Friday 31 May 2013

5 Sentence Fiction Desolate (Part 2 Zoe)

Wrote this whilst sitting out in the sun today; what glorious weather at last. This is a follow up to the piece I wrote a few weeks back because some wanted more and the prompt this week seemed to fit. If you want to read the previous piece, click here Accident; 5 sentence fiction. It's only 5 sentences lol. xxx       

It was hard for people to understand the isolation Zoe felt; as far as they were concerned she wasn’t just living the dream, she had achieved it; a successful career in PR, beautifully tailored clothes, enough money in the bank to retire, and the perfect fiancé.
She entered her party where the lavishly decorated room was filled with family, supposed friends and fake work colleagues all wishing her a happy birthday; happy was as far from the truth as the scene being played out in front of her, especially her part. 
She watched as a feeling of desolation crept over her, gnawing away at her lies and veneered truth; none of these people knew her; really knew her for the life she gave them was the life she still dreamed, could only dream.
If only they knew just yesterday she was held hostage in a grimy warehouse with a gun to her head, waiting for Death to sweep his ominous shadow over her.

If it wasn’t for her handler, Jerry, she would have been shot, dumped into a quiet part of the river to eventually wash up on a desolate river bank entangled in flotsam; she smiled at him as he approached, the only truth in her life.

For more 5SF, visit for more tales and takes on the prompt 'Desolate'.

Flash! Friday #26 A Boy and His Teddy

Flash! Friday time, hosted by Rebekah Postupak. I haven't participated these past few weeks. No excuse this week seeing as half term and only myself to please!! This week's picture prompt is of an abandoned boy in London 1945 but I have gone somewhere totally different with it.  . . . and with the generous word count of up to 500 words. Ooh, nice. xx  

A Boy and His Teddy 

The unknown boy sat amongst burnt out ruins clutching his only belonging; a stuffed toy. He looked grubby and malnourished like any victim of the Sky Wars but he wore a constant half smile, his eyes full of innocent sparkle, unlike other children with eyes dark and empty, whose lives had been ripped apart by unknown enemies haunting the skies.   

The boy didn't speak to passersby. He didn't take offerings of help, ignoring the scraps of precious food left by his side.  No one knew who he was, where he lived or where he had come from.  Travel had ceased since the skies opened in a blitz of fiery lasers, destroying large areas in seconds.  

When the assault started again, the boy still sat, unharmed as each precision laser disintegrated building after building, leaving nothing but dust where a thriving community once lived.  People who fled in desperation were cut down; only a scorch mark left to show their once existence. But still the boy sat, clutching the stuffed toy.

The all clear sounded and a suspicious crowd gathered around the boy, keeping their distance but curious all the same. A thick set boy known as Pug; his nose had almost disappeared due to very pink, fat cheeks, picked up a pebble and threw it at the boy’s feet. There was no reaction. Feeling brave and spurred on by the crowd, Pug moved closer, picking up a stick and jabbing the boy; still no reaction. Pug then jabbed the stuffed toy.

Immediately, the stick burnt and sizzled to ash, leaving angry blisters on Pug’s podgy fingers causing the crowd to take a step back as Pug hopped up and down, cursing the boy and his ‘stupid teddy’.

“Who are you?” A voice finally asked over the frightened crowd. The boy didn't speak. He stood up. A hush fell. The boy’s small, pale fingers pressed at the stuffed toy.

“It’s a machine!” Pug yelled realising the boy was pressing buttons on the stuffed toy. “It’s him! It’s his fault all this is happening!” 

The stuffed toy revealed its true purpose; a control panel of flashing lights and menacing buzzers and buttons. The boy pressed a button and from the sky a laser beam of burning hot light shot down onto him, turning him into a blazing torch; too hot to approach as his flesh melted in pools around him. The smell of burning rubber permeated every nostril, scratching throats as the thick plume of black smoke dissipated.

The crowd gasped, terror in their unsuspecting eyes as the alien form towered above them where the boy once stood.

“You can run now if you like,” the alien creature hissed. “It makes the chase exciting!” He pressed more buttons.  Instantly, small boys appeared everywhere clutching their stuffed toys.  The crowd fled in horror as every boy, hugging a stuffed toy, pressed their buttons.

