Under The Sod

Picture prompt.

Under the sod lay Jake; my first love. For forty years the grass grew fertile and green. He went unnoticed … until.

Barney moved in, a lodger I said, but it wasn’t long before, he was sharing my bed. He was persistent, I was lonely and had space. Barney was a twinkler and had a nice face. At sixty I didn’t expect … stuff, to happen to me.

That Summer a heatwave killed the grass; revealing a shape. Coming back from shopping I was shocked to see. Jake poking out and Barney’s head looking at me. From a hole in the lawn.

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Picture prompt was lent only for the use of the #FridayFictioneers by Ronda Del Boccio.

Did you think she had murdered a bloke? Did the reverse twist catch You? Tell me talk to me.

The Salty Sailor.

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Photo for friday fictioneers  exclusive use only, by © Fatima Fakier Deria.

Across the harbour he gazed, floating money pits, gin palaces, toys for the wealthy. Phlegm hit his boot, he screwed his eyes against the sun. Stuffing a cheroot between his discoloured teeth he thrust chapped hands deep in his pockets. With hunched shoulders he watched his feet as he scuffed on the dry earth and lurched away. He may earn his living on them but he’d never own one.

Below the harbour was buzzing, tanned yachtsmen flirted with ladies. Coiffed girls with plummy accents giggled and money was no object;  but there was no room for salty sailors in this bar. 
This is a snapshot of a bigger story, curtailing it to 100 words was tough and I hope I captured the irony of the sailors lot. Please leave a comment I love to connect.