Category Archives: Fiction

Short Fiction

On the Run – Part 1

House Sparrow coming in

Note – I wrote three 100 word stories for Friday Fictioneer that interconnected, making the opening of an adventure series. (First story)  I decided to pull it out and make it a more long-form short story.  After 2000+ words, I have finally incorporated all three micro-fiction stories.  There is no end in sight.  Sigh.  Oh well, I guess this will be multi-part as well!  I hope that you enjoy!

— –

I heaved my bag up onto the pier and then climbed up out of the small boat.  I turned and dropped a few coins into the man’s outstretched hand.  I didn’t need to do the math.  Together with the few coins I’d given him before we started, he was lucky if he came out a dollar richer.  He gave me a quick once over with his eyes, shook his head, laughing, and then pulled away from the pier.  In a few seconds his little motor boat, dodging in and out of the much larger traffic, disappeared.

I was sure he expected a small woman like myself to be eaten alive in this back-jungle town.  It’s always nice to be underestimated. Continue reading


Dusk – #writephoto


Photo by Sue Vincent

I hated to do it, but I had to get up and stretch.  After sitting for hours I was getting pretty stiff.  I was afraid, though I knew he’d forgive me if I missed him.  My sister, Martha, gave me a look that was both questioning and understanding.  It had been a very long day.

The sky was just beginning to catch the evening fire as I walked out of the back door.  I went to the edge of the yard, stopped and watched as the sun dipped towards the lake.

I had forgotten how beautiful it was around Mom and Dad’s house.

Memories of my childhood came back.  Playing in the fields just behind my parent’s house.  Swims in the lake.  Hikes in the hills.  I remembered the forts in the woods I made and lazy rainy days watching out of the window.

Dad and I had a major falling out when I was in my early 20s.  It was funny, I couldn’t ever remember exactly what it was about, but the resentments lingered.  As his sunset years approached, I reached out, tentatively at first.  We started to meet over at Martha’s house and last summer he had stayed with me. Continue reading



PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

We entered the house, me in front, followed by Ben, who I knew held the gun.  He couldn’t see my smile.

My partner, Rose, would be out of sight and be able to strike Ben before he knew she was there.

Walking into the kitchen with confidence, I noticed the note.

“Finish the job or I nip this flower in the bud.”

“Rose?” I called out.

“Mr. Ng arrived first,” Ben said.

I turned to him.

“It’s you or her.”  He smiled.  “Partner.”  It wasn’t a nice smile.

I saw the dead flowers as we left and thought of Rose.

— — —

Word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo provided by © Marie Gail Stratford.  Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.

— — Continue reading

The Haley Branch Blurb Take 2

The Hamlet Symphny - Alt Image

A few weeks ago I posted a couple of draft blurbs for The Halley Branch.  Since then, I have sat on them, not trying to think of them at all.  This weekend I decided to have another go at the blurb.  Here is what I came up with:

An evil 300 years in the making.  A trap set 150 years in the past.

The day should have been a normal “family day” at the Hawkins’ Mausoleum, but a premonition followed Trevor into the crypt. To make matters worse, he couldn’t shake his morning vision of dead woman draped in a funeral-shroud.

After rescuing a girl trapped in the tomb, repressed memories force him to reevaluate everything. Is his extended family a cult with roots going back to America’s colonial past?  Is the evil Benjamin Halley still stalking his tomb after 150 years? Is there any truth to the Power described by the family’s patriarch, Miles Hawkins?

Trevor realizes that he is being manipulated and drawn into a trap set in the 19th century, and fears that everyone around him has already been ensnared.  Who can he trust?  The members of his own family’s Branch, The Bradford’s, like his cousins Bill or Stan?  Perhaps members of the Hawkins Branch, such as the beautiful but jaded Amelie?  The one Branch he knows not to trust is the extinct Halley Branch.

But the Halley’s are the ones who are welcoming him with open, if dead, arms. Continue reading

Between – #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

I had no idea where we were.  Sami, who was our impromptu navigator, said we were someplace southwest of Paris.  We had avoided the big cities.  Actually, we even avoided the villages.  We were afraid we would be sent back, sent back to death.

We had passed through field after field of yellow flowers.  Rasha told us that they were rapeseed.  She is the smartest of us and had been a Uni professor when the University was still in session, before it had been made into a rebel base and bombed.

