you scared? What dreams do you hold onto …what creature comforts are there inside… this house that you live in …that we all deem unfit …not safe for any visitors or a human to inhabit… you fought for us in the war… lost your wife some years ago …do you sit inside alone in thought… and dream the time when you were young…are you happy behind the vines that grow…and care not what they think…your life was spent in happiness…with your Margaret by you side…have you ceased to now let others care…like the house you feel you’ve died… do not let others judge you… this is your family home I know… I only wish to visit you… show I care and …say hello