Six words Saturday

Cats mortal enemy number one: dogs

Written for Saturday six word story prompt (6WSP)


Friday fictioneers: Coded message


Ben returned from the counter. He saw the luminous colour of the Post-it but he could not read it until he put his glasses on.

Once he did he became very confused. The words written were “Marx, Highgate.” Why would anybody put that on his book? Was it a code? Should he call the police?

Ben did what most would do in that situation. He put the note on the cardboard Starbucks cup as he drank the coffee. He forgot about the note when it was in the bin.

Until he heard the news of the bomb at Highgate Cemetery. 

Written for Friday fictioneers

Carrot ranch September 12: greatest gift

The greatest gift I ever received came not from anyone else. No, the greatest gift was the boost to my self-confidence when I showed my pictures to someone for the first time. While it wasn’t just someone because my friends had convinced me to put up a gallery as a kind of display of my personal journey to become a photographer.

The pictures included family, friends, pictures of cameras, and some local wildlife. It was about anything that has inspired and pushed me forward. You could see the gradual improvement over the year. I was deliriously happy and proud.

Written for carrot ranch challenge

WW: What once was lost…

I spent my childhood with everybody willingly pointing out my difference at every given opportunity. It was not like they were pointing it out as a good thing. Instead, they seem to tell me I was useless. It was bad enough growing up in an orphanage, but my lack of arms made me stand out in a crowd.

Not just the kids but the staff were always keen to remind me. I mean, they never directly said anything, but they organised things for all others to do that would exclude me. The first aid class where I learnt that I could do nothing to help people survive, to things like piano lessons. They did one thing though that backfired and some spectacular fashion. They organised a painting class, and I quickly learned how to use my feet to hold the paintbrush. Not only did I thoroughly enjoy that day, but I also turned out to be a very good painter. From that day on, it was all I did.

I got to watch while all the other children were being adopted and I had completely given up on the whole idea. In fact, I had already planned out exactly what I would do when I turned 18. I would move out and find a place where I would make a name for myself by painting or following my dream of becoming an interior designer. All the people from would know of my success out there and regret everything they had ever said or did to put me down.

One day, I was happily painting when I realised that I was being watched. I followed that feeling and noticed his intent green eyes regarding me in such a way I felt like they were devouring my soul. His lips crinkled into a smile, and he gave me a nod of almost approval. It all seemed strange to me as he just turned and walked away without saying a word.

Who the fuck was that?

A little while later, he returned. “Alice, pack your things, we are leaving.”


“It is simple. My name is Warren Forbes, and I will adopt you and take you away from this place.”

My head was spinning because it just seemed unreal. Me? Adopted? “What’s the catch?”

He laughed briefly. “You coming?” This was more of a statement than a question, but I nodded anyway. Warren had never answered my question, but I didn’t care any more. Finally, somebody had found me and would rescue me from this place that was making me so miserable.    


This was written for my own challenge of writing Wednesday.

FFftPP: Left out


I was watching the class with nothing short of envy. It wasn’t like I was able to join in and I’m sure the organisers had been well aware of that when they arranged it. I already knew I had no arms which put me at a disadvantage, but did I really need to know that this would stop me saving a life?

My eyes travelled towards the organisers as I know full well that they would be looking at me. At that moment it should have been grateful that I had no arms because I would have, at the least, flipped them off.

At least I have the release of painting to get rid of my anger and frustration. All I could do was hope that one day I would get to watch as the organisers suffered as they have just proven to me that I would be of no use.

That gave me satisfaction.

Written for flash fiction for the purposeful practitioner

#FFFC: Destruction


Oh typical, the one I said I wanted to try and write some flash fiction from Alice’s point of view I get a photo, with a hand in it! (Alice has no arms!)

The two sisters sitting outside as the sun shone on yet another summer’s day. Sharon, the eldest, had just found out how to make bubbles and she was determined to make the biggest. She was scampering around the garden with her hoop trying to fill the bubble with air.

“Diane, look at the size of this one, it is huge!” Sharon was admiring her creation as it soared to gracefully in the air behind her.

Diane gave her a wicked grin before she jumped up and popped the pristine bubble with her fingers. It was too easy to annoy Sharon.

This 100 word story was inspired by this week’s fandango’s Flash fiction challenge

SPF: Wrong generation

Photo courtesy of LL Jones

It was the first day of her holiday and Vicky wanted to do everything her grandchild, Marnie, had told her to. She wore the sunglasses that had been picked out for her and then pulled out the contraption that her grandchild had told her was an iPhone. Doing everything she was told, Vicky was ready to take her first-ever selfie.

When she lined it up, all she could see was the reflection of herself looking into the phone which was reflected again and again in some kind of endless motion.

Surely her granddaughter would not have pointed towards something that would make fun of her? She decided no and before she could change her mind, clicked send to Instagram.

This story was written for Sunday photo fiction