A little dirt access road ran between two rapeseed fields.  The sun was high and there wasn’t a soul in sight.  We decided to take a break and have lunch.

It was a beautiful place, so full of peace.  I said that I wished we could stop here and live in these fields forever.  Everyone laughed. Continue reading


PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

I stared down the barrel of Ben’s pistol.  Why wasn’t I dead?

“Where is it?” He jabbed with the gun.

So, Ben was double-crossing Mr. Ng.

“It’s in Canada.”

“Canada?  That’s an awfully big country.”

I smiled.  “That’s why you need me.  Partners?”  I held out a hand.

“Partners.”  Ben shook my hand.

I reached for my gun.  “No, you stay unarmed.”  I shrugged.  He needed me.

48 hours later we landed at Mirabel.  We hit the suburbs by midnight.

It was snowing; from sweating to shivering in 2 days.

The house contained my real partner, not the attaché case.

— — —

Word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo provided by © Dale Rogerson.  Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.

— —

Note – This is a continuation of last week’s story, On the Run.  Come on Rochelle, why did you have to make it so hard with this choice of photos? ;)

Note 2 – I used to be an Air Traffic Controller and handed planes off to Montreal.  At that time, we called the airport Mirabel.  When I looked it up, the name had changed!  OK, so I still call DCA “National” and will never call it “Reagan”, so I will always call Montreal “Mirabel”…

Sanctuary, Part 2 – #writephoto


Photo by Sue Vincent

I walked slowly through the garden.  It was greatly reduced from the grand, wild place it had been when I was a child.  Most of the whimseys had been removed, but the most important was still in place.

All of the land for miles in all directions had been owned by my father and our ancestors.  From a slight rise I could see the fields and houses through the trees.  Most were owned by the grandchildren and the great-grandchildren of people who had been my father’s servants.  There also many new comers, though most of those lived in town.

It had snowed earlier in the day, leaving a thin, white blanket over the land.  The branches of the trees still had a coating, causing the woods to appear as a magical fairyland of crystal. Continue reading

Sanctuary – #wriephoto


Photo by Sue Vincent

When I heard the news, I went out to search for Lauren.  I did not know her well, but I did feel some responsibility.

From what I did know about Lauren, I figured that she would have gone into the park.  She so often disappeared there.  I occasionally saw her as I walked, playing make-believe amongst the more fantastical “Whimseys”.  She was shy, and tried to avoid me when she noticed that I was watching her.  I understood, and always left her alone, wishing that there was some way that I could approach her, that I could find a way to talk to the girl.  She was only about three years younger than me, perhaps 12 or 13, but she often acted like a small child.

I decided to go into the park to look for her, knowing nobody else would be looking out for her or searching for her.  It had been sunny earlier in the day, but I bundled up, putting on my great coat.  I could see the clouds and feel the damp that meant that snow was in the air. Continue reading

On the Run



An unknown town in a little-known country.  It would be safe.

I walked along the quay, heading for the dilapidated hotel.  The rainbow hues of the river were chopped by heavy traffic; the pier’s bustle a conflagration of noise and activity.    At only 9 AM, I was already sweating.

The receptionist didn’t know English, French, or Spanish.  Hard cash, as always, was clearly understood.

I tossed my backpack onto the bed, my .45 Semi-Automatic as well.  I went into the washroom.  Returning, I met Ben, his gun aimed at me.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

— — —

Word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo provided by © JS Brand.  Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.

Note: this was continued with Partners  and Rose.  I also started a long version.

Shrine – #writephoto


Photo by Sue Vincent

We were rushed for time and the last thing I wanted to do was visit an old estate.  But I caught a quick glimpse through the hedge of giant manor and something pulled at me.  I had to stop.

“What are you doing?” Vish asked.  She’s our lead singer.

“I want to see if they allow public here.  You know, tours or anything.”

She rolled her eyes at me.

I understood.  We had a once in a lifetime opportunity, six UK concerts.  We rented some equipment and, after our London shows, we rented a “lorry”, though it looked like a small delivery truck to us.  The rest of the guys crammed into the truck and drove to the next gig, but Vish and I wanted to visit some of the great historical sites.  Places that we’d only dreamed about back in the States.  You might not think we’re the cultural type, but I could never pass up an opportunity to visit places that had been made famous by the Stones, The Kinks, The Sex Pistols, The Clash and other heroes.

Manor houses were definitely not on the list. Continue reading