Thursday, December 14, 2017

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Post 1651. Thursday December 14




“So, here we are at your first classical concert and we have the best seats right in the middle, now remember, no singing along, no cheering, no waving your arms, ok?“


“Don’t think much of this tune” says he.


“It’s not the tune, they are tuning their instruments, they'll start playing soon” say I.


“Why are they still tuning their instruments?” asks he.


“They are not, this is the tune, I give up, we are going” I say.


“Excuse me, sir, excuse me madam, whoops your toes, pardon me please, oh dear, your sweeties, excuse me sir, sorry madam……....”



This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Tune


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Wednesday, December 13, 2017

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Post 1650. Wednesday December 13

Friday Fictioneers




As night drapes a blanket of darkness over a slumbering world, I slink away into the stillness of the street. I hear the rustle of fallen leaves, the rattle of a discarded can cartwheeling along the gutter. I spin my head toward a screeching owl for I am not alone on my nightly journey. I turn again as a fox skips from one overfilled dustbin to another. A bat swoops. Fluttering moths frantically fly around a street lamp whilst a spider weaves a web with which to harvest the flying fruits of dawn.

We are the creatures of the night. Our night. Ours.




Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Sandra Crook for the picture.















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Post 1649. Tuesday December 12




What’s today? Monday? No, it’s Friday because I just ate fish and chips. There’s my plate. See? Yes, Friday.

I had a good memory once. I used to take part in quizzes.

I did – didn’t I?

Why is this happening to me? Why me? It makes me so ANGRY!

Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.

It’s like mind is trying to look through a misted window. It makes out shapes but not the detail.

You wouldn't understand, why should you?



Who are you anyway?

My son? What son?

You’re an imposter. You are just after my money.

Sorry son. Sorry. Please forgive me.


My nurse is lovely. Jenny. No, Jacqui. I think.

You’d like her. She has the most beautiful black hair.

She understands me. She wipes my misty window, and for a few precious moments, everything makes sense.

But then it steams up again and I forget what I remembered.

Anyway, cheer up. We're having fish and chips tonight!  Do you want some? Julie will be bringing it soon.

She has the most beautiful blonde hair.




Thanks, Priceless Joy for hosting and Yarnspinnerr for the picture.


Word count 175










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Sunday, December 10, 2017

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Post 1648. Sunday December 10





‘Look Daddy, the fairies are back! They are dancing round and round’ She often saw them, but all I could see was the little village I made for her at the bottom of the garden. 'They are waving to us Daddy, do you see?'

‘So they are’ I said, waving one hand whilst crossing the fingers of the other! Well, it was only a white lie.

Maria was born poorly. Unable to walk unaided, she would sit in her wheelchair for hours on end singing, laughing, and talking with the fairies. We knew her life would be short, but the end came far sooner than we expected. Just eight short years, but joyous ones nonetheless.

This morning when I opened the curtains I saw a ring of fairies dancing round and round in the little village at the bottom of the garden. They waved to me and I waved back The prettiest of them all was little Maria.


Word count 158


Thank you, Eric Wiklund for providing this week's inspirational photograph.

Thursday, December 07, 2017

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Post 1647. Thursday December 7




It’s going to snow the weatherman said.

So I polished the bottom of a tea tray and put a tea cosy on my head.

I stuck my hands in some oven gloves and borrowed two of granddad's walking sticks.

I strapped tennis rackets to my feet and climbed to the top of the mountain hill.

Then I waited....and waited....and waited.

It rained.



This week's cue at Six Sentence Stories is Stick

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Wednesday, December 06, 2017

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Post 1646. Wednesday December 6

Friday Fictioneers




Just weeks ago my window framed a palette of colour. Gaudy blooms, branches dressed in quivering leaves of green, and puffs of white drifting ‘cross a sky of deepest blue. But not today. Flowers have run to seed and trees resemble stark frosted skeletons. Grey clouds hang low and an icy wind whispers winter.

As I turn my gaze toward the orange glow of a crackling log fire, warmth fills my cheeks. Steam wafts from a comforting bowl of soup assaulting my senses. Here, winter is shut outside. As I draw the curtains, I am reminded that no matter the season, life is good.








Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Dale Rogerson for the chilly picture!
















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Tuesday, December 05, 2017

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Post 1645. December 5




A cat wandered into my apartment the other day, and no matter how often I sent it away it kept coming back. And yesterday it leaped into my car with me! Don’t laugh, it’s not funny. I mean, why on earth did it choose me? If cats are so clever, how come it doesn’t know I have a deep dislike of like them? Dogs, masters, cats, servants and all that.

My friends think it’s hilarious. Let it sit on your lap they say. No, I say. Take it for a walk on a lead they say. No, I say, I’d feel a right clot!

It asked for some milk the other day. I didn’t have any so I gave it a bowl of yogurt instead. It lapped it up then went hyper! Jumping, climbing the walls, somersaulting! Ok, that last part’s pure fiction, but it did send it a bit do-lally! I’ll try giving it that cream liqueur stuff next! Baileys, that’s it.

Anyway, it looks like I'm stuck with it so meeow for now!



Word count 169


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting and Enisa for the photo.