Tag Archives: 150 Words

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – This is Me, This is My Life

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She’d heard all the jokes. She smiled. She occasionally laughed. At times she cursed her parents. Mr and Mrs Croft hadn’t even owned a computer. Perhaps that was the problem. They just liked the name Lara.

The nearest Lara had actually come to raiding a tomb was when she bought that thing in Finnegan’s Antiques. She’d gone in there with him. She always felt the need to impress. Him  a Classics graduate from Cambridge. Her a secretary at a firm of accountants.

“Oh that’s lovely. I must have it” she remembers gushing. He just looked at her vacantly. She was mortified. It was the last day out they had together. He’s now married to some society girl or other. Doubt he even remembers Lara.

Lara doesn’t try to impress people anymore. She even grew to like that thing. It sits in the corner of the lounge acting as a reminder. Be proud of who you are. The real Lara Croft!

These 150’ish words represent my entry into this week’s Photo Fiction challenge on Alastair’s WordPress siteThe picture is copyright of http://kattermonran.com/

Trifextra 75 – In The Line of Duty

prisoner

Sheriff Johnson’s team had everything they needed.

Motive, fingerprints and two eyewitnesses.

One thought filled his mind as he focused on the suspect through the bars.

“Why son? Where did we go wrong?”

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These 33 words form my entry into the Trifextra 75 writing challenge.

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – A Beat in Time

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A Morris had run the clock emporium in town for what seemed like forever.

The current Mr Morris knew his moment was getting close. Shuffling to the door he turned the sign around.

Closed for lunch

Knees creaking he settled into his worn leather armchair. One by one everything fell into place.

The fading patter of his heart.

The ticking of his clocks.

Even the shadow cast by the Victorian sundial fell perfectly over his wrinkled forehead.

Everything in the shop now played to the same beat. The time was now.

The wrinkles began to fade. The thick black hair returned as the once thinning grey disappeared. Liver spots were replaced by boyish freckles.

As the shadow moved away the shop was once more filled with the familiar random sound of ticks and tocks. Rising from his chair he wandered over to the shop door.

Open

That first conversation was the same as always at this time.

 “Old Mr Morris? Oh, he’s left the business to me. I’m his son.“

These 150’ish words (Ok, it’s 170 but what’s 20 words between friends!) represent my entry into this week’s Photo Fiction challenge on Alastair’s WordPress siteThe picture is copyright of http://kattermonran.com/

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – The Call of the Sea

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The call went out.

All available hands to the station!

At 17 Billy Crabtree was the youngest of those hands. His father was coxswain. The Crabtrees were fiercely proud to have them both on the Mary Bell.

The churning seas which greeted the boat as she crashed down the slipway promised a rough trip. Billy wasn’t worried. He trusted his father to keep them all safe.

The stricken trawler was out of power, out of control. The rocks of Verndale Point were looming. Billy watched his father manoeuvre the Mary Bell into position. One by one the terrified trawler-men were hauled into the lifeboat.

The wave came from nowhere. Everything was swallowed up by a cold, wet shadow. Suddenly there was light. Yards from the rocks a drenched Billy watched as the trawler smashed to pieces. His father skilfully steered his own passage to safety.

Within moments the seas were eerily calm. The Mary Bell turned for home. Just another day in the life of volunteer heroes.

This story is dedicated to the Royal National Lifeboat Institute (RNLI). In particular to the memory of the eight crewmen of the Penlee lifeboat who were lost at sea a week before Christmas, 1981. Also not forgetting the eight hands of the coaster MV Union Star who perished despite the fearless efforts of the Penlee Lifeboat crew on that terrible night off of the South Cornish coast. 

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As well as forming a tribute these 150’ish words also represent my entry into this week’s Photo Fiction challenge on Alastair’s WordPress siteThe picture is copyright of http://kattermonran.com/

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – Journey’s End

GEDSC DIGITAL CAMERATrees cower in submission to the bullying forces of nature. The rain drives down. It’s freezing and worse than that it’s soaking. My coat claimed to be waterproof. Then how come ice tinged water is running down the boney trough provided by my spine? These regrettably expensive shoes aren’t fairing much better. I might as well have come out in a pair of toeless sandals. You get the picture. I’m wet through. I’m miserable. Always happens when I go there.

