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
Tree ZA34657, known locally as ‘Old Oakey’, you have been found guilty of aiding and abetting acts of obscene behaviour. On January 31st of this year, you allowed two young people of this Parish, namely Sally Mary Andrews and James Herbert Matthews, to engage in carnal activities beneath your branches. On the same day, you allowed the said James Herbert Matthews to carve a token of this wilful deed into your trunk. It is decreed you be chopped down in this place and your body dismembered and the parts scattered across the Parish and burnt. God have mercy on you.
A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.
Photo courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
It was in here somewhere, it had to be.
This is the box where I kept my most treasured possessions.
I pulled out a half-finished dream, that wasn’t it. Next came an argument still fermenting, then a small silver box containing the lies you told me, my broken heart wrapped up in brown paper, the remnants of our last fight, a jar of tears shed when you left me.
Then I find it, tucked away in the corner out of sight, the memory of our first kiss on that ride at the fair.
I hold it tight and cry.
A 100-word story for this week’s prompt at Friday Fictioneers.
Photo courtesy of J Hardy Carroll.
As I said in my e-mail Mr Jones I’ve got this stuff I need to shift. The youngest is moving back home and we need the space. You can see I’ve collected some interesting stuff over the years. Take those windows back there, portals they are, programmed to take you anywhere in the universe. In fact, I’ve got one at the back that’s an entrance to a parallel universe. Then there’s my pride of joy, the lavatory. Straight from Hogwarts. Even comes with its own ghost. All yours for just £100 and I’ll throw in the bath for free.
Another 100-word story for this week’s prompt from Friday Fictioneers.
Photo Prompt © What’s His Name