Friday fictioneers #14: Mister Blair.

Image

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompt flash fiction challenge, curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wishoff-Fields, and open to anybody. Full details here.

Perkins had no idea how he had fetched up in the philosophy section, partway between St Augustine and Denis Diderot and minus his shoes and socks. He staggered toward the exit, but barring his way was a man in a tweed jacket and bowtie who seemed familiar. He attempted to step around him, but the man was quick on his feet. When he leaned into Perkins’ face, he smelled the Turkish tobacco on his breath and an impossible recognition clicked into place. “Perkins,” he said. “I’m afraid that you’ve been pressganged, my boy. I have here two tickets for Barcelona.”

Friday Fictioneers #13: at Crosby beach

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly photo-prompt flash fiction challenge, curated by the wonderful Rochelle Wishoff-Fields, and open to anybody. Full details here.

Image

At Crosby beach you sit amid the seaworn pebbles and housebricks, Terry not with you. He got it in the neck at the post office, that old woman with the sharpened knitting needles, it’s amazing the people they employ as plainclothes security since privatisation. The bus ride and the walk across the dunes. Big Jenny crying, you’d not seen that before, you absentmindedly kicking at a wasp’s nest. The waves crashing on the shore half a mile away. The rain coming down and you thinking, that’s all we need, the rain coming down, ah well, it’s good for the garden.

 

 

Friday Fictioneers #12: backstabber.

Image

Attila Backstabber was the name of the piece, it was an homage to Geoffrey Howe’s resignation speech that had got Margaret Thatcher sacked. I remembered how Jenny Timlett had given me the news in town, she’s gone! she’s gone! – we didn’t have a radio or a TV. I told scootskin about it, he wasn’t political but soon we had cracked open a bottle of spirits from an off license burglary, then he was standing in the street, flagging down passing cars. That’s how I’ll remember that day. I stared at the piece but I just couldn’t see the connection.

Friday fictioneers #11: baobab

Image

Smith had heard about the baobab tree, so when he got sober and people said he needed a hobby, he bought a bonsai version from Ridley road market. The man told him he should plant it on a ley line at dusk. He cycled all the way up the river Lee until he was in open countryside, left his bike and walked across open fields until sundown. He planted it and thirty years on, there it was. It had come to him recently in a dream, telling him things. Smith got onto his knees and waited for the next message.