Friday Fictioneers – The Principles of Youth

ff300714‘Red’ Pete was as left-wing as they came. Few on campus could match his fire for hard-line, unforgiving, Marxist-Leninist rhetoric. Even within the sanctum of his own set you had to be wary of expressing the wrong opinions to Pete: get in his bad books and you’d be labelled ‘capitalist swine'; sometimes he’d say it with a smile, sometimes not.

Pete and I stayed close over the years, but drifted as friends. I still see him most days at work – ‘Sir’ Peter on his way to the boardroom, me on my way to the factory floor.

I like to think he’s still a revolutionary at heart.

friday-fictioneers

These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – Piano Lessons

ff230714By day our top floor apartment echoed to the sounds of learning: flats where manuscripts said sharps; clashing C minors in place of sweeping D majors. On the faded green settee proud parents sat nodding nervously in time.

By night the door was firmly locked, blinds drawn and the heavy curtains closed. It would then be her turn. There were never any missed notes; never anybody to listen except me.

Mother had played Carnegie Hall at 14, for a President at 15. By 17 I was born, and nobody seemed interested in her any more.

Mother isn’t bitter; she just loves to play.

friday-fictioneers

These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – The Coach

ff160714Mr Juniper lived alone at the end of Cotton Lane. The sprawling branches of an untamed Oak meant it always looked dark in there, even in summer; summer was the only time we ever went inside. He ran the athletics club, the papers said he was a state champion in his day.

We always used to change in the room at the back. Dust covered every surface. Above the blocked fireplace he had one of those big, ugly moose heads – it was a dump, but he was a good coach.

Mr Juniper now lives in the Morndale Penitentiary. I never saw the eyes move, but the jury were sure.

friday-fictioneers

These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers – Cold Callers

ff090714From around the corner came a man dressed in royal blue. Lifeless, red eyes at No. 39 widened behind net curtains, only to narrow as the man stopped and turned into No. 36.

Reaching a faded green door, the man in blue paused – a single finger ran down his clipboard.

Overhead angry clouds grumbled; heavy drops of rain began to fall. A flash of lightening streaked across the troubled sky.

The path to No. 36 now lay quiet; dark puddles formed in the empty street. The curtains at No. 39 fell still in despair – perhaps tomorrow would be their day.

friday-fictioneers

These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.