Jul 2013

"Basking" - Visdare FF

This week the word was "Basking" and the picture was this shot of a man enjoying some black and white sunshine in Trafalgar Square (I assume).


Walla Crag

The Lakes were as damp as they usually were when I visited. In the clouds I saw gran’s smile as I climbed.

‘In each life a little rain must fall!’ I muttered, one of gran’s little philosophical tidbits.

The rain only stopped when I’d passed up into the low clouds themselves. The drifting fog gave me glimpses of limestone walls, sheep, and isolated trees as I continued up the steep path to Walla Crag soaked.

As I ascended through the cloud it thinned quickly to nothing and I found myself standing almost at the crag beneath the deepest azure sky. Beneath me the cotton clouds were spread like a table cloth across the lake and valley surrounded by hill top islands pushing through it. I scrambled across to the crag and sat perched on the ancient bum smoothed rocks, basking in the warmth and euphoria of finding this view alone.

"Pensive" - Visdare FF

One of my favourite little weekly brain exercisers is of course the Visdare. This week the word was "Pensive" and the picture was this evocative shot of a lady with a lot of draping going on...


The Corner

The stench of cheap cologne and smoke hung thickly around Sarah. She could feel it cling to her clothes, insinuating its way into the expensive silks. Modifying the structure of the cells, turning the soft scarves and shawl into a light suit of armour. After two hours sitting alone waiting for her lover she hoped it was making her invisible too.

While the people around her enjoyed their night out time stretched out feeling like a week. Smiling faces surrounded her like a blanket of stars, with Sarah sat in the centre of the lonely universe.

Her lover elsewhere, probably with his wife, Sarah tried to disappear by playing dead.

Something began to feel different. Perhaps her cells were altering too. She felt on the cusp. She was better than this; than him.

In the two hours she’d sat there unmoved she had come a long way and changed direction.

(150 words)

"Maybe Shropshire" - Trifecta FF

"Maybe Shropshire"

The fissure had loomed over me for years. In the right light it could fade away to magnolia nothingness in the plasterwork, but more often - especially at night - it would become a foreboding crevasse cleaving dynamically through the wall facing my bed. I could hear it sometimes, whispering and crackling at me. Taunting. I would see it growing, changing shape, expanding like a cruel clown’s smile, splitting the whole wall in two. An opening to something otherworldly.

In the morning when I would wake the crack would have returned to it’s former size, leaving no evidence of it’s nighttime activity. No trace would be left of what had come out, or been taken through to the other side.

My wife always managed to miss these terrifying nocturnal episodes. She even suggested that there maybe some correlation between the severity of these paranormal events and my occasional late night cheeseboards. She tried to wean me away from Shropshire Blue and Stilton on to Cheddar and Leicestershire, but I wouldn’t have that. That would be like letting the fissure win.

1a : a loud roll or peal
  b : a sudden sharp noise
2: a sharp witty remark : quip
3a : a narrow break : fissure   
b : a narrow opening —used figuratively in phrases like fall through the cracks to describe one that has been improperly or inadvertently ignored or left out
4a : a weakness or flaw caused by decay, age, or deficiency :unsoundness
  b : a broken tone of the voice
  c : crackpot
5: moment, instant

Another Week another FF

Another week and I've put in a few Flash Fictions to #Visdare and #MWBB and to the 55 Word Challenge.

But really now it is about time to settle on a single project and see where it flies. Just need to pick which one out of the two or three I've got bubbling away in my noggin.

Watch this space...

"Obscured" - Visdare FF

The word this week is "OBSCURED" and the picture this photo of a man blowing smoke. Ahh, remember those days. My story for it is called 'Un/Realities.'



For just a penny exciting glimpses of beauty and horror flash past in an exciting temporary reality. Escapism for the masses.

David loved his job maneuvering the big manly levers and the chunky knobs, tweaking the views with his smoke and mirrors. His phalanx of buttons were there to add characters to his visual story telling - perhaps dogs chasing their tails for the children, fire breathing dragons, ships rolling in a tempest above watching mermaids, or some sensuous silhouettes for the middle age gents.

