Sunday Photo Fiction – Ignorance

51 03 March 16th 2014

Copyright – Al Forbes

This week’s entry for Sunday Photo Fiction. Click the link for more stories and instructions on how to submit your own entry.

I can hear you muttering through the kitchen door, no doubt adding to the thorough list of sins your ex-girlfriend committed against you. This tirade started about an hour ago, when the bottle of whiskey we shared had been considerably depleted. Our other friends made excuses and left shortly afterwards, but you stayed, determined to spit out every bitter feeling and burn what was left with alcohol.

I ignored the tears when they began to appear, ignored to urge to tell you the truth: These words are hurting you more than they will ever hurt her.

I pour a glass of water and open the kitchen door. You’ve finally stopped talking, but your eyes are closed and your mouth is slack as you lay across my sofa. I lean over you to inspect your face more closely, wondering if you’re caught in some lonely, hateful dream. I slowly bring my lips to your ear, thrilled at the risk you might actually listen to me for the first time tonight.

“You didn’t deserve her.”


Friday Fictioneers – The Walk Of Shame


Copyright – Renee Heath

Zebra knows a little something about shame. This morning, she was home alone and so she had a bit of an iPod rave in the kitchen. (Because there is no better way of waking up and getting the blood pumping etc.) And then she turned around the see the landlord and a builder peering at her through the kitchen door. #ForShame

To find out more about Friday Fictioneers, click here.

Kirsty’s favourite kind of party was a fancy-dress party. She loved visiting costume shops and viewing the myriad of colours and possibilities. The ballerina outfit was the best she’d ever found, and she’d waited for the perfect occasion to wear it.

It had been such a success, her friends sighed with envy and when she caught his eye from across the room, it was like all those songs she heard on the radio. Their glances lingered like cigarette smoke, blurred by vodka shots. There’d been suggestion, then action.

Walking home in the morning was far less romantic.

Having Doubts About Everything


A “compliment” slip from Anatomicals. (Possibly the best skincare company I’ve ever come across.)

I went back to my parent’s house for a few days recently. I say I went back to my parent’s house. I saw them for about a day and then spent the rest of my time with a close friend. I had a really nice time overall, but one of the first issues I faced was that my sister also came home and essentially told me that my housemates had been saying things about me behind my back. (To clarify, she lived in the house as well until recently, so has known my housemates for longer than me.)

This really threw me off, as I would say that for a student house, we get along pretty well most of the time. Things aren’t perfect, but when you’re in a house with four other girls (and only one bathroom!), you’re generally just grateful that you aren’t screaming tearfully at each other or trying to rip each other’s hair out.

It made me feel like I didn’t really want to come back, but I realized that it wasn’t the end of the world. 1. My sister is one of those people who have a  tendency to take things you say and make them sound about one hundred times worse. 2. Yes, there was a period when I was ill, when I was busy with NaNo, when I was waiting for an appointment at the breast cancer screening clinic, when housework was not my priority. I can understand why my housemates may have been frustrated about that. If they said anything, it probably wasn’t personal.

And then, a few days later, I went out with my friend and got terribly drunk. And it was very fun at first. But then I kind of hit that moody, depressed state which I’ve never experienced before. The one where you wonder what you’re doing with your life because:

A. You still don’t have a job because you’re a lazy fuck and nobody wants to employ you and why am I so useless and oh god.

B. You’re really not that smart either. You’re not dumb, you got a 2.1 this year after all, but that’s still not a first.

C. You are surrounded by the absolute dregs of society, including some freaky stranger who keeps coming up behind you and putting his arms around you and trying to kiss your neck and arrrrgghhh leave me the fuck alone!

D. You’re a terrible writer. A real stinker. What are you playing at, spending so much time on wordpress and pretending people care about what you write?

E. Your housemates hate you. Maybe they’re right and you are a horrible, terrible person.

And, I’m absolutely sure that a lot of people on here can empathize with D. Not because they’re bad writers, just because they have doubts. Even famous authors have doubts about their work sometimes. 

I guess there’s no big secret to suddenly gaining confidence in your work. It takes time. I think it’s all about practicing and not giving up.

Oh mighty users of WordPress, what is your opinion?

Alastair’s Photo Fiction – The Smallest Crane You’ll Ever See


Copyright – Alastair Forbes

This work is entirely fictional and has no basis whatsoever on what happened to me last night.

This prompt was from Alastair’s Photo Fiction Blog

I’m wearing that dress I didn’t like five hours ago but my friend told me it looked good and as I drank it looked even better and it’s tight but I can still dance even though my feet hurt because I’m not used to heels this high and I have to be careful to avoid the pools of spilled drink on the floor and I can’t take them off for fear of stray stilettoes and my drink keeps jumping out of my glass and maybe that last jaegerbomb was a mistake and then he makes eye contact for a little too long and I look away but it’s too late and I can feel his gaze burn my legs ass tits before I feel him behind me and he’s too close but the crowd makes it difficult to move away and then I feel his breath on my neck

“Babe, wanna see my crane?”

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 – Friends don’t let friends sleep in phone boxes.


Copyright – Danny Bowman

All I seem to be able to write about is Break Ups and Romance Gone Wrong lately… If you want to join in and do a Friday Fictioneers piece yourself, look here.


Jake woke up on a friend’s couch, his stomach feeling as ropey as the musty blanket he was tangled in. Each twitch brought on the sensation of a blunt knife being forced through his temple. Vague memories flashed through his inner eye.

“Jake, you need to get up.” Alex had said, last night, when Jake was curled up in the bottom of the urine scented phone box.

“What’s the point?” Jake had drunkenly wailed. “She dumped me and now she’s with that tosser!”

“Mate, seriously, let’s get you home.”

Jake couldn’t remember how Alex had got him out of the phone box, but he probably owed Alex big time.