Bushido – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

August 26, 2013freyathewriter 8 Comments

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

– Bushido –

Wakamura-san released a sigh, not so gently as he had imagined.

“Dad? What’s wrong now? I haven’t got time for this. The removal firm will be here in an hour.”

He could feel his daughter’s frustration roll towards him. She never seemed to understand that a tranquil state of mind required hard work and commitment, like anything else. She was never still, never in the moment.

She shoved a small wooden box in his lap then wrapped his soft, dry fingers around it more gently, patting his hands.

“Here, Dad, hold on to these, keep them safe. I know they are important to you.”

He opened the box and stroked the small swords nestled within.

“At least you know that much. Be busy, make your calls, organise and plan. I will still be here, when you remember to be still.”

He felt his daughter kiss the top of his head and pause, just for a moment.

She knew. She just needed to work at it.

Full Circle – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

August 18, 2013freyathewriter 16 Comments

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

– Full Circle –

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Oh yes. But I’m not so happy about the new colour scheme.”

I stood with Sol, mirroring his stance – arms folded, legs locked in position. He was angry. I steeled myself against the onslaught. ‘I’m not so happy’ was code for ‘Bloody angry’.

“I need to tell you something,” I scratched my cheek, feeling two days’ worth of bristles rasp against my fingernails.

Silence.

“We sourced the paint livery from the original makers. We painted her sky blue, just like you asked, but it just didn’t cover up the, the…”

“I asked you – no, told you – to get rid of the stains! Sandblast the wheel, smooth it, seal it, paint it. For God’s sake, that’s why I hired you!”

“That’s what we did, Sol.”

“And she never had a red wheel – never!”

I sighed, faked my ‘I’m sorry’ shrug and turned away. The captain’s daughter had been torn to pieces on Dixie’s maiden voyage, her skirt caught up in the paddle steamer’s big wheel. It seemed like the old girl didn’t want anyone to forget. A red-painted wheel was her way of honouring Ruby – my great-grandmother.

Sol could go swivel.

Jankers – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

August 13, 2013freyathewriter 8 Comments

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

– Jankers –

All the boys had second jobs when they weren’t on a tour of duty, but no way could you be working in Civvy Street whilst in uniform. Paul pictured his bag of clothes making their merry way on the 6.41am to Swansea without him. What an idiot.

Money was scarce these days, but the sight of his ice cream cart persuaded even the tightest fist to loosen up for a 99-flake, especially at his local hospital’s fundraiser. He scanned the crowds for signs of military bearing amongst the happy family groups. No, he was safe.

Satisfied, he crouched down, rummaging in his cart for more napkins. A shadow grew tall on the grass next to him, ram-rod straight, stretching out forever. Sweat prickled between his shoulder blades. Damn – he couldn’t even look the soldier in the face. If it was his Warrant Officer, he was done for….

“Corporal Jones! What the hell d’you think you’re playing at?”

Paul’s head snapped up, recognising the voice as if it was his own.

“Dad! Thank God! I though I was done for!”

“Here’s a change of clothes, son. Now get a move on before you get caught for real.”

*****

And for those of you scratching your heads at my choice of title this week, take a look here.

	ben Alexander on Weaponised
	ben Alexander on Weaponised
	poetisatinta on Weaponised
	freyathewriter on Weaponised
	brazannemuse on Weaponised

Freya Writes…

… because she can

Category Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Bushido – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

– Bushido –

Wakamura-san released a sigh, not so gently as he had imagined.

“Dad? What’s wrong now? I haven’t got time for this. The removal firm will be here in an hour.”

He could feel his daughter’s frustration roll towards him. She never seemed to understand that a tranquil state of mind required hard work and commitment, like anything else. She was never still, never in the moment.

She shoved a small wooden box in his lap then wrapped his soft, dry fingers around it more gently, patting his hands.

“Here, Dad, hold on to these, keep them safe. I know they are important to you.”

He opened the box and stroked the small swords nestled within.

“At least you know that much. Be busy, make your calls, organise and plan. I will still be here, when you remember to be still.”

