Rochelle had used my photo as the prompt for Friday Fictioneers this week. It was taken in Barcelona, walking from Port Vell towards the Monument to Columbus.
Posts by Dee :
The ties that bound me were severed so long ago, I have forgotten why. The cold seeps into my bones, forming a brittle frost. The gnawing emptiness in my stomach would…
Stella took the subway. Seeking the protection of strangers, she slowly made her way through the crowd. People grew restless as the train approached
Wallace Hartley was born in my home town of Colne in Lancashire. A large bust of him stood outside the library and I used to pass it most Saturdays when I went shopping with my mother.
Fairies danced here once. My sister, cousin and I watched them at twilight as they danced about in the clover, their flimsy wings translucent and dotted with pale colours.
I first met Claire and Helena through the flash fiction site ‘Friday Fictioneers‘ and I’m so pleased that I did. Their writing, though very different is quite brilliant.
The juiciest blackberries grew alongside the tracks, with a sick husband and five children to feed, Anna happily accepted nature’s help.
Her leather portfolio bought with birthday money, stuffed with photos so lovingly captured by Charlie, began to look scruffy as it was pawed over and scrutinised by agent after agent.
It’s funny how some stories just jump into your head and almost write themselves. That’s what happened when I saw the prompt for this week.
John stepped back into the water trough one more time.
‘I hate bloody DIY! And why soak the paper? What’s wrong with old fashioned wallpaper paste?’