Eyes Right – Friday Fictioneers

May 16, 2014May 16, 2014freyathewriter 28 Comments

Here is my latest 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!

I walk across London Bridge to work each morning, and some days, the bridge and all beyond is shrouded in fog or mist. It has crossed my mind that we are so trusting, to expect that the bridge, and everything on the other side, is indeed, still there….

Copyright – Sandra Crook

– Eyes Right –

They follow one another like lambs.

Fog. It had descended in the night hours when Death beckons. I had been awake in my glass-encased penthouse, Scotch swirling in lead crystal. It had struck me as vaguely curious, but then I turned my back, returned to my dealings, turned on by money.

There were no footsteps on London Bridge – which my subconscious expected. I returned to the window. The fog rose. London Bridge was gone, and all that remained of those sheep was their detritus bobbing on the Thames below.

It pays to have your wits about you in the City.

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Poles Apart – Friday Fictioneers

May 8, 2014May 11, 2014freyathewriter 35 Comments

Here is my latest 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!

This week, as we learned of the death of the celebrated UK planetary scientist, Professor Colin Pillinger CBE, I decided to write this little piece in his honour. This isn’t a serious piece, but he was in my thoughts as I wrote.

Copyright – BW Beacham

– Poles Apart –

“This river used to be tidal, decades ago. Then they found that other moon. That’s when all the trouble started.”

“Trouble?” I looked at the old man who had eased himself on to the bench next to me. He was surprisingly articulate and well-spoken, for someone who looked like a vagrant.

“Yes. They wouldn’t listen to me. I told them not to go meddling. But no, they knew best.”

“What happened?”

“They decided to harness it, bring it closer to Earth, which cancelled out the magnetic pull of the proper moon. So, no more tides. And they say my Beagle 2 Project was a failure!”

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Shredded – Friday Fictioneers

March 28, 2014freyathewriter 32 Comments

Here is another late 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 – John Nixon

– Shredded –

The mountains of paperwork had reached mammoth proportions.

Deluged by policies, amendments, white papers and term sheets, her desk had disappeared long ago.

There was a knock at her office door.

“Oh come in, do. Please tell me you’re my new assistant…”

The air hung heavy with expectation, desperation even.

The timid girl entered, hovering near the door.

“S-sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She darted forward, placed a Perspex sign on top of one of the paper towers and left – quickly.

Clare picked up the sign and rolled her eyes.

“‘Head of Environmental Policy’ indeed,” she muttered.

Oh, the irony.

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