He felt his daughter kiss the top of his head and pause, just for a moment.

She knew. She just needed to work at it.

Full Circle – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

– Full Circle –

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Oh yes. But I’m not so happy about the new colour scheme.”

I stood with Sol, mirroring his stance – arms folded, legs locked in position. He was angry. I steeled myself against the onslaught. ‘I’m not so happy’ was code for ‘Bloody angry’.

“I need to tell you something,” I scratched my cheek, feeling two days’ worth of bristles rasp against my fingernails.

Silence.

“We sourced the paint livery from the original makers. We painted her sky blue, just like you asked, but it just didn’t cover up the, the…”

“I asked you – no, told you – to get rid of the stains! Sandblast the wheel, smooth it, seal it, paint it. For God’s sake, that’s why I hired you!”

“That’s what we did, Sol.”

“And she never had a red wheel – never!”

Sol could go swivel.

Jankers – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

– Jankers –

All the boys had second jobs when they weren’t on a tour of duty, but no way could you be working in Civvy Street whilst in uniform. Paul pictured his bag of clothes making their merry way on the 6.41am to Swansea without him. What an idiot.

Money was scarce these days, but the sight of his ice cream cart persuaded even the tightest fist to loosen up for a 99-flake, especially at his local hospital’s fundraiser. He scanned the crowds for signs of military bearing amongst the happy family groups. No, he was safe.

“Corporal Jones! What the hell d’you think you’re playing at?”

Paul’s head snapped up, recognising the voice as if it was his own.

“Dad! Thank God! I though I was done for!”

“Here’s a change of clothes, son. Now get a move on before you get caught for real.”

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

– Bushido –

Wakamura-san released a sigh, not so gently as he had imagined.

“Dad? What’s wrong now? I haven’t got time for this. The removal firm will be here in an hour.”

He could feel his daughter’s frustration roll towards him. She never seemed to understand that a tranquil state of mind required hard work and commitment, like anything else. She was never still, never in the moment.

She shoved a small wooden box in his lap then wrapped his soft, dry fingers around it more gently, patting his hands.

“Here, Dad, hold on to these, keep them safe. I know they are important to you.”

He opened the box and stroked the small swords nestled within.

“At least you know that much. Be busy, make your calls, organise and plan. I will still be here, when you remember to be still.”

He felt his daughter kiss the top of his head and pause, just for a moment.

She knew. She just needed to work at it.

Share this:

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

– Full Circle –

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Oh yes. But I’m not so happy about the new colour scheme.”

I stood with Sol, mirroring his stance – arms folded, legs locked in position. He was angry. I steeled myself against the onslaught. ‘I’m not so happy’ was code for ‘Bloody angry’.

“I need to tell you something,” I scratched my cheek, feeling two days’ worth of bristles rasp against my fingernails.

Silence.

“We sourced the paint livery from the original makers. We painted her sky blue, just like you asked, but it just didn’t cover up the, the…”

“I asked you – no, told you – to get rid of the stains! Sandblast the wheel, smooth it, seal it, paint it. For God’s sake, that’s why I hired you!”

“That’s what we did, Sol.”

“And she never had a red wheel – never!”

Sol could go swivel.

Share this:

Here is my offering for Alastair’s Photo Fiction this week, inspired by the photo below. Why not take part? And why not visit his photography and writing blog to take a look at his other photos…?

– Jankers –

All the boys had second jobs when they weren’t on a tour of duty, but no way could you be working in Civvy Street whilst in uniform. Paul pictured his bag of clothes making their merry way on the 6.41am to Swansea without him. What an idiot.

Money was scarce these days, but the sight of his ice cream cart persuaded even the tightest fist to loosen up for a 99-flake, especially at his local hospital’s fundraiser. He scanned the crowds for signs of military bearing amongst the happy family groups. No, he was safe.

“Corporal Jones! What the hell d’you think you’re playing at?”

Paul’s head snapped up, recognising the voice as if it was his own.

“Dad! Thank God! I though I was done for!”

“Here’s a change of clothes, son. Now get a move on before you get caught for real.”

Share this: