“Look, Tommy, I’ve told you before, when I’m with my friends I don’t want you hanging around. Haven’t you got any heads your age you can play with?”
“But mum said you’re supposed to look after me. If you make me go away I’ll cry.”
Janey looked at her two friends.
“I don’t suppose you two have got any bright ideas as to how to get rid of an annoying brother?”
“We could push him off the shelf,” said Amy, “And watch him roll across the floor and out of the door.”
“Or,” said Stephanie, a wicked grin appearing on her face, “We could give him to those legs over there and let them use him as a football.”
“On the other hand,” piped in Amy, “We could sell him to the wicked witch who lives on the shelf above us to put in her cauldron to make spells.”
Tommy’s tears and the girls’ laughter were silenced when a small man wearing a large brown apron walked into the room. Standing in front of them he said,
“Right my children, which of you is ready for a brand new body with matching arms and legs?”
The heads smiled hopefully.
200-word story for this week’s prompt at Sunday Photo Fiction.
Photo courtesy of J Hardy Carroll
“Well, mum, which one do you fancy? Remember it’s going on the mantelpiece at our house, not yours so go with one of the bigger ones if you want. Don’t worry about the colour. Just choose the one you like and we’ll redecorate our front room to match.”
Gran looked at Dad and then at me. I shrugged my shoulders. Like her, I had no idea what we were doing here.
“What are they son?” asked Gran, “And why do I need one?”
“They’re urns mum. You’re going to need one – somewhere to stay when you move in with us.”
A 100-word story for this week’s prompt at Friday Fictioneers.
Photo courtesy of Sarah Ann Hall
It’s just a list I hear you say.
True, but it’s one you dare not ignore. It goes up on this wall nine o’clock every Friday morning.
Some bright spark, seeing his name wasn’t on the list, has gone and chalked a smiley face underneath. Foolish. It’s acts like that get you noticed.
What’s on the list I hear you ask? Just names. If your name’s on the list then your obliged to go through that door to the right.
You’re probably wondering what’s behind the door?
Thing is, I’ve no idea.
Never yet met anyone who’s come back out.
A 100-word story for this week’s prompt at Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.
Photo courtesy of Grant-Sud.
“Dad, why are all the people out there dressed in shorts and tee-shirts? You made us put our wellies and kagools on. You said it was going to rain.”
Dad, who was up front driving the bright yellow amphibious bus, didn’t answer.
Marjory, his wife, who was sat next to him, turned around in her seat and said, “Jeremy dear, don’t worry your father while he’s concentrating on getting us through this traffic. Go and make sure your sister has got her lifejacket on and then check none of the windows are open. When you’ve done that you could start to feed the animals, there’s a darling.”
Marjory turned back in her seat and stared out of the front window at the bright sun ahead of them. She looked across at her husband, “Looks like this fine spell is set to continue dear. If it gets any warmer we may have to open a window or two. Those animals are beginning to pong a bit.”
Noah frowned. According to his calculations, the rains and flooding should’ve have started by now.
A story for this week’s photo prompt at Sunday Photo Fiction.