Friday Fictioneers: Just now

PHOTO PROMPT © Mikhael Sublett

“Could you hang up this picture ?”


Sands whooshing through the hourglass.

“I don’t want to nag, but you are going hang the picture, aren’t you?”


Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

“Nevermind. I can do it.”

“Uh huh.”




More swearing.

“What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing? Put the hammer down. I said I would do it.”

“That was 2 years ago!”

“You never gave me a time frame. I’ll do it just now.”

“When will ‘just now’ be ‘now’? When hell freezes over? When the polar ice caps melt? When Brexit happens?”

“Yeah. When Brexit happens.”

“So, never then.”



In South Africa we have three time frames:

Now – meaning right this minute.

Now now – meaning soonish.


Just now – meaning when I bloody feel like it, but maybe never.

Friday Fictioneers: Dog days


Every day.

I can’t take it anymore.

Today I will catch him in the act. I will get my revenge.

I’ve had enough of this horrible hound doing a full day’s business on my lawn.

He’s a poop ninja.

I’m going to hide behind this bush and wait for the opportune moment to exact my revenge.

He’s coming closer. He’s past the circle. I’ve got him.

Oh my god! It’s Headmaster Jenkins.

I can’t do it. I’ll just stay really quiet until he moves on.

No. Stop sniffing this shrubbery.

Please no.

Don’t lift your leg.

No. Not on me.

I hate dogs.

Friday Fictioneers: Where, oh where can it be?

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

Where, oh where did my Tupperware go?

Where, oh where can it be?

With its lid long lost

And its bottom long gone

Where, oh where can it be?

Where, oh where did my Tupperware go?

Somewhere far from me?

I have a lid right here

But no bottom in sight

Where, oh where can it be?

Where, oh where did my Tupperware go?

To a galaxy far far away?

Here’s is its bottom

But no lid can I find

Where, oh where can it be?

Where, oh where did my Tupperware go?

Is it lost and all alone?

Useless and lonely with no place to call  home

Where, oh where can it be?

Before I got carried away, I wrote this…

Salt and pepper.

Kanye and Kim K.

Hipsters and artisanal coffee.

Some things just fit together in perfect harmony.

Like Tupperware lids and Tupperware bottoms.

I have plenty of both. None of tops fit the bottoms. I being to doubt that they ever did. They have mutated, devolved and disappeared.

Out of my lovely stacked set of happy burping Tupperware, I have two left. Two. Somewhere in a Hawking-esque alternative reality sit their partners.

My heart bleeds for them sucked into a meaningless existence, reduced to nothing but unfulfilled potential.

Divorced. Purposeless. Lost.

And I, the vehicle of their lonely suffering.

Friday Fictioneers: The big fish


The old men sat in quiet comradery, sipping tall glasses of lager and reminiscing.

“Did I tell you about the time I caught a shark?” asked Jack.

The assembled company sighed. They’d heard it before and didn’t believe anymore upon its frequent retelling.

“I was fishing at the pier, when all of a sudden my line went taut. It was fierce battle between man and beast. My muscles strained, my arms ached, but the same fighting spirit that got me through the war prevailed. After an hour of this, I reeled it in. A foul-smelling man-eater.”

They rolled their eyes. “Your round, Jack.”

Jack Bruce, East London, circa late 1940s

I heard this story quite often at my Grandpa’s knee. I admit, that I didn’t believe it. It was a fishy story. And then I found this photo. Sorry Gramps. You did catch a shark.

Friday Fictioneers: Pancakes

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll


Pancakes are good.

I like pancakes.

I have everything I need to make them.


I can see the sieve.

I can see the pan.

Fat lot of good that does.

Look, I’m not stunted. I’m not a homunculus. I’m a normal sized person.

What gigantoid genius thought that hanging stuff from a double-volume loft roof would be a good idea?

I’d get a ladder, but the same savant hung it that from a hook in the garage and I can’t reach that either.

The person involved can kiss his chances of pancakes goodbye.

