The Bearded Giant

The Bearded One sat at his Mac, sleep still clinging desperately to the corners of his eyes. The thought of conjuring up a world beyond the ordinary, a world where the everyday folk were cutlery, was dancing around his mind.

The Bearded One hesitated. Surely everyone would see the Fork People reference. No, no, this wouldn’t do. He had to be original.

Through a gap in a drawer from the corner of the room, Jeremy and Simon nervously watched on. Their shiny, stainless steel bodies clanking together as they clambered atop a pile of teaspoons, eager for a better view.

 

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This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Sometimes over 120 people taking part.

And hey, if you still can’t get enough of  flash fiction– why not check out my  eBook, People WatchingUS link hereUK link there.

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Handle With Care

“This is genius,” thought Arthur. “Nobody is ever going to find me in here. I am quite literally the best at hiding.”

Minutes passed.

Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of chewing grass.

Arthur chewed.

Hours passed.

“Ppfftt,” he said out loud.

Another hour passed.

“The thing about hiding,” he mused, “is that you’ve got to think outside the box.” Arthur laughed out loud before quickly covering his mouth with a hoof.

Downstairs, Trevor, Martin and Brian heard the bleating laughter from the storage cupboard. They exchanged glances, smiled, and returned to their game of poker.

 


 

This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Sometimes over 120 people taking part.

Apologies for not commenting as much last week. I ran out of time thanks to work, family, work, cooking and usual daily stuff amped up to 11. I do hope to read a lot more of your stories this week.

And hey, if you still can’t get enough of silly flash fiction– why not check out my  eBook, People WatchingUS link hereUK link there.

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Walter Wants Water

Walter smiled. His previously clenched eyelids had loosened but not opened, and his eyes twitched beneath them. The cascading waterfall he was currently bathing in was half a world away from the dusty, red sand where he lay. The dust and dirt of which covered him, clogged every pore and yet proved to be a very ineffective sunscreen.

He dived beneath the water, soaking himself in the welcome lagoon.

The desert stretched beyond the horizon. Footprints had long since swept away. Walter’s foot flinched and kicked out involuntarily. His skin blistered and the vultures looked on, ravenous.

Walter smiled.

 


Posted as part of a Flash Fiction prompt from Carrot Ranch Communications.

July 9, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write story about water.  What significance does water have to the story, the setting or character (s)? How is water evocative or manipulated? What river flows through your imagination? Respond by noon (PST) Tuesday, July 15 to be included in the compilation.

 

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Mavis Pops To The Shops

Mavis peered through the gap in the curtains.

The storm hung in the air, threatening to unleash its rage in a flurry of rain, hail, thunder and lightning. It‘d been like that for a while.

Mavis released the curtain. The deep red drapes tumbled closed and the room was once again plunged into darkness.

She paced the room, tutting as she did, before folding herself into the weathered wingback chair, her knees creaking in time with the furniture. Her plan to pop to the shops (3 minutes away) had been inconvenienced by the imminent storm for the last half hour.

 


 

This piece was submitted as part of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. 1 photograph. 100 words. Over 120 people taking part. And hey, if you still can’t get enough – why not check out my almost-FREE eBook, People WatchingUS link hereUK link there.

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Stone the crows

“I wish I was immortalised in stone,” mused Henry.

Chris pondered this strange statement from his friend. He’d heard some odd waffle from his companion over the course of 67 years, but this was right up there.

“But you wouldn’t be able to move,” he offered. “You’d be encased in granite or marble, or limestone. You’d be stiffened beyond all reasonable realms of movement. You’d be stuck solid, wherever you last stood, for hundred of years to come. And that’s without bringing the pigeons into consideration.”

“Shit,” Henry conceded. “Not only that, but I’d probably miss the next World Cup.”

 


Somewhat late to the party this week – having had some time off. Still, here is my offering for Friday Fictioneers.

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