Trick Cyclist – Friday Fictioneers

Here is this week’s entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

Copyright - anelephantcant

Copyright – anelephantcant

– Trick Cyclist –

When asked, Uncle Shadrach always told people, ‘Oh, I’m just a trick cyclist, nothing earth-shattering.’

My sister Sarah – 15 years my senior and supercilious with it – laughed herself hoarse when I asked how he managed to perform tricks on a bicycle when he was so old and stiff and a bit doddery on his legs.

‘Stupid! Trick cyclist is just slang for psychiatrist – don’t you know anything?’

I felt deflated, like a forgotten party balloon. But I was vindicated at Uncle Shadrach’s 90th birthday celebration, when he hopped up onto his unicycle and whizzed round the room.

One to me, Sarah…

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Click the blue froggy to read other writers’ offerings – and enjoy!

Absorbed – 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…?

GEDSC DIGITAL CAMERA

– Absorbed –

We were never quite sure what Great Aunty’s religious beliefs were, whilst she was alive. She always kept that kind of information, plus anything else she considered to be personal (including her clothing size), very close to her chest.

We all went to her with our problems – we knew we could trust her, without question.

I did worry that she might have committed all of our angst to a lifetime’s worth of diaries. Thankfully, this wasn’t the case. The only handwritten books in her rambling house were those containing shopping lists. It’s odd, isn’t it, what we keep?

The ancient idol was a relic from a Pacific Island religion that is now nearly dormant. The idol would absorb everything that was spoken in its presence, so that when you passed over, you would die ‘clean’.

Thank you, Great Aunty. I’ve been a very bad woman during my life and confessed everything to you. It’s nice to think that I will be clean as well.

Genius – Friday Fictioneers

Here is this week’s entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

Copyright - Randy Mazie

Copyright – Randy Mazie

– Genius –

Gerald shook his head, then stared at his friend.

To his own satisfaction, Marty couldn’t hold his gaze. “I did what you said. Didn’t I?”

“Really? D’you really think I wanted this?”

“You said you wanted to feel horny again, if it was the last thing you did.”

Gerald sighed. Even as a genie, Marty was a sandwich short of a picnic.

“Idiot! I meant horny as in teenage hormones, you know?! For goodness sake…!”

Marty slumped onto his oversized lamp, rubbing it absentmindedly. “So you didn’t want to be goat in a graveyard then? You didn’t want this to be the last night of your life…?”

No, I didn’t. Now do something about it before I kill you instead…!”

Click the blue froggy to read other writers’ offerings – and enjoy!