480 (excluding title)

Thursday 30 May 2013

Thursday Threads You're Just Jealous


Siobhan Muir's Thursday Threads and this week the phrase is 'you're just jealous'. For more stories, visit The Weird, the wild and the Wicked. xx

A bit of British speak going on in this one folks; sorry people from over the pond. xx

 “My dad can knock your dad out!”

 “My dad can knock your dad out first.”

 It had been one of those days; boys in the playground asserting their masculinity through their fathers eyes. Glad for the holidays, Gavin started as he meant to go on; a pint of larger as he waited for Zara.

“I’m telling you, I pulled Bianca just like that.”

“You’re just jealous! She’s well fit and wouldn't look twice at you mate.”

Gavin sighed. It seemed boys never grew out of their jealousy. He was relieved he had; confident in his own skin, a beautiful wife and six weeks off for the summer. He ordered another pint and Zara’s favourite as she walked through the door.  His pulse raced watching her saunter in; smoky eyes set on him, swaying her hips in skinny jeans. He smiled but it soon faded when the men at the bar wolf whistled.

Zara directed a sweet smile their way; Gavin clenched his fists.

“I wish you wouldn’t encourage them Zara.”

“It’s harmless Gavin. I’m sure girls eye you up.”

 “No. They don’t!”

“I think you’re just jealous, wanting some attention yourself,” she teased, ruffling his hair. He gripped her wrist, fixing a stony stare. “Gavin, calm down. It’s not a contest for crying out loud.” 

He loosened slightly, giving a warning glance to the two men. He wasn't jealous; he just liked control and needed to teach Zara a thing or two about it.


Sunday 19 May 2013

5 Sentence Fiction Accident (part 1 Zoe)


Tightly screwing up her eyes, she blocked out her surroundings in favour of creating her own images of happier times as the cold barrel pressed firmly against her temple; this was how she was going to die, in an abandoned warehouse where the scratching of rats could be heard scurrying in anticipation of having a good meal. Her twenty first was a good place, where her family were last together before she chose her path that had unfortunately lead her here; their smiling faces behind her eyes would grieve for a while at the crude interruption to their lives but they wouldn't be surprised.   

An unmistakable muffled crack filled the air as the barrel released from her temple, clanking to the floor along with the man holding it as thick, bright blood pooled on the concrete from the gaping exit wound in his head.

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me this was no accident, that you planned all this?” the gruff yet amused voice of her handler asked as he cut away the tightly bound tape from her wrists.

“Of course because I now know where they've hidden the flash drive,” she replied with a wry smile as she picked up her abandoned gun and walked from the warehouse, not giving it a second glance as the rats edged closer to their feast.

For more Five Sentence Fiction, visit Lillie over at .

Saturday 18 May 2013

A Tongue in Cheek look at David Beckham's Future Prospects

David Beckham has announced his retirement at the grand old age of 38; in footballing terms he’s ancient.  Of course it’s not retirement in the conventional sense. It’s a long time before Beck’s dons the pipe and slippers and get’s his bus pass. He has retired from the beautiful game, his passion for so long which will no doubt continue in one shape or form. But what next for Mr Beckham, the man who made sarongs and hair bands seem cool and sexy?

1: Football pundit  
As with many a retired footballer, the next step seems to be cosying up on the sofa alongside Mr Silk himself, Gary Lineker, wearing matching shirts and ties in overly tight grey trousers that shows the viewer these fine men still have thighs of steel.  No offence to Gary, Alan and co but Beck’s would make you lot look like Tranmere Rovers to his Utd and your sharp tailored suits looking like they’re from C&A.


2: Reality TV/Film Star
Where every celeb ends up after retirement/sacking/finding themselves/wanting a new start. And Beck’s has a wealth of choice. Alongside the stalwarts CBB, Celebrity Get Me Out of Here, Strictly Come dancing and Masterchef, there are also the celebrity quiz shows popping up everywhere from Pointless to Mastermind. Although Mastermind does have merit if Beck’s specialist subject was the Spice Girls. But I think Strictly would suit him perfectly. It is my favourite TV show but forget that. Just imagine Beck’s in sequins and tight trousers with a shirt undone to the navel . . . . He would surely win which would make the show pretty pointless unless he was dancing against the likes of Brad Pitt, Channing Tatum, Justin Bieber.  Yes, I admit it, I am a Belieber. But what a show that would make! As long as Beck's didn't dance like Fiona Philips or Anne Widdecombe!
If Vinnie Jones (ex Wimbledon FC footballer, with a nickname of name Psycho for actions like grabbing Paul Gasgoine's balls in a FA Cup match) can make the transition to the big screen and have a successful movie career then I see no problem what so ever for Beck's.   

