A Guiding Angel

Posted on 15 January 2026 | 24 comments

I find the history of Cathedrals fascinating and in particular the lore and legends that exist. For instance, the story of how the Devil helped pay for the building of the Aachen Cathedral in Germany. In return for his cash he was promised the soul of the first person to enter the building once it was completed. The citizens tricked Satan by chasing a wolf through the front door.

Thank you Rochelle (click the name to visit her site) for this week’s challenge. Also, thank you to Jennifer for the photo-prompt.

More Friday-Fictioneer’s contributions can be accessed HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

A Guiding Angel

The tour guide spoke of how a heavenly miracle in 1446 restored the windows after a devastating storm. Afterwards, congregations prayed in this Cathedral dome for forgiveness from their Saviour and safety from Satan’s devious clutches.

I felt a spiritual awe as her words echoed from the stone walls and was transfixed by how a ray of light formed a glowing halo over her head.

Afterwards, I asked if she would like a coffee, or even dinner.
She said yes.

I thought nothing of the two small bumps beneath her raven hair, until our children grew horns.

The little devils.

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Granddad’s Regret

Posted on 07 January 2026 | 37 comments

Sandra’s picture reminds of the mud pool I discovered in the garden of a house I rented. When I cleaned it out I found two small fish so afterwards kept the pool clean and fed them. The small pond also attracted frogs and hedgehogs who came to drink. I had turned the garden into a small refuge for visiting wild life. I was concerned for the fish when I left the house and wonder if they survived.

Thank you Rochelle for the writing challenge and thank you Sandra for the photo-prompt.

Read more stories from the prompt, HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Granddad’s Regret

I had watched my grandfather fit the netting over the pond.
This was to stop the cranes and other birds from eating his prized koi.
My gran said it was to stop three-year-olds from falling in.

Years later, it was Gran who slipped on the path and crashed onto the netting fracturing her arm.

Her wedding ring had slipped from her finger while spreading aqua pellets over the water. Granddad would not stop laughing.

When she came home from hospital, she had a strong steel grill fitted over the pond.
To hide granddad’s bones and stop his soul from escaping.

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Wild Swimming

Posted on 01 January 2026 | 13 comments

Happy New Year to everyone.

Thank you Rochelle for the first Friday-Fictioneer challenge for 2026. Also to Lisa for her Photo-prompt.

More flash stories and contributions can be read HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox

Wild Swimming

The frost melts by mid-day and after my trek a dip in the lake, breathing the pure country air, is just perfect.

In the water I enjoy how the cold stimulates an invigorating sensation on my skin as my heart beats harder to drive blood to my extremities. A feeling that stays with me for the rest of the day.

Old Bill, the Park Warden introduced me to wild swimming. At seventy; an ex-marine with a zest for life, and an attraction for lustful women.

Unexpectedly he disappeared.

Did he really drown?

On the Ponta-Rosa Ranch, Caroline is now smiling.

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Seagulls Drift on By

Posted on 19 December 2025 | 11 comments

Friday-Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Photo-prompt quote;

“This week’s photo is of silouhetted figures on the beach and in the water. The sun is reflecting off the water. There are wispy clouds overhead.” Quote

More stories HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Peter Abbey

Seagulls Drift on By

Glowing in our happiness, exquisite gladness
And summer wisps are smiling in the skies.
Holding hands, bumping shoulders, softness
Of gentle touches, minds meeting through eyes.

White and worn by nature’s seamless caress,
Warm sand shifting softly beneath out feet.
To where long grass in hidden dunes form a nest.
We strolled entwined, engrossed in our secret.

In a sun-trapped hollow our hotbed of desire.
Burning bodies flare as passions catch fire,
Embraced in exhausted arms, we linger and lie.
A cheering audience of seagulls drift on by.

The laughing moon wakes us from our slumber.
Shall we call. Or will we write or even remember?

This moment of secret passion over.
Nothing said.

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Bric-a-Brac Romance

Posted on 11 December 2025 | 23 comments

Once more I pick up my pen to scribe an unlikely tale in response to Rochelle’s Friday-Fictioneer’s challenge. A novel in one hundred words. A thank you to Dale for another interesting photo-prompt, wherever it may be.

More stories from the Friday group can be read HERE.

Bric-a-Brac Romance

On Sundays I offer bric-a-brac to curious explorers along the narrow alleyway.

Absently, she fondled the queen from the chess set.
Do you play? I offered her the king.
She smiled and showed me her wedding ring.

Next time she gently traced the cracks on a porcelain vase.
Does he buy you flowers?
She coughed.
I saw bruises edge out beneath her dark glasses.

Weeks later she came by. 
Her hair was loose and unkempt; she wore a ragged coat and scuffed up shoes.
She caressed and softly kissed the white knight.
No ring, just a smile.