His attraction was filled with equipment capable of creating such unrealities that people would inevitably leave in awe. Forgetting, briefly, the problems of their mundane lives, in wonder at the magic.

Alone in the dark surrounded by the thick spotlit smoke David found reality was as obscured to him as to his public. He was lost, no longer able to separate his stories from real life.

(150 words)

Can hardly believe I'm up to my seventh VisDare If you fancy a go then click on the VisDare link, it's just 150 words to create your own bit of magic!


Post Glasto - Busy Boy

In between some work and looking for a job I've had a busy post Glasto week writing too! Managing to get out this week's VisDare, MWBB and Trifecta.

Phew!! I think I deserve a pint now.

"Dessert" - Trifecta FF


In company Jake found he could turn off his swearing with relative ease. Occasionally an inappropriate word would leak out, but he felt that was okay.

His biggest problem was his automatic responses during general conversation. If he felt like it was being teed up it was almost impossible for him not to follow up with a punchline.

Sitting on his hands and biting his lip didn’t seem to work for Jake. Indeed the harder he tried he found he was more likely to blurt out something louder and more embarrassing. It was usually crude childishness, like something from a 60s seaside postcard or a Carry On film, certainly not worth the effort or small laugh that might result from it.

Everybody who knew Jake expected it of him. So what on earth was his mother thinking when at the end of the meal she offered the vicar a tart?

(150 words)


The story is based on the 'Trifecta' word of the week, namely; 'Crude', 3rd definition;


1: existing in a natural state and unaltered by cooking or processing

2 archaic : unripe, immature

3: marked by the primitive, gross, or elemental or by uncultivated simplicity or vulgarity

4: rough or inexpert in plan or execution

5: lacking a covering, glossing, or concealing element :obvious

6: tabulated without being broken down into classes -

See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.8f8DHsMS.dpuf

"Bruised" - Visdare FF

My sixth VisDare was thankfully post Glastonbury. This week the word was BRUISED and the picture was this black & white of a pretty unfortunate young lady. The effort from me is called 'Succumbing to Gravity.'

photo source

Succumbing to Gravity

Li softly explored the purpling bruises beneath her eyes and her cheekbone. Her cut lip was rapidly thickening. Her husband, Jonnie, was pounding back and forth in the bedroom, occasionally punching the walls. She could feel his anger rising, scaring her cold. It had never been this bad before.

Next door’s banging stopped and Li knew that they’d called the police.

There were crashes upstairs as some shelves were torn down, then she heard Jonnie sobbing.

She stood in the doorway looking down at him. He looked pitiful on the floor head in hands, surrounded by spilled books.

‘You can’t tell them,’ she pleaded.

‘She needs our help,’ Jonnie looked up at her, ‘I can’t take it anymore. Look at what she’s done to her own mother!’

‘Just one more chance,’ she said, ‘she won’t do it again.’

Dark blood bloomed on her bottom lip before succumbing to gravity.

(149 words)


"Engraved" - Visdare FF

My fourth VisDare was delayed by Glastonbury and I have only just got it in on time. This week the word is ENGRAVED and the picture was this black & white of a truly interesting oldie. So a another quick effort from me called 'Boring'

Photo Source


I was bored, needing stimulation.

That's how I found myself stood on tiptoes on mum’s bed. I could see a wooden box on top of the wardrobe, pushed to the back away from prying eyes.

It should hold treasure.

A tall stool was dragged in and soon I eked out the box and grabbed it.

Inside there was no gold or jewels, but postcards and photographs. Much more interesting than treasure. Stuff my mum kept.

Kept hidden.

“The past is a foreign country” my mum says and I was keen to travel.

Beneath a cloth lining to protect it, or hide it, was a single photograph. An old man with a face lined and rucked up like a morning duvet. I stared at this engraved face fascinated by its potential stories. Then I noticed his dark eyes boring into me and froze. They were my eyes.

This was my past.