I’m going to Starbucks for a latte.


  • n. A diminutive human.

Friday Fictioneers: Headgames


“Where are my glasses?” in desperation.

“No idea,” smirking.

“I can’t see anything!”

“Clearly,” with a tinge of ill-timed humour.

Crash! “Bugger! I’ve broken something.”

Stomp. Glass shattering.

“I’ve stepped on them, haven’t I?”

“No. Just that ugly vase your mother bought.”

“Good. Help me retrace my steps.”

“Am I a guide dog now?” the sarcasm drips like venom from a snake.

“No. A guide dog would help with a wag of its tail and a stupid grin. You, on the other hand, are quite useless. Just tell me if you can see them,” unashamed of pleading.



“On your head.”

“I hate you.”

Friday Fictioneers: Aerodynamics

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

“What happened?” asked Mom, not really wanting to know.

“That is a good question,” Small Boy replied.

“I’m not entirely sure. I think there was a small disagreement involving gravity and mass.

There may have been a malfunction in my superhero cape and latex tights.

I may have chosen the wrong type of underpants to wear on the outside.

And perhaps aerodynamic flight and uncontrolled descent may have more in common than you might think?

Further experimentation might be necessary to form a firm hypothesis.”

“I see,” Mom said, “What colour do you want your cast this time?”


What is Friday Fictioneers?

Every week Rochelle posts a photo prompt on her page ( All you need to do is write a 100 word story and add it to the Link Up. Give it a go.

Friday Fictioneers: Breaking news


2 August 2019: Breaking news…

Amy Mannheim, a tourist, has captured the elusive Sasquatch on camera. “I was snapping a picture of the plane coming in to land and didn’t notice until afterwards the figure of a giant, hairy, ape man in the tree line.”

Stories of Big Foot sightings have been on the increase in the area and scores of curious paranormal researchers are descending upon this tiny town.

Are these cryptozoological creatures more than figments of our imagination and part of our folklore?

Is this the proof we’ve been looking for?

Does Sasquatch walk amongst us?

Call in your sighting to 0800 456 1236

Friday Fictioneers: The Fat Controller

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

“Oh bugger!” said the Fat Controller watching as Frank steamed away in the wrong direction, puffing with discontented malaise.  

“Tut tut”, said the mother dragging her son down the platform while he craned around trying to see the smoke coming out of the Fat Controller’s ears.

The Fat Controller glared at her – a glare that spoke volumes.

“Really!” thought the Fat Controller, “I don’t know why I bother trying to reason with bloody stupid, sentient engines. Whoever thought of anthropomorphising trains should be tied down to the railroad tracks and run over. I’m done. I’m going down to the pub.”

Friday Fictioneers: So this happened

It’s been a long while since I’ve done this and I thought I may as well try to get back in the saddle.

I started by writing a very dark and rather depressing 100-word story and then started again with a lighter-hearted one – that I prefer.

This week’s image comes from Sandra Crook.



First, the funny one:

I kid you not, a bloody great dragon flew out the shop next door. You know the one – never opens, no-one ever there, just that creepy old lady? Where that idiot, Paul, parks that stupid car of his. Anyway, I’d just lit a fag when ‘BOOM!’ the wall exploded and this enormous winged lizard just took off. Hot on his tail came the old lady running down the road in her dressing gown and slippers, curlers in her blue rinse and yelling curse words at the sky that’d make my Granny blush. Funny old world, innit it?


And now the depressing one:

A thousand miles she drives without a single smile. Not a echo of laughter on the sighing of the wind. No trace of a melody to lift the heart, just the silent weeping of a time long past. The shadows stalk the empty streets abandoned to the slow march of the forgotten. Only the smog lives here, pressing down upon the ground, a grey blanket slithering into the cracks the living left behind. The colour bleached from shattered bones of hope.


About Friday Fictioneers

Write a 100-word story based on a photo prompt.

Really simple.

You can check out some of this week’s entries here.