Coffee? 
Maybe.

23 Comments

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Coffee at Sultan’s

Posted on 04 December 2025 | 30 comments

Thank you Rochelle for another Friday Fictioneer’s writing challenge. You have also describe your background to the Mediterranean Market in the photo-prompt which is an interesting read.

Other contributions to the prompt can be discovered here.

My novel MISSING is available for free this week on Amazon. If you read the book do critique the work, I am interest on how others think.

MISSING UK – Amazon UK

MISSING US – Amazon US

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Coffee at Sultan’s

Susan messaged to meet her in Sultan’s for a coffee and discuss our holiday plans. 

I had to wait to cross as the ambulance, sirens blaring, passed by.

I’m not keen on the cruise ship idea. It’s the thought of the intensity of crowds floating on the open sea. A vision of the Titanic haunts me, I shouldn’t have watched the film.

She’s late and I am on my second coffee.

I’m keen on Sandals in Barbados as the beach looks romantic, just right for my proposal.
Will she say yes?

She’s very late.

I watched the ambulance screaming past. 

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Sweet Cynthia

Posted on 19 November 2025 | 29 comments

Thank you, Rochelle, for this week’s Friday-Fictioneers challenge. The lovely picture of Alyssum flowers from Sandra, somehow, has provoked a dark side for my story this week.

More stories from the group can be read HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Sweet Cynthia

I created the rockery after Cynthia left as a reminder of how much I once loved her.

The alyssum flowers with their sweet fragrance teased my memory of her warmth and kindness and the way her lips would linger as she kissed me goodnight. 

The flowers have a pungent, peppery flavour, like the sudden flares of Cynthia’s temper, unexpected and occasionally violent.

My tolerance was of cowering and acceptance of her selfish outbursts and my neighbours understood when she left me.

My garden rockery is a memorial of Cynthia’s love, where I pray for forgiveness.

Always here and close by.

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Orbiting the Moon

Posted on 12 November 2025 | 42 comments

Thank you Rochelle for selecting a lovely sunset picture, “jimmy’s pool at sunset”.

Short on time this week I have contributed one of my poems which reflects the peace of the sunset picture. My apologies for going over the word count limit, but to shorten the verse would spoil the story.

More writing from Friday-Fictioneer’s HERE.

Jimmy’s Pool at Sunset.

Orbiting the Moon

Mother stood staring from the open window
As I walked along the gravel garden path

She looked through me as if I was hollow
But I smiled and waved, I saw her laugh.

We sat on the veranda eating jam and scones
She asked where I had been all these years

Were you travelling in space polishing stones?
I can’t remember, she said, and wiped her tears.

I showed her the old pictures of our family
My children as babies, then going to school

Who are these people? I can’t see them clearly
Ah yes, she said. Your father, the stubborn fool.

We walked to the park and sat by the lake
She told me she was proud of her beloved son

The first Scots astronaut who promised to take
Her sightseeing past Mars and to orbit the Moon.

Is it time to go? she said, and held my hand
She pulled up the travel rug against the chill
How long will it take and where will we land?

She rested on my shoulder and slipped away
Silent, slowly with the sun sinking over the hill.

145 words

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Alice Comes Home.

Posted on 08 November 2025 | 21 comments

Thank you Rochelle, once again for the picture challenge and to Yvette Prior for the photo-prompt. I can only think; nosey neighbours!

PHOTO PROMPT ©Yvette Prior

Alice Comes Home

Susan, you’ve cleaned those blinds a hundred times.

Alice comes home from hospital today.
Well don’t bother her I’m sure she’ll need rest at home.

I want to see her new baby.
Please Susan, I’m sure Alice needs her own quiet time.

Remember how she would always take her poodle walking.
Every day.

You would watch out for her, then pretend to go jogging.
My regular ten miles, no pretence.

I wonder about the baby. The colour of eyes and hair and nose.
Oh Susan! Leave the girl alone.

Why John, have you got something to hide?

21 Comments

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The Double-cross

Posted on 29 October 2025 | 22 comments

Thank you Rochelle for another prompt for the Friday Fictioneers’ challenge, and the photo prompt picture from Dale. (Time to tidy up that garden pile, me thinks).

More story contributions can be read HERE.

Halloween – a story of Scottish Witch hunts. Read Here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The Double-cross

Caroline’s picture was a message and the exact location where she would be waiting.

Karl hid among the hawthorn on the ridge overlooking the lodge, and with his Steiner binoculars scanned the windows looking for movement inside the building. Already, he had mounted the AX50 sniper rifle on a tripod, aimed perfectly on the front door.

Carloine’s secret honey trap of politicians was a lucrative business, once the blackmail was paid, the target died of an induced heart attack courtesy of Karl’s poison. 

The senator waved to Caroline and drove down the forest track.

She never knew what hit her.

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