Rochelle’s newest prompt is live #FridayFictioneers have on loan the picture below, many thanks to Yvette Prior who owns the copyright. Click HERE to read more or join in the fun.

Charlotte looked at her coffee table disgusted. In the otherwise pristine apartment, the table was Alien to her. Clutching her head in her hands she rocked, gently wiped her face with an old sodden discarded tissue. She threw it as viciously as anyone could. Another fad diet from her latest magazine, four days of cigarettes, whiskey and sugar lay next to the vomit bowl. How gullible am I that I would even try it, she cried. Charlotte only needed to lose two stone to fit in the bridesmaids dress, to be perfect for once. Or so she thought.

Have you gone to extreme’s to lose weight? Been sucked in by bogus fad diets? I would love to hear from you, drop it in the comments I will get back quick smart!


Four Wasted Days.

Counting Forbidden Fruits.

Thank you Jane for the challenge once again an exquisite picture to prompt us to write press 🔜here 🔙 to join in or read wonderful tales.

The image for this week’s challenge is by illustrator Virginia Frances Sterret and comes from a book of French fairy tales.

“Warning This Is Not A Fairy-tale”.



Ernest lay amongst the duck filled pillows, his chest squawking and rasping eerily in the darkened room. Occasionally he propped himself up to spit and decorate the now cardinal stained cloths at his bedside. The drapes were parted to light up the illustration on the wall without throwing light willy-nilly about the room.

He recalled the juiciness of the fruit, the pure, and the innocent that he plucked fresh and devoured. As his memories awoke, his loins stirred beneath the blankets. One, two, six in fifty-three, nine in sixty-four. His mouth filled as he wretched and decorated another cloth. Sixty-four was best he thought as he grabbed at his maleness below the sheets. The time of promiscuity, the upper middle classes at least were disgusted by the freedoms that the young flaunted. Giving him cover and power, who’d believe a half-naked hippy smoking pot in the park over him; no…Sixty-four had a good bouquet.

A nurse entered the stale room to bring fresh handkerchiefs, administer a bed bath and leave his morning news. He may be dying, hopefully, any time now; she thought, but he made her skin crawl. A portly chap who too often stroked or grabbed her in feigned sleep, she’d be glad when this one was done.

The illustration was Ernest’s favourite, it had been the most successful lure, and he intended it to be the last thing he would see on leaving this god forsaken world. .The thought of where he was destined to go held no fear for him. His position and wealth allowed him to indulge in his one passion…  until the eighties when do-gooding became the rage. But many a fellow could never satiate their needs, and would die never sampling the flesh or fulfilling that wicked desire. And here he was, unable to tally how many… how many pieces of forbidden fruit he managed to taste.


This evil tale is strictly fiction and bears no resemblance to anyone living or deceased.

comments are welcomed and responded to soonest.

 Waiting For Iliya. 

My story from the painting, the prompt supplied by Jane Dougherty. Thank you Jane! 

painting by Iliya Repin ,

Margarita waited at the river on the predetermined night … just as she had promised. She brought his faithful dog though she thought, five years passed would surely have switched his allegiance.  Margarita tried not to remember the promises once made for fear of being a fool, she had not spoke of her secret beau or told a living soul why she thwarted all advances. Her parents had not taken kindly to her refusal to commit to suitors presented frequently over the period. Mother couldn’t comprehend why such a rough working hound was loved so dearly, as Margarita had kept him close for many a year.

A fluttering in her tummy and less than calm colouring was thank goodness disguised by the moonlight. Patiently they waited by the waters edge, she questioned her memory, tried hard to recall the tone of his voice, the turn of his strong jaw. Now only time lay between Love and a broken heart.

Dog lifted his head, pricked his ears and with a low grumble he rose from the bank. Margarita didn’t notice as the wind filled her ears she continued to gaze in the other direction. Dog’s grumbles became unmistakable growls, she turned to sooth him when in the distance she caught sight of it. A canal boat, there on the bow stood the unmistakable figure of Iliya, his wavy hair flopping carelessly over one eye as the wind ruffled it, a flat cap he pushed to the back of his head and the teeth… how she longed to feel the nibbles down her neck, and see the broad smile showing those teeth. As man leapt a ground, dog slipped from his lead and pounded towards him. Margarita hand on her beret gazed on. Her beau had come as promised, he left as a penniless artist, to earn enough to come for his bride. Her heart was lodged in her throat as he swept her off her feet and carried her aboard her new home…


“Have you been swept off your feet?

Were you brush in hand doing the sweeping?

leave me a note I won’t tell your secrets… 

He Was A Contradiction.

Your homework will be in on time”crack” it will be neat complete and constructed with … Care! “Crack.” Mr W marched the isles between the rows of quivering twelve year olds. His military stick slapped a desk and made you flinch. Each instruction would be punctuated with the stick against his thigh; as he roared red faced. If he was cross and he often was … spittle sprayed the air around him. A musty smell of damp socks eminated from his clothes. He blew the scent of ‘fisherman’s friend’ which he popped like narcotics; in the faces of those unlucky enough to catch his eye.

Mr.W had to drop his head to get through the door, his crumpled mismatched suit hung from a bony frame; raggy cuffs covered his fingers while his jacket stopped three inches higher.

I had to drag my eyes away from the giant highly polished round toed shoes, I ducked as he passed … we all did. His want for perfection and the highly polished shoes, were in direct contradiction to his gnarly face, wiry messy hair and the scarecrow appearance. He bellowed as the bell sounded end of day. Not a soul moved until he waved the stick to dismiss us. We filed out quietly to his final words, the ones we were used to hearing. “No leeway will be given, get it done … Or Else!”

“Could you feel her fear? Did you have a teacher like Mr.M?” Please leave a comment I will answer soonest.happy weekend 😇