There’s nothing more relaxing than a cool spring morning on the golf course. Not many duffers out yet and it feels as if we have the place to ourselves. This is my favourite hole. It’s a challenge. A dogleg left with this pond on a direct line from the tee. You have to focus.
This morning, my partner coughed in the middle of my swing. A big, hacking cough. My ball hit the water. I didn’t bother to look for it. Maybe they’ll find it when they find him. ©
Posted on Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Thanks to Dawn M. Miller for this week’s Prompt
“It’s hard to believe it’s 45 Celsius out there” his friend said, “It looks like a Christmas Card.”
“When the fresh water ran out, they built those desalinization units,” he said, pointing at the domes stretching across the countryside. “Now the oceans are evaporating, the country’s burning and the salt and ash are drifting like snow. We can’t grow crops and had to slaughter the cattle.”
“I guess it won’t matter much longer anyway. The sun’s growing every day. We’d soon be toast.”
“More like toasted”
They giggled for a moment and then abruptly stopped, picking up their pistols. ©
Posted on Friday Fictioneers
Thanks to © Douglas M. MacIlroy for the Photo Prompt
“Are you laughing at me?”
I stared at the two of them in shock. They were mocking me! All I’ve wanted was to care for and admire them. They’ve been given pride of place at the very centre of my little greenhouse, Lord and Lady over all they surveyed. Just below their perch sits the ribbon won at last week’s fair.
I’ve never been so successful with my gardening efforts and I can’t resist spending time with them each evening. I’ve taken dozens of photographs and a lovely collage hangs above the fireplace.
Which was really very fortunate, I thought, as I brought out my shears. ©
Posted in Mondays Finish The Story
Thanks to Barbara W. Beacham for this week’s Prompt
The fire’s broken through the roof but it looks as if they’re getting it under control. Too bad, I hate this house. The roof leaks and the plumbing needs repair. I can’t afford to fix it what with two mortgages and my business going under. I wish it had burnt to the ground. At least there would have been enough insurance to start again.
The fire department got here pretty quickly. I wonder who called them. The investigator’s waving me over. They’ll never prove anything of course, but they’ll reject the claim. What the hell do I do now? ©
This post was submitted to Friday Fictioneers.
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
The neighbours were not happy about my choice of yard art.
But when I stepped out on the verandah and took a gander down the block, I wasn’t happy about their choices, either.
My art is at least as nice as Mr. Santos’s Horse Shoe Armadillo or the Rossi’s plastic Shrine to the Virgin! Just yesterday, Barry Kingman propped his wheelbarrow up beside the front steps. He’d painted the bowl with a four colour image of his late dog, Casper! To top it all, the Palmer yard has a flock of pink flamingos!
There was only one thing for it. Taking some left over party crepe paper and my daughter’s crayons, I hung a winner’s ribbon from my buffalo’s horn. The Rossi’s won second prize, in respect for the Virgin. The armadillo won third and I draped Casper’s wheelbarrow in black and a participant’s ribbon.
I set fire to the flamingos. ©
This is posted to Mondays Finish The Story
“Can you see it?”
“No, Are you sure it was here?”
“Pretty sure, I was about to head for shore when it just slipped out.”
“Well, you can always get another.”
“I hate wasting food!”
“Don’t worry, there’s lots of…” ©
This was posted to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.
Thank you to pixabay.com for our prompt photo.