The weather seems worse than ever. The water filled clouds have sucked most of the light from the day. Gives me the creeps this place. Muggers Alley they call it. Even on a brilliant summer’s morning you can barely see more than a few steps ahead. Out of the gloom a door. My hands tremble. A knock. A pause. Nothing. Then a voice.

“McTavish Dental Surgery, Do you have an appointment?”

These 150’ish words form a first person perspective tale dedicated to the recently departed Scottish writer Iain Banks. I hope he isn’t spinning in his grave at this insult. As an aside it is also my entry into this week’s Photo Fiction challenge on Alastair’s WordPress siteThe picture is copyright of http://kattermonran.com/

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – A Walk in the Woods

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Frankie Partington was an explorer. The woods were his world. He saw monsters everywhere. They were his friends. Nobody ever believed his stories.

“Trees don’t talk Frankie”

One summer’s evening his supper lay cooling on the table. His mother knew where he would be.

“Frankie! Dinner!” she cried in the direction of the woods.

Nothing. Half an hour went by. Still nothing. Frankie loved the woods but he also loved his food. This was unusual. Quickly his mother began to panic. His father and their three huskies were dispatched into the trees.

“Frankie! Frankie!” shouted his father. With the light fading he cursed himself for not bringing a torch. That’s when Frankie appeared. Calm. Smiling.

Reunited they headed for home. “Trixie, Lady, Bonnie, come!” Two dogs rushed from between the trees. In the middle distance a pair of eyes watched as the group left. The hushed cries of Bonnie went unnoticed.

This is my entry into this week’s Photo Fiction challenge on Alastair’s WordPress siteThe picture is copyright of http://kattermonran.com/

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – The Innocence of Youth

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The ranch stood seemingly alone amidst the vast plains of Bohawk County. The Potemkins over at the saw mill were the closest thing they had to a neighbour. Five year old Millrace Jefferson and his family had only moved here the previous summer. He hated it.

What he hated most of all was not knowing what was going on in the large stone barn.

“Keep out Millrace. This ain’t your concern” he’d be told.

Cogs clanking. Wheels turning. Noise. Strange noises. He could hear it all. He needed to know what was going on. One evening his mother was out. His little brother asleep. This was his chance.

Sneaking across the yard he saw cattle going in. Through a crack in the wall he spotted his father. The cattle were falling to the ground. Bloody carcasses hung from hooks. Millrace was horrified.

He knew his father was a butcher. He didn’t know this is where he made his meat.

This is my entry into this week’s Photo Fiction challenge on Alastair’s WordPress siteThe picture is copyright of http://kattermonran.com/

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – Beacons of Mercy

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The waves crashed against the jagged coastline of the Northern Boundaries. Thick fog was swirling in the frozen air. Ten miles out the Hyratal Laguna was desperately making for the shelter of Berlatas harbour. As the Laguna rolled violently from side to side her crew struggled manfully to keep their vessel on course. Most of the 50 passengers were praying. Praying to their Gods, praying to any God who would listen.

The winds continued to batter the ragged sails. Captain Thietus Gundsmork remained confident. He knew these seas like the back of his hand. In the darkness ahead the serrated edges of the Hellaran rocks were about to welcome their bounty.

From the left it came. From the right it followed. The twin lighthouses of Berlatas illuminated the scene. Just In time Gundsmork heaved his vessel from disaster. The lights guided the Laguna safely home.

The passengers continued to pray.

This is my entry into this week’s Photo Fiction challenge on Alastair’s WordPress site. The picture is copyright of http://kattermonran.com/

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – Pandora’s Box

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She’d heard it all a million times before.

“How’s ya box Pandora?”

“Woah, don’t open the box Pandora!”

She was a bit strange. It didn’t hurt her that people thought that way. Pandora Waghorn had lived in this small, end of the line town all her days. It was her father’s box. She’d loved her father dearly. He’d doted on his Pandora. She swore to him to keep it close.

Pandora slept soundly that night. The box was in its usual place by her bedside. He was in and gone in moments. Her snores went undisturbed. The bedside table was now empty.

I’ll see what’s in this friggin’ box. That Pandora. Stupid cow. Should be in a mental home. Right. Hmmm. Damn this is tight…..Ah, nearly there…Got it!…Wha…What the….!!

Pandora Waghorn continued to snore. The box was once again by her bedside.

Across the street his face remained frozen in shock as they zipped up the body bag.

This is my entry into this week’s Photo Fiction challenge on Alastair’s WordPress site. The picture is copyright of http://kattermonran.com/