Sugar on the Bee-Happy Birthday Baby Bear

 

Happy Birthday Baby Bear

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BEAR
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Yvette Prior

Once upon a time an intruder did consume our porridge. I did not begrudge. Daddy Bear and Baby Bear do tend to leave their keys lying around. There was a similar happenstance next door. The thieving knave purloined their fresh-baked tarts and pilfered all their cigarettes.

But today, a serious intrusion. Daddy and I return bearing sweetmeats for our dear son’s thirtieth birthday and see overflowing ashtrays, empty bottles, broken chairs. And that messy forest strumpet ascending our stairs.

I softly creep to halfway up and listen. I hear the strumpet speak.

“This is just the perfect size,” she says.

 

 

 

 

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Sugar on the Bee-Feeding the Birds

Feeding the Birds

FEEDING THE BIRDS
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Ronda Del Boccio

It was a long hot summer and I was still trying to forgive him. He bought us two new window boxes: another peace offering.

I mentioned the pond birds were hungry. He suggested sweetcorn and porridge oats and every morning we would slip on our shorts and tees and flipflops and walk to the water together.

He knew where the birds could easily get onto the bank and they sculled towards him like hypnotised dancers. On land they became needy feathered clowns. One duck stood, momentarily, on his foot. The birds knew they wanted him. But they couldn’t trust him.

Sugar on the Bee-The Girl Can’t Help It

Copyright Sandra Crook - The Girl Can't Help It

 

THE GIRL CAN’T HELP IT
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Sandra Crook

First, Hilary brutally killed a stray dog with a large chunk of jagged terracotta. Second, she exploded a carthorse. Okay, Clopper was getting older but he still thoroughly enjoyed his nosebag. Third. No. We won’t mention the kitten.

Now Hilary’s killed her nephew. Twice.

The wee boy’s not happy. While he wasn’t too upset about being washed out to sea riding a dolphin, being dropped down a smelly dark well is totally unacceptable to a claustrophobic type. Hilary ignores him. Excitedly opens her laptop. It’s time to splatter the lad from a cannon.

After all, she is a creative writer.

Bad Bugs in the Blood

BAD BUGS IN THE BLOOD
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Ted Strutz

Bad Bugs

That’s Mum, Daddy and Uncle Jim in the photo. On my eighth birthday. We’d had cake with candles and fizzy orange and a magician with a cloak and a wand and a big toy rabbit. My little brother Mikey wore his new pirate suit. Later they left Mikey and me alone in Daddy’s study with the guns and stuff. Mikey pulled his plastic dagger. I grabbed Daddy’s sword. Mum and Daddy said Mikey was bitten by a whole bunch of bugs stuck to the blade. Uncle Jim nodded his head and cried and said it wasn’t just Mikey who’d died.

Friday Fictioneers-Many Before Him Went Down To The Sea

Dawn in MontrealMANY BEFORE HIM WENT DOWN TO THE SEA
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Dale Rogerson

Koshimi lay in his house, staring up at the doctor.

“The sea was my life,” he said. “Once I won the heart of a mermaid of pure constancy. Lately she calls to me.”

After the doctor left there came an almighty creaking and grating and groaning of wood and metal as Koshimi’s house broke free of its foundations and slid towards the cliff edge. Villagers stared helplessly as the ordinary angled walls and roof toppled into the ocean and floated away, beyond the horizon.

Some heard a woman singing most beautifully. Others simply heard the familiar prayers of the gulls.

A New and Shining Star

A New and Shining Star

A NEW AND SHINING STAR
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Liz Young

Johnny picks up the scissors and enlarges the eye holes in his balaclava. He’s not a pretty boy but no problem. Our ambitious lad knows what he is going to do. He has abundant thespian DNA in his striding, gesticulating bones.
He was inspired by the luminously beautiful Agnetha posed in a glass case in the lobby of a gilded and gaudy hotel. When a reporter asked the lovely girl if the staring crowds were a problem, her accomplished laugh rang like little silver bells. “I am actor, darling,” she said. “I just love being looked at.”
Now.
Here’s Johnny!

For the Man Who Has Everything

Fauntleroy

FOR THE MAN WHO HAS EVERYTHING
100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © J Hardy Carroll

Thirteen-year old Fauntleroy was allowed to skip day school and accompany his coiffured and perfumed Mama to purchase something for Papa’s fiftieth birthday. This could take time because Papa had everything. Their family was very rich.
The lad spotted something across the street, near Harrods. It was a metal contraption. Boot at one end. All alone.
Mama carefully explained the origins and purpose of a prosthetic limb.
“Great,” said Fauntleroy. “Let’s chop Papa’s leg off so he can have one of them things for his birthday!”
Mama urgently needed to speak to her son’s headmaster. Fauntleroy’s grammar was appalling.