Climbers overnight cliffside huts--Al Forbes--july-24th-2016

This story was written for Sunday Photo Fiction–July 24th, 2016. Each week the host, Al Forbes, provides a picture prompt. The challenge for each member of the group is to write an original story or poem with no more than 200 words, not including the title and inspired by the prompt.

To read the other stories written by group members, just click on the link below, then on the little blue frog in the blue box.

The link to the other stories this week is as follows:

Genre: Sci-fi Fiction

Word Count: 200 Words


My grandfather had disappeared back in 1950 in a complicated machine he called his Time Traveler. No one saw him until he arrived in it in 1955. He was considerably aged and only lived for a year after that.

The first night back he wrote the following message. He had little energy to do more:

“To family and friends I impart this information. I’m destroying my machine and beg you not to try and fix it. The world in which I found myself was that of 4545. People had managed to survive but had to use every bit of their knowledge to do so. They were living in well-designed caves on the face of a large cliff. They had burrowed deep inside and stored all their goods and equipment to last for hundreds of years. The only sign they were there were the transparent bubbles on the cliff side letting in air and sun. They had a water source deep in the caves and a machine that supplied even more of an artificial light source. They lived like this because the creatures above and below were mutants who would eat anything, even them if possible.” James Forestall




Written Act of Kindness Award





Copyright: Douglas M. Macilroy

Here we are for another week. Today we’re gathered on a virtual shore of Loch Ness. We’re here to discuss our original stories for the week. This is the Friday Fictioneer’s group. Our hostess is the talented and gracious author and artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge for each of us is to write a story with no more than 100 words. It’s supposed to have a beginning, middle, end, and follow the picture prompt for the week. This week’s prompt was supplied by Douglas M. Macilroy. Thanks again, Doug.

To read the other stories from the group members, just click on the  little blue frog in the blue box after clicking on the link. The link for the other stories is as follows:

I just want to add two more notes.

First, those of you who are interested in reading more about the monsoon will probably enjoy the book, CHASING THE MONSOON by Alexander Frater. I saw it’s on Amazon. I enjoyed the book when I read it some years ago.

Second, please be patient with me if I don’t get to your comments right away. I’ve been having trouble with both my computer and the internet here. The two problems could very well be tied together.

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100 Words


Nessie rested on the cold loch floor. It was almost time for her daily swim. She was one of an ancient line of her kind.

Her real name was Plesi, short for plesiosaur. There remained ten of them, five males and five females. They lived in underwater caves.

Their ancestors came to Loch Ness millions of years before when there was a channel from the sea. It later closed, trapping them.

“You got your camera ready, Frank?” Matt whispered.

“Yeah. Do ya think one’ll show up tonight?” Frank answered.

“I sure hope so,” Matt mumbled. “This makes two years for me.” .




Written  Act of Kindness Award



Sewer Lid

Copyright — Adam Ickes

This is my June story for Storybook Corner hosted by Adam Ickes. Each story is supposed to be from 300 to 500 words in length, or longer if thought necessary, and be inspired by the photo prompt provided that month by Adam.

Genre: Horror Fiction

Word Count: 496


As old as oxygen, she now lived in the sewers of the city; there were no more caves. Caves were what she craved; cool and damp with the scent of the earth and the different animals that came. Eating them had filled her with strength and increased her power over life. Immortal, she wouldn’t have understood death.

Rats were plentiful, but she ate little these days and could feel her energy drain.  Sewage was gradually sickening her. She only knew she felt different. Was her life force leaving her after all these ages? What could she do? Survival once meant moving from caves to the sewer. Should she move out and seek other cover?

At times, other strange animals came, but didn’t stay long. They did something to the hard, hollow vines in her lair. Hiding was her protection against these animals. She hadn’t thought of them as prey; should she? They could be captured. Why not?

Raking her claws on the walls of her lair sharpened them. Saliva streamed down her chin as she thought of her new prey. This prey would take strength as did larger animals of long ago

Rob and Sid climbed down into the Summit Street sewer. A leak had been reported and they had to inspect for it. Sid was slender, Rob stocky. They started down the tunnel.

About one block along, Rob thought he heard footsteps, the splash of feet in the water. Something large moved off to one side. “Who would want to be down here besides us?” he asked in disgust. “It’s filthy and stinks.”

Sid had moved slightly ahead. He heard Rob’s last words, “…and stinks.” He heard no more. Turning, he glanced back. “What the hell?” Rob had disappeared. “Rob. Rob.” A patch of blood was smeared on the sewer wall, but nothing else.

Sid froze in place. That kind of fear hadn’t ripped though him since Afghanistan when he survived an attack by the Taliban. It all returned like a dreaded dream. His flight response struck in a rush and he started running until he spotted the next metal ladder. Grabbing for it, he climbed upward. In a surge of desperate strength he raised the heavy manhole cover which thumped onto the pavement. Boosting himself onto the night street, he laid still on the cool pavement, sucking in the night air. His heart banged so hard against his ribs it  threatened to burst through.

Within hours, a crime scene unit  searched the sewer. They found no body, just shredded clothing and blood.

It seemed she’d traveled a great distance from the city with the body of her latest prey balanced on her shoulders. At last she found a new cave, actually an old mine. Others like this one she carried were nearby in a small gathering of animal-made caves. She would now have all she needed to survive.