3: Fashion Model
Beck’s is a fashion icon so the next logical step would be to follow Victoria into the world of fashion, strutting his stuff in front of the drooling masses.  He could start his own label. I’m sure Vic has some very good contacts.  And let’s not forget                       the modelling of underpants. Maybe he could bring out his own brand of underwear and have                      
Golden Balls across the band.

4: Hair model
I've lost count over all the hair styles this man has had over the years. I like the floppy, bleached look. But let’s face it, every hair style he’s had suits him. Teasing those locks would be every hairdresser's dream. He could enhance this income with products; Curl it Like Beckham, Straighten it like Beckham; you get the picture.


5: Song for Eurovision 
Kiss of death or master class in genius? Could Beck’s go one better than his Spice Girl wife in the pop world?  Could he provide Britain with a winning entry? Can he sing? A rendition of Three Lions maybe?  A duet with Posh, following in the steps of Jordan and Pete?
 I’m sure a few singing lessons later and Beck’s could be a sensation; not of the Robbie Williams style, more Ronan Keating, sitting on a stool as he sings a few ballads to housewives on Radio 2. 

6: PR for Young Royals
We've seen how cosy, relaxed and chummy Beck’s has been with Harry, Will’s and Kate. Totes amaze how the East End boy has done good. Hobnobbing in these circles can open all sorts of doors. Think about if Kate has a boy; a possible future husband for the precious baby Harper Seven and the merger of Beckingham and Buckingham Palaces will make for super Royalty and Posh mother in law to the future King  . . .  .

7: Football Manager
We’re back where we started and where it started for Beck’s; football. He already has his own soccer academy so why not take it one step further; managing a premiership team or even the national team. Man U would be the obvious choice what with his history with the club and his devotion to Man U. But then the way Chelsea go through their managers it wouldn’t be long before Abramovich was knocking on his door with a big fat cheque book. Posh would love the King’s Road, opening up a boutique down there or on Sloane Street and it’s a stone’s throw from Harvey Nicks for some serious retail therapy. I think blue would suit him too and Posh could have a neat little side line in designing footballing kits but not the boots. 6 inch killer heels would not do on the turf!

And there we have it. Seven wonderful careers for Beck’s to ponder as he hangs up his boots. Of course, this isn't an exhaustive list by no means. I haven't explored the tattoo side of Beck's and the possibility of him becoming a work of art or even a tattooist  He could even

become a stay at home dad.  We'll just have to wait and see what he does next which we all know will be awesome. But in the meantime, we can always a take long, lingering look at the pictures Beck's has so kindly provided us  throughout his glittering career.

They think it’s all over. . . . It’s only the beginning for Golden balls. xx


PS. Going by these pics, I could easily see Beck's as James Bond if Daniel Craig decides he doesn't want to do it anymore which would be a very sad day but Beck's would sweeten it for us. xx

PPS Some time ago I wrote another piece where David Beckham graces the page. If you'd like a read, follow this link. xx 

Thursday 16 May 2013

Thursday Threads Is there Something Wrong?

Thursday Threads with siobhan muir over at The Weird, the Wild and the Wicked. This week the prompt is "Is there something wrong?" 

Jennifer didn't flinch as she dipped her pale toes into the steaming water, her skin reddening instantly, the warmth travelling to every nerve ending as she sank her body deeper into the perfumed bubbles, completely submerged up to her chin.

Looking into the mirror, Jennifer studied her face; flushed cheeks, usually pale and sunken, the steam, dampening her glossy, dark curls that plastered her forehead.

“Here.” Cane stepped into the room, now a sauna and handed over a chilled glass of Merlot, condensation running down the stem.  He watched her intently as he swirled the water with his hand. “Jennifer, is there something wrong? You seem occupied.” She sipped the wine, the chill returning quickly to her body, dissipating the last of her precious warmth. Not even her toes were wrinkled as she lifted her foot to examine it; just smooth, pale skin any woman would envy. But not Jennifer. She sighed heavily.

“You knew what you were doing Jen.”

“I know. I just didn't realise I’d miss the warmth of being human. I hate the coldness of us Cane. Why does it have to be so cold and clinical?”

