Posted in Drabbles


Cinders looked out of the carriage window at her new home. The prince, her buffoon of a husband, sat by her side. She’d been married to the fool for almost a week but it felt much longer. During that time she’d been sorely tempted to fill a bag with royal silverware and get out, but her Fairy Godmother had other ideas. She’d told Cinders to be patient, things would improve. Six months from now Cinderella would be well established as the new princess. Then, when the prince had his unfortunate accident, this house and all his money would be theirs.


PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Posted in Drabbles

Boxing Day 1956

Boxing Day 1956, the day I stopped being a child. I was six years old.

It began late Christmas Eve when mum came home drunk. On the way back from the Red Lion she’d fallen on the ice, breaking a heel and snagging her best stockings. She needed someone to blame and I was the obvious choice. Told me Father Christmas didn’t exist and I wouldn’t be getting any presents. Turned out she was right on both counts.

By the following Christmas, she was dead, a mixture of drink and drugs – and I’d grown into the cynic I am today.


A 100-word story for this week’s prompt from Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of  J Hardy Carroll