Sweets For My Sweet – 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!

alleyCopyright – Kent Bonham

– Sweets For My Sweet –

“Mother?”
“Yes, honey?”
“What are these things under the ramp?”
“Hold on a moment, sugar, let me just finish this. Here, you have one as well, they’re to die for.”
“Mmm, oh yes!”
“What did you want to know? Sorry, I got side-tracked. Here, have the last one.”
“I wanted to know about the jagged things under the ramp.”
“Oh, yes. I think they’re steps. Back in the Lean Times, people walked. Instead of zooming up the ramp in one of these babies, they had to use the steps, wasting all their energy. Strange, huh?”
“How primitive! Mother?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Can we buy another box of Snickers bars? I could do with a snack before lunch.”

—-

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

Unmasked – Sunday Photo Fiction

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

Copyright - Kattermonran

Copyright – Kattermonran

– Unmasked –

I should be ecstatic. Earlier, as I draped myself in liquid silk, I had imagined myself gazing down at the old me, a rat-child from the slums, and smiled. If only I had known.

If only.

It was only yesterday. I had trawled through the crooked streets behind the shopping district, searching for the perfect foil to my emerald gown.

The shopkeeper’s eyes had lit up at my request. He disappeared into the depths of his ramshackle shop, finally hobbling towards me with an impossibly glamorous box, triumphant.

He pushed it into my outstretched hands, let me open it and grinned at the gasp I had no time to hide. “For you, my lady, this mask is free. A gift for your first night at the palace.”

I protested, but not too hard. He bounced on his feet, ushered me out of the door, slapped the ‘Closed’ sign against the glass and turned off the lights behind me.

I had the perfect mask.

Perfect for clearing my vision. Perfect for revealing the dirty, twisted, conniving, bitter, preening souls of the sycophants thronging the ballroom, desperate for royalty’s favour.

And I was one of them.