The Moon, The Stars and The Sun

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

We stood in small groups, huddled close to one another, in the forlorn hope that this might help us, and we looked up at the sky. A loud voice echoed from behind the dark clouds that were blocking the sun’s warming rays.

“Oh my children!” it cried, “Why do you ignore me?”

We dropped to our knees, hands clasped together in prayer, eyes fixed on the ground.

“I took away your moon and stars in the hope it would bring you to your senses, but still you anger me. You leave me no choice. Tomorrow I take away your sun.”

MikeJackson©2017

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

If Only…

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

We always knew that playing a concert in that war torn country would be a risk. Our group came under fire on the last night as we made our way back to the hotel. I was unlucky. Wrong place at the wrong time. The bullet narrowly missed my neck but buried itself in my ribs. Nothing fatal, but the damage caused was enough to put an untimely end to what was destined to be a glittering career. I now sit in one of the practice rooms. A spare instrument for students to practice on and young children to play with.

MikeJackson©2016

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

Our Santa

“Dad, our Sharon says there no such thing as Father Christmas. That’s not true, is it dad?”

“No Jimmy, Sharon’s just teasing you.”

“Dad, our Sharon says that last Christmas, when you were in prison, it was Uncle Peter who dressed up as Father Christmas and left me my presents. That’s not true, is it dad?”

“Course not Jimmy. Take no notice of Sharon. It was definitely Father Christmas.”

“I thought so dad. I told our Sharon that it was Father Christmas I saw mum kissing. She wouldn’t be kissing Uncle Peter, would she dad?”

“No more questions Jimmy, it’s Christmas Eve, time you were in bed.”

“Are you going to bed dad?”

“Not yet Jimmy. I’m going to sit here and wait for Father Christmas – then I’m going to break his bloody neck! Goodnight son.”

“Night, night dad.”

MikeJackson©2016

Peace At Last

PHOTO PROMPT -© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

He might have loved her once, but God only knows when that could’ve been. The ferocity of the weather had forced them to shelter in this dump of a motel, giving her something else to moan about. He’d snapped sometime around midnight. The constant pounding of the rain, mixed with her high-pitched whining, being more than he could take. He looked down at her now quiet and very still body. He’d call the police in the morning. No need to drag them out on a night like this. For now, he just wanted to savour the peace and quiet.

MikeJackson©2015

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers