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This is my submission for Friday Fictioneers. It’s been two years since my last submission :-/

You can read about Friday Fictioneers at the end of this post.
Join us.

Below is the picture prompt for last week and below that is my story.

Copyright - John Nixon

Copyright – John Nixon

Picture copyright John Nixon.

Introduction
Good music always came from the piano when Roch sat before it. Beautiful music. Tom knew this because everyone clapped when Roch sat before that piano. Tom wanted people to clap for him too.

One day, Tom sat on Roch’s chair before the piano. He tapped the keys as he had seen Roch do many times before, but the music that came out of the piano was not as nice as when Roch sat there. He tried again. Still not as nice.

Maybe the piano did not like making music for strangers. Tom decided to introduce himself to the piano.

—-
100 words

You can read pieces by other participants here.

I read all your comments and I appreciate them, even if I take long to respond and even if I do not respond to each comment individually.

About Friday Fictioneers
Friday Fictioneers is a group that works as follows:
Every week a picture is put up at the Rochelle’s blog.
Prompted by that picture, you write a piece of fiction that is 100 words long (or as close as you can get).
You add a link to your story on the Fictioneers page, and read the (excellent) stories by the other Friday Fictioneers.

Feel free to join us! Everyone is welcome.

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Tout

Hello readers! I have not been a good blogger. I know I say things like that from time to time, when I realise how long it has been since I blogged. It’s not that I don’t have things to blog about, especially since this is a more-or-less anything goes kind of blog, it’s just that I don’t get round to typing it out while the stories are fresh in my mind.

Anyway, now that I’m here, here is a story I wrote months ago:

Tout

He should have left an hour earlier. He never seemed to learn. He was annoyed with himself. He had dilly-dallied in the house until past noon. Now he was going to be late and he may have to push some of the things he had planned to do to his next visit to town. Oh well. Nothing much to be done about that now.

He sat in the matatu- the small Nissan van that was authorised to seat fifteen, including the driver and the tout who called for passengers and collected fare, in five rows of seats. The Nissan may actually have been a Toyota, but for some reason people called them all Nissans. Peculiar Kenyan habit.

The arrangement of seats was the same in most of the matatus: the driver had two pasengers to his left. Behind him, was usually a partition of some sort. Some matatus had speakers installed there, some just had metal rods. This matatu had some sort of board behind the driver’s row. There may have been speakers within that board, but if so, they were not on. The row immediately behind the driver usually sat three passengers – sometimes four when demand for matatus exceeded supply. The tout’s traditional seat was on the third row right next to the vehicle’s sliding door. This seat was separated from the other two seats on its row by a gap that allowed passengers to pass to and from the last two rows. The fourth row was similar to the third.

He sat on the fourth row, moved his fare from his wallet to the more easily accessible shirt pocket, then settled to continue reading the Ruth Rendell mystery he was currently on.

The matatu set off. There were the usual activities – the tout collecting fare from the passengers, row by row, issuing change where necessary, tapping the vehicle to signal the driver to stop to drop or pick passengers and so on. He was engrossed in the novel and was not paying too much attention to the goings-on around him.

Usually, the conductor asks one of the passengers on the second row to collect fare from those at the front. Actually he does not really ask – he simply taps the passenger’s shoulder then points at the front-row passengers. The selected passenger in turn taps the shoulders of the two and they pass the money backwards to him or her. In this case, The board behind the driver’s row made this ritual impossible. The conductor therefore had to lean out of his window and reach towards the front passenger window to ask for fare.

From his seat on the row behind the conductor, G saw the conductor lift his right leg. This curious sight drew him from the mystery world to the real one he was in. Before he fully took in what was happening, he wondered what the conductor was doing – trying to step on a passenger? Oh, he’s just collecting fare. But why has he lifted his leg so high? He first recoiled as he realised what was happening, even as it unfolded, then lunged forward to try and save the tout.

The tout’s left foot that was on the floor of the vehicle lost balance for some reason (a discarded polythene bag, it later turned out). The left foot slid towards the right, making the tout lose balance. The tout’s body was mostly out of the window and this offset made his upper body now lean downwards. In panic, he tried to better grip the area above the door, but his hand was holding money and was therefore not fully available.

G tried to grip the tout’s leg, but gravity won and the tout fell out of the window and onto the tarmac. Inertia carried him forward, which was both a good and a bad thing. It was good because it saved his arm from being run over by the back wheel of the matatu, but it was bad to have one’s face and body scraping on the tarmac.

