Friday Fictioneers – Debts Paid

Photo supplied by Douglas M MacIlroy

Happy Friday Fictioneers day, AKA Wednesday! Hope you are all surviving lockdown, If you want to submit your own 100 word story based on the photograph, or see others, just follow this link

“A little something to wet your beak on.”


“Glad to see you survived your meeting with Sparrowhawk,” said Tawny Owl, placing Finch’s drink on the bar. “He doesn’t forgive debtors easily.”

Finch didn’t reply, memories of last night circulating like a jerky film reel.


“I have the perfect job for a little birdie like you,” Sparrowhawk had said. “A message to deliver.”

At the described tree, Finch heaved to dislodge and topple the stranger’s nest. Only then did he hear.


Glimpses of broken shell, scattered.

Minutes later, Finch trembled under Sparrowhawk’s gaze, “Message delivered.”

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – Georgie


Copyright – Alastair Forbes

This prompt was taken from Alastair’s Photo Fiction Blog.

Harry saw a woman totter along the platform in black stilettos. Her attire, a well cut jacket and a pencil skirt, suggested she’d just left the office for the day. The way she staggered around suggested she’d actually just been chucked out of the nearest bar.

 “Fuck!” she proclaimed loudly. “Where the fuck did he go?”

She stumbled back the way she came before reappearing again a few minutes later.

 “Excuse me!” she called out to Harry. “Have you seen my pet?”

 “What does your pet look like?” asked Harry, nervously.  The woman laughed.

 “You’d know him if you saw him.” She glanced over Harry’s shoulder and broke into a grin. “Georgieeeee!”

Harry turned and got the shock of his life. Bounding down the platform was a reptilian creature the size of a small child. The thing ran on its hind legs, but jumped up to give its master a bear hug around the waist.

“Georgie! Never run away like that again!”

Friday Fictioneers – The plight of Miss K. Zebra


Copyright – EL Appleby

For anyone who wondered what the “k” in “misskzebra” stood for. Don’t judge me too harshly, I did come up with the name when I was 12, and have been using it since. If you want to take part in Friday Fictioneers, look here.


 “Name please?” asked the receptionist, who looked at me over her glasses with eyebrows raised so far, they looked to be in danger of flying off her face.

 “Konfuzed Zebra.” I replied, nervously dragging a hoof across the floor.

 “Confused… Zebra…” The receptionist said it slowly as she wrote on her notepad. I could see she was spelling it incorrectly.

 “You’re spelling it wrong.” I said. She huffed as she crossed it out. “It’s spelled K-O-N-F-U-Z-E-D Zebra.”

 “Dr. King will be ready in five minutes.”

After I’d awkwardly shuffled to the waiting area, she muttered, “It’ll take more than a psychiatrist to sort you out…”