Fish Supper – 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 - E.A. Wicklund

Copyright – E.A. Wicklund

– Fish Supper –

Every summer, the teenage seagulls throng on Brighton beach, swamping the holidaymakers and the hung-over hen parties.

They are literally stretching their wings, shunned by their exhausted parents who have finally decided that their offspring need to fend for themselves.

The beach visitors are rich pickings; careless and sun-drenched, their paper-wrapped fish and chips are just too tempting for the adolescent birds to resist. Swooping, beaks wide open to claim their prize, they dive and wheel among flailing arms, triumphant as they soar towards the sun, tasty morsels already halfway down their gullets.

Every year, new birds. Every year, new holidaymakers. The birds learn – the humans make the same mistakes.

Food for thought!

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Click on the blue froggy below to read others’ offerings!

Stop All the Clocks – 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…?

Copyright - A Mixed Bag

Copyright – A Mixed Bag

– Stop All the Clocks –

Eric wondered whether the clock’s stopping had taken place in broad daylight, or whether the hands had ceased their relentless turning in the London night, unremarked by human eyes.

His day swallowed him whole, the passing thoughts faded into the background. Two weeks later, on his first day back to work from his annual summer holiday, the ever-still hands locked at just before twenty to three caught his eye straight away. He reached his office, shut the door and picked up the phone.

“Yes, hello. Your clock doesn’t seem to be working. Did you know about it?”

Eric liked order, above all things. On putting the receiver back in its cradle, he felt satisfied at having alerted the management to the problem.

On his way home, he opened the Evening Standard, settling down to read. At the bottom of page 7, a news item caught his eye and his satisfaction disappeared, replaced by a strange empty feeling.

“Hotel clock winder dies on duty”

Still, at least he had helped them find the poor old man.

The Choosing – VisDare 39

Here’s my latest offering for Anonymous Legacy‘s photo-inspired prompt, VisDare. This week’s prompt word is ‘Adore’. The rules are simple:

150 words – or less.

Post entry to your blog and “link in”.

(Please – no erotica or graphic violence.)

DON’T FORGET to read and comment on others’ entries!!

The photo is below, and my piece follows.  Let me know what you think, and give it a go yourself, why not?

– The Choosing – 

“Who is she again?”

“We call her Mother.”

“Yes, but who is she?”

“Mother. That’s all.”

“You don’t understand. I need to know her bloodline, her ancestors, her descendants. It’s important!”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

“Why is it important? What is the difference?”

“My research…”

“It is of no consequence. She will still be of us. She will still love and be loved in return. She will still be Mother.”

The man stared, swallowed. The grey eyes stared back, unblinking.

“Come. Come and be with us. Meet Mother. Just be.”

The man stood, feeling strangely at peace. He allowed himself to be drawn in, to meet Mother.

His research could wait.

*****

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