A 100-word story for this week’s photo prompt at Friday Fictioneers. I remember it as though it happened yesterday. It was my seventh birthday and
Gave it all up when I was fourteen. Nobody could understand why. I simply reacted like any teenager. Scowled a lot. Said it was boring
“Name and date of birth please, sir.” “Michael Peter Jones, 21st March 1962” “And when did you die Mr Jones?” “Sometime this morning, I think.
That’s where she kept me. The room with the blinds. I remember once letting the blinds up, the light from the sun was amazing. She
Despite the fire, it’s gone really cold out here. Glad I put on this big coat and the scarf mum gave me the week before
“What have we got here, sergeant?” “Burnt out car, boss. Found earlier today by some chap walking his dog. Uniform are taking a statement. Forensics