The BBQ

The invitation had said 3pm. Paul arrived at 2.
Three hours later, and with barely a spark, Kevin was sweating.

The plan was to light it, make sure the coals were white hot (he’d read that somewhere) and then begin cooking. By the time people arrived, he’d be half way through the cook.

This would, Kev thought, have two benefits:

1) People could eat straight away.
2) Ladies would admire his amazing BBQ skills.

By 6.30pm everyone, except Paul, had left.
Reluctantly, Kevin sidled over to him and silently slid a slice of Double Pepperoni from the warm box.

 


 

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

 


campfire

 

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Carpet Cleaner

As the millionaire Chairman knelt on the ground
the workers around him could do nothing but frown.
For the silver haired leader, an octogenarian,
was restoring the carpet to a sparkling new state again.

With more cash in the bank than the east side of Surrey
he scrubbed at the carpet with blood, sweat and hurry.
When asked why he didn’t just replace the duff tile,
he looked up and responded with a wink and a smile,

“It’s the little things, dear boy, that lead to the big.
If I replaced every carpet, each time Sue dropped a fig,
I’d never have got to where I’ve got to today
(with Rita in Gloucester, and Joan in Herne Bay.)”

“Take care of the pennies and the pounds, they will follow.
A carpet cleaned here, means Sushi tomorrow.
Or lobster with Megan, in Clacton-on-Sea,
You’ll be tickling the rich, boy, take it from me.”

 

carpet-tiles-12.43.18-PM

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Crossroads

John chewed happily as he waited. Vine weed made a pleasant change to the usual diet of bluebottles, mosquitoes and other winged insects that made it into his grill.

He’d heard them argue, of course.

“I know where we’re going. I’ve been here before.”

“You told me you’d been here with your folks, when you were 4. I hardly think that counts.”

“We should go left.”

“We should go right!”

“It’s definitely left.”

“I’m telling you we have to go…”

Turns out, one needs to make a decision at a crossroads; especially one divided by several acres of barren land.


 

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

parked

Tagged , , , , , ,

Arthur

Arthur Junior (son of Arthur Senior) had taken to sitting at his father’s slightly wonky writing desk every second Wednesday of the month. His father, whom like any self-respecting gentleman, was very particular about his particulars, never missed a hunt.

The trick to never getting into trouble, Arthur Junior had observed, was to never get caught.

His theory was challenged last Wednesday afternoon, however, when upon leafing through the Dictionary he accidentally tore the page he had been studying. Though at first he was struck by fear, he finally conceded his father would never notice the tear in his vagina.


 

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

antique-desk

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Maria and the crack

Maria twitched. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring at the crack but it must have been a while. The coffee in her cup, previously too hot, was now perfectly drinkable.

She blinked rapidly and took a sip, her eyes fixated. It wasn’t pretty. It certainly wasn’t that interesting but here Maria stood. She could not look away. She was just, mesmerised.

A thud. A smack. The sound of gushing water.

The crack moved.

“Ah, sod it. Sorry to ask, Love,” it said, “but could you pass me my tool-bag. It’s just there, by your foot. Cheers Darling.”

main-iStock_000000292864Small1

 


 

Posted as part of CarrotRanch’s Flash Fiction Challenge.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 474 other followers