When the first pair of shoes turned up, well, I were delighted. I put them on and walked. Them ten league boots took me all the way from John O’Groats to Lands End. I walked clear out of them and settled on the promontory overlooking the bean green Atlantic. Waiting

Today, a second pair of boots on my moss-gnawed doorstep. Sinister derelict things. With a note tucked into the right shoe. I couldn’t pull it out, and anyway I can’t read. But I know what it says.

Pebbles crunching. I walk into the ocean. It’s so very cold.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields, who has given us boots before, to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

My story is a companion piece to Walker, written in response to the first pair of boots.

Something weird was happening. I just didn’t know what. Since we left Dad, life was odd. We moved three times in twelve years. And each time, Harold was there too.

Mum promised to explain, now I was old enough. She met me in a motorway services, with Harold in tow.

“We’re on the run from the Mafia,” she said. “Your father crossed them.”

Harold gave me a bracelet. A transmitter, so he and other agents could always locate me. He told me to be wary of doubles, people who looked like friends but were really bad guys.

I mean, what would you do? This was my mother.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

We call it The Event. The moment when everything changed, when we lost writing. Ink refused to lock onto paper, and just drifted in the air like dark fog. Neither quill nor printing press could force the binding. Every time we opened a book, the letters sprang from the page and roosted in the rafters. Servers were wiped clean

I believe I’ve found the solution. Listen.

“Once upon a midnight dreary

While I pondered weak and weary….”

We will remember and recite.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

The old man is panting as he reaches the summit. The small of his back twists with ache, bending him forward as if into a wind. He stumbles, legs barely able to support him.

Hell of a place to choose for a meeting, he mutters.

An eagle soars effortless on thermals, and a breeze carries the scent of lemons. A bush bursts into flame. The prophet selects a chisel from his satchel and prepares to take dictation.

I know what you’re thinking, but you are mistaken. Just because something didn’t happen doesn’t make it untrue.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

I’m having major connectivty problems, so please forgive me if I’m not able to comment on your post

“Heinous. So proud of our great military. Slam dunk. Goodbye slime ball.”

He clicked some missiles.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

 

I found Christophe’s little repair shop tucked away under the railway arches. There was nothing he couldn’t fix. Springs and gears cluttered his bench, bits of old toasters and gizmos whose purpose I couldn’t imagine.

“I need these words repurposed,” I said, dropping the Gladstone bag on his counter. Some tarnished verbs slipped out.

He picked one. “Flense,” he said, turning it over and examining it with a jeweller’s loupe. “Tricky”

While I waited, I leafed through an antique volume, became lost in the tale.

“Where was I?”

“Working a story,” he said. “I’m afraid I involved your body in slaying some dragons.”

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

 

 

 

 

 

An anthology of 32 stories about climate change. One of them is mine. Profits go to the Earth Day network.

A schoolboy inspired by a conservation hero to do his bit.

A mother trying to save her family and her farm from drought.

A world that doesn’t get dark anymore.

And a city that lives in a tower slowly being taken over by the sea.

These stories and many more make up a poignant collection that is sometimes bleak, sometimes lighthearted, but always hopeful that we can make a change.

Published on 22 April, 2018 you can order from Amazon

Yeah, I wasn’t surprised when they came. The truth is out there, you know. No, no. Don’t stand directly underneath – they can beam you up that way.

What do you mean they’re lamps? Don’t you get it? That’s what they want us to think. Well, if you’re so smart tell me what the message means.

The message for crissakes, the one they’re projecting on the window. Look, one bar, then two, then three. Arithmetic, right? But look at the first one. That, my friend, is their encyclopaedia, their gift, if you know how to read it.

 

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

The meeting broke up early. You’d think it would take days to reach such a decision, but only fifty-three minutes had passed, I walked with the President in the gardens. On the lawn a peacock called, the sound rasping and full of anguish.

“All of them?” I said. “Must they all die?”

The President brushed hair from her eyes. It was a weary gesture. “You know the answer. If even one survives, this will get out.”

Beyond the walls, I heard the rumble as the tanks moved off.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

We called them the witch’s tits. On account of their shape, you know – sharp cones. Before we named the peaks, this was just an ordinary mountain track. Afterwards, well you could feel it, the cold I mean, a kind of chill in your heart as you rounded the corner.

I think it was Harry who named the force – Ishtar, an ancient Queen of Heaven, who destroyed her lovers. Anyhow it was Henry She took for her own that day. We heard a wail and he vanished. That’s why we made the warning sign. Nobody takes this road now.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here