Where Are You?

A 100-word story.

WHERE ARE YOU?

 

I remember it as though it happened yesterday.

It was my seventh birthday and dad had stuck a donkey on the wall.

We’d laughed when Jimmy pinned the tail on the left leg.

Then it was my go. When I finally stuck that tail onto the donkey nobody laughed, so I thought I’d done OK. Funny thing was, nobody clapped or cheered either.

When I took that blindfold off and turned around there was not a person in sight.

I’ve been travelling these roads for nigh on two years now – so far I’ve yet to come across another living soul.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for this week’s photo prompt at Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of – J Hardy Carroll

The Crack In The Wall

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THE CRACK IN THE WALL

Peter measured the crack in the wall scribbling the measurements into a small notebook, which he tucked into his dressing gown pocket.

He put his ear to the crack. The voices seemed quieter today, more distant. His heart quickened as her gentle voice rose above the chatter.

“Peter, my dear, how are you?”

Peter didn’t reply. He never did. Unsure if the voice was real or just one of many that inhabited his head.

“Have you taken your measurements today? The opening is getting bigger, my dear, just like I said it would.”

Peter nodded but remained silent.

“Soon the gap will be large enough for my friends and I  to pass through. Then you and I can finally be together.”

How Peter longed for that moment.

“Time to go darling. You’ve a visitor.”

The voices went quiet. Peter straightened up and took a step back as his bedroom door opened.

“Good morning Mr Jones. How are we this morning? Still worried about that crack in the wall I see. I’ve had a word with maintenance. They’re sending someone down to have a look at it. Now, be a love, roll up your sleeve and I’ll give you your medication.”

Mike Jackson

Have You Seen The Table?

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HAVE YOU SEEN THE TABLE?

Arthur looked at the table. What was it with these people?

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t told them before. Last time they’d left it covered in half-empty beer glasses and overturned wine bottles.

The time before that he’d found the table cluttered with bottles of bleach and sundry other cleaning materials that hadn’t been put away.

Today it was set out as a coffee station.

He blamed Guinevere. She was the one responsible for the domestic staff.

He looked up at the clock.

He just had time to clear it away before the first of his knights arrived.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of  Priorhouse

What Have We Got Sergeant?

“What have we got sergeant?”

“The body’s that of a young woman, boss. Mid-twenties, been dead about 12 hours. She was also about three months pregnant”

“Any idea who she is?”

“Name’s Cinderella, boss. Seems she was engaged to be married to the Prince but he broke it off a month ago.”

“Do we know why?”

“No boss. But neighbours say she took it badly and let herself go. Then recently told them she was moving. Said someone was buying her a swanky flat.”

“Right sergeant, let’s get over to the Palace, see what the Prince knows about this.”

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of  Yvette Prior.

A New Food Source

It is a crude form of imprisonment and one I could escape from whenever I want to, but for now, I am happy to sit here, curious to see what my captors will do next.

These Earthlings are a feeble-minded, primitive race but nonetheless quite fascinating to observe.

The fact that they discovered me rummaging through the internal organs of some of the local inhabitants is unfortunate but nothing I need concern myself about.

Once this brief rest period is over I will continue my detailed research, already certain that I have discovered a new food source for our people.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of Liz Young

Keep Digging Seth

Keep digging Seth, that ring’s down there somewhere.  A crazy aunt gave it to Mel years ago. We thought it was just a tatty piece of costume jewellery.

If I’m honest I’ve no idea why she wore it, probably something to do with her lack of taste.

Anyway, seems we were wrong, turns out the thing is real and could be worth up to a quarter of a million pounds.

Once you’ve found the body poke around a bit and look for the right arm.

It was on the middle finger of her right hand when I buried the bitch.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo prompt courtesy of Connie Gayer.

Time For a Drink

Once all was quiet throughout the house the vine’s tendrils slowly spread out. Within an hour it had crossed the kitchen floor, dividing and multiplying as it went.

As the clock in the hall struck twelve it was halfway up the stairs twisting and wrapping itself around the bannister as it went. Its bulkiness was beginning to slow it down but its thirst for blood spurred it on. The smell of the humans asleep in their bedrooms was intoxicating.

As the sun rose it rested outside the children’s bedroom, its thirst momentarily quenched, before continuing the search for more food.

Mike Jackson

A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.