Sugar on the Bee-The Real Lady Chatterley


100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Jean L. Hays

The peahen’s impartial eye witnessed the first kiss, before the gentle stonemason took the lady’s hand and guided her along her own path and into her own house and up to her own bedroom. The lady was amazed and delighted and terrified.

The stonemason eventually slept, that enviable way that only young men can. The lady lay awake watching a tiny summer crawler climbing her naked lover’s chest.

A peacock’s shrill call woke him. “So, beautiful Lady Ottoline,” said her lover, “Why me and not that Huxley? Or that Lawrence?”

“Because they’d write about me and get me wrong.”



Sugar on the Bee-A Kind of Haunting


A Kind of Haunting
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt ©Roger Bultot

Where will you be, my phantom man, my memory? Will you lean on the bar, your fingerprints already on a glass? Will you be on the balcony? The stair? Will you walk through the gracious hall or take the chapel path to evensong? Will you be comforting another troubled soul in the car park, by the station? Or in the car park anywhere? Will I see, as in my dreams, the red-pink of your coat, the one that lost a single, treasured thread?

I harden my heart for what’s to come. I miss you very much. I see you everywhere.


Friday Fictioneers-Lost Chords

Lost Chords

Lost Chords
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Connie Gayer

So often then I heard him sing
How he could make that steel string ring
Precise alignment on each fret
The kind of sound you don’t forget
Strumming fine and perfect rhyme
Right song, right singer and right time
His girl was always leaving him
His friends were all deceiving him
Even his mother done him wrong
It’s all about a country song
But though his hands look good to last
The sweet dexterity has passed
Into a page of history
Into a teardrop memory
Of smoky nights in smoky bars
And gingham girls and great guitars




Jilly Funnell-Unkind Cut

bowl-and-leaves Unkind Cut

100 words

Photo prompt copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sweet-scent wobbly squashed its ample floral upholstery on Woody, admired its precious Crystal, tapped the metal oblong:

     Seeking Partner

A big spice-scent wobbly arrived. Somewhat unvarnished. By nightfall, not even a fitted cover. Timber was left loose and dangling.

In the morning spice-scent wobbly parked its stripped base on Woody, tapped the metal oblong.

“Great new chair ordered. On its way!” it shouted. It unstuck itself from Woody, making a rude noise.

The next day, long after Woody was taken away, sweet-scent wobbly stared at Crystal.

A tear-shaped flaw had appeared, just below a diamond peak at the bowl’s sparkling edge.


Lady Zelda and the Statue

I am very late to post this week as I have been in the City of York where I got the inspiration for this week’s tall tale.


Lady Zelda and the Statue


100 words – photoprompt prefers to remain anonymous


The statue to your right was originally Sir Ronald Tytefeast. Note the scruffy boots on the plinth edge. The townsfolk resented Sir Ronald’s penchant for dressing as a Greek god while his wife, Lady Zelda, was left with tatty clothes and worn out footwear. But when Sir Ron died, local dignitaries insisted on a statue.

The following summer the newly stylish Zelda married a handsome American who became hugely popular with everyone, except the local dignitaries. When her second husband passed away, Zelda consulted with the people.  The stonemasons forthwith decapitated Sir Ron.

Thus we have the only statue in history wearing a toga and a ten-gallon hat.


Blind Date in the Desert

 Photo prompt copyright Jill Wisoff

Blind Date in the Desert


It was a long, dusty road from his crops and his soft-coated cattle and the sweating girls with sun-bleached hair and broken nails. He was kind of missing all that but the talk on line had been good enough to kick him into action.

He got there around sundown. Everywhere candy-coloured lights glowed and glittered and flashed. They reminded him of them sweets that made his little brothers crazy.

He walked towards a pyramid. She was waiting. He took his hands out of his pockets.

“Vegas Girl?”

“Country Boy?”

She leaned into him. Kissed him.

City lights sparked and crackled in the grass.



The Tale of the Pharoah’s Sister

Every week Rochelle Wisoff-Fields kindly hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog and include the photoprompt and Inlinkz (blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL then the fun starts as you read other people’s stories and comment on them


Photo prompt copyright Karen Rawson

I  have my collar of finest turquoise and rubies hidden under my cloak. My damp, matted hair hangs thick about my face.
     I was promised to my brother the Pharoah who once encased the habits and practices of me in a form as iron-strong as the inner core of the earth.   When he discovered my love for Claudius, the Pharoah became cruel.
     Claudius helped me and I sailed to another country. The men on board were kind but they could not follow me on land. 
     I am lost in this strange place but I am free.
    Claudius will find me.