A Reservation For Six

We’ve only one table left sir, the one by the forest. Do you know it?

Oh, I see sir, you read about it in the paper. A most unfortunate incident.

We’ve always known the creatures were there of course. We’ve even had been brief glimpses of them. But for a group to come right up to the table was most unusual. As for them attacking and eating the guests, that was so out of character.

But rest assured sir, the whole area has been thoroughly cleaned, you’d never know anything had happened.

What time shall I make the reservation for?

MikeJackson©2018

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

Photo courtesy of Fatima Fakier Deria

 

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Cinderella

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.

MikeJackson©2018

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Memories

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.

MikeJackson©2018

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

Photo courtesy of J Hardy Carroll.

Loved Ones

One of the terms often used to talk of the dead is ‘loved ones’. It made me think of this 100-word story.

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We stood huddled in a small group and watched as the rain danced on the coffin lid.

Despite the lousy weather, we’d all come to make sure you were really dead.

Anthony, eyes lowered, was remembering the daily beatings you had given him. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders as memories of your nightly visits to my room forced their way back into my mind.

According to our old neighbour, you illness had given you a lot of pain over the last six months. Something I was heartened to hear.

We’re so glad you’re no longer with us Dad.

MikeJackson©2017