“Never let it be said that a stone heart holds no emotion.” ~ Flash Fiction

friday fictioneers flash fiction

Photo copyright – Claire Fuller

The three men were all together with tools, determination and perserverence.

All working to make space for something new.  But something was in the way.

They tried to move ‘The Old Fella’ but he refused.  Though made of stone, he was a stubborn ‘Old Fella’ and the place would always be his home; would always be in his heart.

“Never let it be said that a stone heart holds no emotion,” he muttered at the burly men as they gave up, downed tools and headed home for the day.  This building project would have to wait…

~

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

 

 

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

~

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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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

Share this...
Share on StumbleUpon

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