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Supermarket Grouch

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SUPERMARKET GROUCH By Linda S. Gunther As I make my way through the automatic doors, I spot the contraption which usually holds the red plastic tote baskets provided to carry my less than ten groceries from shelf to checkout. But today there are no small tote baskets available. I don’t want a humungous metal cart to bump and grind with other shoppers. I want to rush down those narrow aisles filled with screaming babies and slow octogenarians taking their sweet time to examine the cereal box choices and condiments. I want to be lithe, fairy-like, free with my small plastic tote, and get the hell out of Dodge. But damn it, no totes anywhere to be seen. I fly out the middle exit door, the only door to escape the mega supermarket. I dart across the parking lot almost tripping over a stray shopping cart placed close to the driver’s side of my SUV. A mega sized gray flatbed truck speeds by me, tires screeching. Arriving at my car, I p
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Bogle

by Paul Murgatroyd sudden blackness outside the window standing out on the brown ground how is it there? no movement no sound an alien shape shape gone mad a disembodied shadow? a black hole? a chunk of night somehow there in the daylight? chainmail and ridges a gash of sunshine a ring of sunshine around the brightdark it moved drooped a creature from another world? from the Valley of Death? ‘ Grandad, what’s that weird thing out on the lawn? There .’ ‘ Bloody hell!’ ‘ What? Is it dangerous? It is, isn’t it?’ ‘ No. But it’s very strange… I saw a picture of this once, in an old book, from before The Heat…I thought they were all dead. This is something special, lad, really special.’ ‘ What is it?’ ‘ It’s called a turdus merula .’ ‘ A what?’ ‘ A turdus merula , a blackbird. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’
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A House With A View

A House With A View At the curve of the staircase, Alastair turned to look at the surging throng below, his eyes scanning for his wife of two hours. Eventually, he spied her, a radiant splash of light surrounded by a host of paparazzi, lenses aimed from every angle and elevation, journalists hurling questions at this icon of the fashion world, hoping for that special photo, that bon mot that would elicit their editor’s grudging approval. ‘What did I do to win that bird-of-Paradise, Jonjo? I feel like Cinderella at the ball, afraid my glass coach will turn into a pumpkin at any moment.’ He grinned at his best man and fellow architect. ‘ You certainly are a lucky dog, Al. If I’d met her first, I’d have given you a run for your money.’ ‘ Hands off! You’ve a bird of your own and a lovely one at that.’ ‘ You’d better go and change, mate; you’ve a long drive ahead. I’ll rescue the embattled princess; she needs to change too. I can’t see your Gorgeous Gwenda crushing that fabulou
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Photographing the Loch

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He dragged the collar of his jacket as tightly round his neck as he could and then thrust his hands deep into his pockets. He had checked on the internet the time that the sun was due to rise and had left the hotel early, not knowing if the cold January weather would hamper his journey. Black ice was always a problem in this part of Scotland, but luckily the night had been cold and dry, making his drive trouble free. He had arrived at the car park by the loch with enough spare time to set up his equipment at his leisure and now he stood in the cold pre-dawn air waiting and thinking. In his mind’s eye he saw again the photos of the loch that had intrigued and inspired him for so many years. Images taken during every month of the year, showing the changes in the seasons and the weather, the light and the shadows. There were lurid shots of the Northern Lights, reflecting garish tones of blues, greens, purples and reds in the still waters; yellows, oranges and reds of sunsets and s
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Congratulations to Tony Roberts

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Happy Mayday Everybody. Thank you very much to the people who entered the 100-word challenge. The stories have been a pleasure to read. The winner of the 100-word challenge is Tony Roberts and the winning entry follows: MISSING MOBILE   It was the morning after the party and the house resembled a battlefield. I had the task of clearing up while Judy went to work. “Bye then,” she muttered. I sighed; things were not good between us. Later I found a mobile. I shrugged; I knew its owner would ring to track it down.   It rang at lunchtime; I pressed answer. Before I could speak I heard a voice harsh and strident; it was Judy. “You bastard, where are you? I’ve wasted six months of my life on you.” “Hi Judy, who do you wish to speak to?” I said.  
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Remember When

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Do you remember when we kissed while the brass band played and our hearts beat in time with the drums? Do you remember when we danced, cheek to cheek at the school disco, as Meatloaf promised to do anything for love? Do you remember when you held me as the piper played in the new year? Do you remember when we made love as somewhere a fiddler fiddled? Do you remember when you whispered ‘I love you’ as the wedding march played? I remember when I should have listened to the words playing in my head and not the music. by Dorcas Wilson
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This week's 100-word Challenge

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The Music Box by Sue Wright Life, the leveller by  Rathin Bhattacharjee Deja Vu by Ryan Finnerty I didn't know by  Lauren M Foster Imprinting by  Susan Cornford A Fantastic Hobby by  Josie Gilbert In Camera by  Roz Levens Susan's Story
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