I stood behind the tree, hands in my pocket, collar pulled up high. Would I ever get used to these miserable Earth winters? I doubted it. I’d asked for my next assignment to be somewhere warmer but my request had gone unheeded.
I looked across at the white car where my next victim sat. James Peterson – a lowly civil servant who regularly took to his car at lunchtime to eat his chicken paste sandwiches and drink lukewarm coffee from a flask.
James was a loner. No friends. No family. The ideal host.
By midnight his body would be my new home.
Picture courtesy of Dale Rogerson
Another 100-word story for Friday Fictioners.
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
“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.