“It’s who we are. Vampires are cold and clinical, except of course when we are with our mate.” She met his gaze, her heart drumming loudly.  Cane grinned, flashing fangs briefly, his chocolate eyes twinkling as she began to bubble and boil inside, feeling an intensity of heat a bath or human could never give.


Sunday 12 May 2013

Dirty Goggles Blog Hop SteamPunk ; An Adventurous Soul

Mmm. SteamPunk . . .what can I say? I have given it a go. For those who don't know what SteamPunk is, it is an alternative reality where technologies are in existence. I guess it;'s a mix of fantasy, sci-fi and history, usually Victorian. Well here's my effort for the Dirty Goggles Blog Hop run by those pesky SteamPunkers bullishink., Ruth Long, brewedbohemian which I don't think I have had the pleasure and  Ash Viper himself, Steven
I wish I could say it has been fun but at least the challenge is now over and I can sleep better tonight. Not sure I have captured the whole SteamPunk genre correctly but it's all I have so, in the woods of Woody . . . . play nice. xxx 

Title: An Adventurous Soul
Word count: 698
Author: Lizzie Koch
Twitter: @Lizzie_Loodles
Category: SteamPunk
Content: Safe

An Adventurous Soul

“Now, Barnabas, tell me about yourself,” Clara asked placing his application down on the walnut desk. She leant back in her leather chair, a look of faint interest fleeting across her face.

“ I've been interested in air ships all my life. My father flew the very first one for Queen Victoria’s coronation and I would like to follow in his footsteps. I also have been creating my own designs for longer but quicker flights.” He fumbled in his leather satchel, pulling out papers that appeared slightly crumpled. Clara’s flicker of interest belied her nonchalant manner as she remained motionless causing Barnabas to hastily put the papers back in his satchel.

“I guess working for the Corporation is far better than being one of the endless drones working in the mines. But we do need them. This is the age of steam after all and what is steam without coal?” A small smile threatened to crease her strawberries and cream complexion before disappearing to her stern school mistress approach. For someone so young, Clara appeared much wiser than her years; her mannerisms and dress were conservative even for an older woman. On Clara, they appeared to age her. But Barnabas could feel the attraction to her regardless.

“Is that your Imp?” Barnabas asked as a little creature sat on the desk, eyeing Barnabas suspiciously.

“Yes. And when you sign, you’ll be assigned your own Imp. They’re very useful creatures and I don’t see how anyone survives without them.” She petted his head affectionately and for the first time showed real emotion, before turning back to Barnabas. “So you see yourself as a pilot?”

“Yes, flying across great oceans, finding new technologies. I have heard that there is a material out there that will change the industry. I aim to find it, harness it and become wealthy.”

“I like your ambition, keeps a girl young; an ambitious, hungry heart. You will go far.”

“So I have the job?” A broad grin spread across his face showing unusually white teeth.

“My, my Barnabas; such wonderful teeth.”  For the first time, Clara’s emotions were aimed at him and he felt lifted.  

“I have invented the most wonderful contraption which cleans your teeth. It is a prototype at present and I have an audience next week with Queen Victoria.”

“Yet you still want to fly a run of the mill airship?”

“Oh yes. Flying is in my blood. Inventing keeps me sane.”

“You are quite the appealing character Barnabas. Let me take you on a guided tour.” She linked her arm in his which fitted perfectly as they strode around the house. Clara chatted comfortably, pointing out architecture and features as Barnabas took it all in. They walked up the ornate staircase to a set of large oak doors. A range of clicks and hissing could be heard as the many locks opened before the wooden doors sprung wide, revealing a room full of portraits of what looked like Clara. She never seemed to age.

Bookcases covered one wall from floor to ceiling but there were no books. Instead, there were little wooden boxes, some more decorative than others.

“Take a seat Barnabas.” There was one simple wooden chair and Barnabas sat as Clara set up a camera. “Once we have your photo, you are an employee of the Corporation and you will be given your own Imp.” She pondered over the boxes, selecting one as her Imp was ready to take the photo.

“ I've never had my photo taken. Despite all the technological advances, the myths of photography are strong.”

“Oh Barnabas. You don’t believe all that nonsense of cameras capturing your soul.” She gave a light-hearted chuckle and Barnabas relaxed.

The Imp pressed the button and a flash filled the room, leaving a faint smell of burning. Barnabas watched helplessly as the flash swirled around his body, dragging his essence from him, drifted back towards Clara where it settled in the box. Clara closed the lid.    