The driver stopped the vehicle almost immediately. The shouts and screams from the passengers reduced as they got out of the vehicle and cautiously looked at the tout, who was still lying on the road.

G didn’t look much, not wanting to see grisly scenes that would stick in his mind for long. In fact, he stood there for a few moments, looking at the backs of the small crowd that was standing around the injured man and debating what to do, just so that he would not seem callous if he just walked away immediately. After what he considered a respectable time, he walked back to the nearest bus stop to wait for another matatu.

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This is my submission for Friday Fictioneers.
You can read about Friday Fictioneers at the end of this post.
Join us.

Below is the picture prompt for last week and below that is my story.
Picture copyright Sandra Crook

Picture copyright Sandra Crook

Picture copyright Sandra Crook

Like A Lamb
“I think we should go back.”
“Why?”
“There is something wrong up ahead.”
“And you know this how?”
“The sheep, of course.”
“Sheep always walk in herds.”
“Yes, I know but these sheep are all running away from their homes.”
“Oh, so you recognise the sheep now, eh?”
“Yes. No. I mean no sheep live on the farms behind us.”
“Hah! I’m not following sheep like, well, a lamb.”
“I’m serious. There is something bad ahead. Animals sense such things.”
“Maybe. But we humans have developed technology to detect danger. We are superior to – Turn back! Turn back!
—-
99 words

You can read pieces by other participants here.
I read all your comments and I appreciate them, even if I take long to respond and even if I do not respond to each comment individually.

About Friday Fictioneers
Friday Fictioneers is a group that works as

follows:
Every week a picture is put up at the Rochelle’s blog.
Prompted by that picture, you write a piece of fiction that is 100 words long (or as close as you can get).
You add a link to your story on the Fictioneers page, and read the (excellent) stories by the other Friday Fictioneers.

Feel free to join us! Everyone is welcome.

Read Full Post »

This is my submission for Friday Fictioneers.
You can read about Friday Fictioneers at the end of this post.
Join us.

Below is the picture prompt for last week and below that is my story.
Picture copyright Danny Bowman

Greener

2014-03-07lengai_summit_from_crater-danny-bowman

Picture copyright Danny Bowman

“Hey look! There’s green grass on that hill!” he said.
“Grass is greener on the other side, eh?” she replied.
“Yes! We can finally graze our animals properly.”
“When the grass is greener, it’s because someone’s watering it.”
His smile faded. “You mean there could be people living there?”
“Yes, and I don’t think they’d welcome our tribe, especially when they find out we’ve finished the grass on our hills.”
“Well, I’m going to find out” he said, starting down the ridge.
“No, wait!” she said. “It could be dangerous.”

The arrow that flew into his chest proved her right.
—-
100 words

You can read pieces by other participants here:

I read all your comments and I appreciate them, even if I take long to respond and even if I do not respond to each comment individually.

About Friday Fictioneers
Friday Fictioneers is a group that works as follows:
Every week you get a picture.
Prompted by that picture, you write a piece of fiction that is 100 words long (or as close as you can get).
You add a link to your story on the Fictioneers page, and read the (awesome) stories by the other Friday Fictioneers.

Feel free to join us! Everyone is welcome.

Read Full Post »

Another story based on actual events.

—–

“I’m glad we finally got this shopping out of the way” said Cathy.
“Yeah,” replied Millie “now we can relax for a week.”
“I really don’t like going to that Mwimuto market.”
“Why?”
“It’s full of idlers and shady characters.”
“They are just guys looking for work.”
“Yeah, I know, but when they don’t have work they just hang around.”
“And when you pass them you feel like everyone is just looking at you.”
“Around Christmas last year I saw two men fighting there. I don’t know what they were fighting about. Other guys were just watching and cheering.”
“Of course – free entertainment.”
“I asked the woman who was selling to me: ‘Are they not going to stop the fight?’ She laughed. ‘Stop it?’ she said. ‘This is nothing. Last month, November, people beat a guy here to death. He was caught stealing from a woman. And that wasn’t the first time someone has been killed here. This one you are seeing is a small fight.'”
“Eh!” Millie exclaimed.
“I just go there coz the food is cheap.”
They walked a few steps in silence, Cathy carrying the basket of shopping.

“Please hold this strap we carry this basket between us,” Cathy said.
Millie transferred the paper bag she was carrying to her left hand and took one strap of the basket with her right hand.
Cathy held the basket with her left hand and her phone with her right.
They walked on down the path, