The Light Box Installation

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The Light Box Installation

Logicians were happy that the dimensions of the light box conformed to the golden ratio. Angelicians saw that the celestial angels were honoured. Farmers praised the promise of longer growing days to come.

The artist was happy that her work had been generously sponsored by the Technologians, who were more than happy to use its image of connectivity in seasonal advertising.

The Light Box blazed forth through twelve long nights and was also a convenient beacon for lost travellers.

The following year it was shipped to another city and erected over a nightclub infamous for stag and hen dos.

M J Lewis 2016

Happy New Year to all who visit and a huge thank you to our host Rochelle for yet another full year of (seemingly) indefatigable encouragement and support to the Friday Fiction gang.

Thanks to Shaktiki Sharma for the fantastic photo. (Please do not use this image for anything other than a genuine entry to Friday Fiction or with the permission of the photographer.) For more enlightening tales click here.

Sheep Walks into a Diner

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Sheep Walks into a Diner

(A radio play for three characters)

Sheep: Over here by the window, like a Dennis Hopper painting.

Squirrel: (Hooves on lino, chairs scraping.) Edward Hopper.

Sheep: Sorry? Anyway, I was thinking of pink for my fleece this Christmas.

Squirrel: Gods preserve us under glass cases.

Sheep: You really have absolutely no idea what it’s like for me do you.

Squirrel: I am officially vermin.

Sheep: But not part of the food chain.

Squirrel: Well some might disagree. And that nutcase president hasn’t helped – spitting image of the European red.

Waitress: What can I get you folks?

Squirrel: The pecan pie please.

Sheep: Is the chocolate milkshake gluten free?

Squirrel: You know what, pink would be lovely.

M J Lewis 2016

Here is my contribution to Friday Fiction – a cheeky 100 words, not including title and character names, but does include sound directions. For a world of fiction (probably, but not definitely, less surreal than mine) click here.

Thanks and best wishes for the holidays to our host Rochelle. Thanks also to Roger Bultot for the photo and to all who visit.

And a happy midwinter to all!

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Words in Progress

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Words in Progress

Thursdays I’m on the front desk with Miriam who has never read a book in her life, but has a 99.9% rating for library fine collection.

An elderly man approaches. Please let him ask about a book.

Man: I think I left my scarf in the library.

Miriam: You’ll need to describe it Sir.

Me: It’ll be one of those things you wrap around and around your neck. (Opens drawer.)

Miriam: (Hand on drawer.) He’s supposed to describe it first.

We are surrounded by a sea of words, a wide wondrous ocean of love and learning, and I am drowning in banality.

M J Lewis 2016

Love your library! I am lucky enough to have two wonderful libraries nearby where I can work, relax, socialise and READ. I also spend not-so-idle moments watching and listening.

Welcome all to Rochelle‘s Friday Flash Fiction bonanza, with a photo this week from Lucy Fridkin. (Please note the photo is copyright and should only be used in conjunction with Friday Fiction or with the photographer’s permission.) To sail away on a sea of fiction follow this link.

Things My Grandmother Taught Me

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Things My Grandmother Taught Me

Lavender sprouted from my Grandmother’s fingertips and lilac nodded around her backdoor.

‘Let us pray,’ she’d say as she knelt, trowel in hand. ‘Amen, and one for the squirrel,’ was my cue to heave her up. Once we tumbled right over, her stick-thin frame cushioned by my stocky little body.

Today I’ve brought all her favourites – purple crocuses, alliums, tulips. I stick the fork into the rich soil and she raps on the window.

‘Who the heck are you?’ she hollers across the lawn.

The best thing about spring bulbs – you can plant them in hope or despair; they’ll bloom anyway.

M J Lewis 2016

It’s Friday already so I’m late for Friday Fiction. Thanks as ever to our talented host Rochelle and to C. E. Ayr for the beautiful photo. For more prose, purple and otherwise, click here. 

Purple is one of my favourite garden colours, so my brain took me straight out into the garden. But hoping somebody writes, or has written, a story about the creation of Henry Perkin’s purple dye, Mauveine. If nobody’s done so, might have to do it myself. It did create a sensation at the time, not unlike a version of tulip fever.

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The Catomato

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The Catomato

M J Lewis 2016; ceramic and organic vegetable matter

The Catomato stands at 10cm high and is currently located on the kitchen table. A unique combination of tomato from the back garden and ceramic cat, it highlights the dangers of genetically modified crops to the environment and to cats in particular. There are no plans to create a large scale model of the Catomato in the centre of Sutton.

A Talented Generous Man

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A Talented Generous Man

Over canapés at my lover’s funeral, I met his wife. He’d played first violin to my cello. Our affair was the fiery passion to the soothing harmony of his marriage. An open secret in the orchestra – and she’d never even suspected.

‘So sad, ‘I said. ‘Such a talented generous man.’

She sighed. ‘That old excuse. You knew about his mistress? What a cliché – the local piano teacher.’ She met my frozen gaze. ‘Sorry, I’ve shocked you. The whole village knew – it was an open secret. I worked it out about nine years ago. See that sweet little girl over there?’

M J Lewis 2016

Whoops! Absent for a while from Friday Fiction and then I produce this sordid little piece. Or maybe it’s high camp – depends how you take it. The truth, the whole truth is sometimes not as lovely as we’d like.

Thanks as ever to our talented host Rochelle and to fellow Friday Fictioneer Bjorn Rudberg for the photo.

Sixties Childhood

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Sixties Childhood

I’m old enough to remember those callers to the house who have now disappeared – the knife-sharpening man, the fizzy-pop man. Mostly men it seems, though once a traveller-woman persuaded my mother to part with a lovely summer dress.

After the brooms-and-mops man had called my mother would give me the sweet little sample tins of polish and I’d buff up the miniature piano in my dolls house.

Oddly the sitting-room in my doll’s house– polished piano, too many pictures on the walls and a large clock, made out of an old watch– very much resembled my real sitting-room today.

M J Lewis 2016

Welcome to all who visit Friday Fiction and a particular thanks to those who stay to read and comment. Thanks as ever to our host, the writer and artist Rochelle and also to the Friday Fiction regular and writer, Claire Fuller who supplies the photo this week.

(Please note all Friday Fiction photos are copyright and should only be posted in conjunction with Friday Fiction or by permission of the photographer.)

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