“Thank you for your soul Barnabas, my secret to eternal youth. Unfortunate to lose such a brilliant mind but I’m sure you’ll be right at home in the mines with the rest of the drones.”


Thursday 9 May 2013

Thursday Threads And the Stupid, Glassy Eyed Grin.

Thursday Threads time hosted by Siobhan Muir over at The Weird, the Wild and the Wicked. This week's prompt is the rather tricky 'and the stupid, glassy eyed grin'. This is where that phrase has taken me  . . and the odd rum and coke. . . . hic. xxx

Malcolm picked up her slender hand, stroked it tenderly and lay it back down gently. Her skin was smooth and soft and tanned; a tell tale white band across her wedding finger evidence of a very recent break up.   

She was extremely beautiful and he couldn’t believe she was here with him as he stared intently at her, seeking answers to his silent questions. He brushed back her thick blonde hair framing her heart shaped face, showing the bluest of eyes as they gazed back, seeming to soak up everything about him. But Malcolm knew that was just his imagination going into overdrive. Well it was three in the morning and it had been a long day.

“Right” began Malcolm. “Let’s begin shall we?” He didn't expect an answer despite her bow shaped lips looking ready to utter words that were now lost forever and the stupid, glassy eyed grin that made Malcolm smile and deduce she had been drinking and killed instantly; at least she didn't suffer or know anything about it which in his line of work was a bonus.

The peace of the lab was abruptly broken as Malcolm started up his bone saw to continue the post mortem and solve the enigma of the death of the girl with the smile on her face.


Friday 3 May 2013

Flash! Friday #22

Here we are again for another Flash Friday from Rebekah Postupak. This week we are at 150 words, give or take five, based on this rather gorgeous picture. For more tales, please visit xx  

The Ride

Jacob grasped his younger brother’s hand. It had taken four gruelling days with little sleep and even less food. With every trudging step, Jacob’s faith remained firm; belief in a fairy tale that was mocked by everyone. Belief led them to this spot and they waited.  

Silence was their only companion.  A fine mist rose from the calm sea, meeting the candy floss clouds as the heat became intense, forming blisters on Jacob’s uncovered hands.

“What do you see Charlie?” Jacob asked.

“Waves, like horses.”

“Me too. Remember the story I told you?” Charlie nodded. “Are you ready to take a ride?” Again
Charlie nodded but he squeezed tighter.  In unison, they leapt from the cliff edge, meeting the horses in a salty foaming frenzy that threatened to suck them down to the depths.

Within moments, they were grinning; souring high on the back of the winged horse from Jacob’s fairy tale, to salvation.


Thursday 2 May 2013

Thursday Threads You Have Got To Be Kidding Me

The story below won an honorable mention from the judge Scot Roahrig for Thursday Threads Number 69; You have Got To Be Kidding Me.

Thursday Threads hosted by is here with the prompt of "You have got to be kidding me" incorporated into the story. For more stories, please visit The Weird, the Wild and the Wicked where you will find judging details and a rather dishy pic of a fireman.  

“How are you celebrating finishing your probation?” Sergeant Cole asked Adam as they walked up the gravel drive.

“Not sure it’s a celebration; meeting the in-laws tonight.” He rang the door bell and almost immediately the front door opened. “You have got to be kidding me” Adam muttered as his eyes were assaulted by the woman in front of him; a skimpy negligee with an ample bosom spilling out.
Adam thought it a wind up but soon dismissed this when his skipper looked just as bemused.  

Trying to take the report was impossible as the woman seemed more interested in him rather than her stolen belongings as she ruffled his hair playfully and flirted outrageously.  

“Do you know how old I am?” she asked teasingly. Adam shook his head, looking down at his notebook.“Fifty-eight!”  She twirled round, purposefully falling into Adam. Sergeant Cole sniggered. “My secret is young men like you.” She winked.

Finally getting what he needed, Adam left feeling flustered and very red in the face. It wasn’t a call he would be allowed to forget in a hurry and it was with relief when his shift was finally over.

“Meeting your parents will be a breeze after the day I've had” admitted Adam, walking into the restaurant. Lisa smiled, kissing him affectionately. “You have got to be kidding me” Adam uttered for the second time that day as Lisa’s mother blanched.

“Mum 'n' dad were burgled today.” Lisa offered innocently.

“I know” was all Adam could say.