Sugar on the Bee-Reflections on Design and Renovation




100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Nathan Sowers

After he left, Sandrine bought items that were scratched and worn. She painted patterns on the frame of the mirror and stuck tiles on the pine chest. A man in the DIY warehouse by the roundabout gave her lots of free samples.

A kind neighbour reckoned the man was sweet on her but Sandrine was caught like a fly in a web by that state of rejection where she couldn’t imagine anybody ever wanting her again.

Yesterday the man smiled and said “It’s almost empty,” and gave her a big container of white paint which felt at least half full.




Sugar on the Bee-The Dream Child

The Dream Child

The Dream Child

100 words for Friday Fictioneers
Photoprompt © Carla Bicomong

Only a few believed in the dream child. More believed in the magic of selfies. Then one of their number chanced on the child, in the forest.

“Place your ambitions in my care,” he told her, “for I will carry them on my back so you do not feel their weight upon you. But remember, you must play your part in achieving your dreams. I cannot carry the load alone.”

The woman delightedly piled her ambitions on the child then returned home to talk of becoming famous.

One day a hunter found the dream child’s body. His back was broken.

Sugar on the Bee-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.





Sugar on the Bee-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


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

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

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.