VirtuallyAllSorts

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“The blood was now like the rubber from melted red balloons.”

Friday Fictioneers Ted Strutz

Photo copyright – Ted Strutz

It was a like a scene from a suspense thriller.  The white vans being the forensics, ready to take samples from the blood that had slowly dripped through the slats of the stairs; the blood was now like the rubber from melted red balloons.

As he looked out of his window, he sat and wondered how long it would take for them to knock on the door of his dentist practice; how long it would take to go through the motions of  ‘door to door enquiries’.  The questions would be asked.

Good thing he’d cleaned up his tools well, he thought.

101 words

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Main picture source: via FridayFictioneers

friday fictioneers

with Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt

Please do feel free to comment but likewise, please do note that I would prefer not to

receive constructive criticism.  

(This time anyway…)

Thanks in advance…

Carol Cameleon

10 Comments »

No one knew when it was going to happen…

Friday fictioneers

Picture copyright Sandra Crook

No one knew when it was going to happen.  There was no warning.

The locals accepted ‘it’ as a part of village life which happened randomly twice a year;  although it was an inconvenience.  Most of them saw the funny side though… except those that got stuck on the only bridge into and out of the village.

No one knew when ‘The Curse of the Herder’ would strike and open the gates for the herds to escape… and run amok.  It was a game that the ghostly herder relished!

~

Main picture source: via FridayFictioneers

friday fictioneers

with Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt

Please do feel free to comment but likewise, please do note that I would prefer not to

receive constructive criticism.  

(This time anyway…)

Thanks in advance…

Carol Cameleon

12 Comments »

A man took a stroll through a deep dark wood…

image

© John Nixon

 

A man took a stroll through a deep, dark wood to find a creature he had heard about from his little one.

“If I look hard enough, I might also stumble upon the gruffalo’s child,” he mused silently to himself.  It would be akin to meeting a celebrity; what would he say?

Over the branches, under the branches, weaving in and out of knotted stumps.  The woody smell of bark and ‘crunch’ of his footsteps filling the air.

But he was in the wrong place.  This wood was too light and bright.  No matter, he could use his imagination instead.

(100 words)

~

Main picture source: via FridayFictioneers

friday-fictioneers

with Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt

Please do feel free to comment but likewise, please do note that I would prefer not to receive constructive criticism.  

(This time anyway…)

Thanks in advance…

Carol Cameleon

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15 Comments »

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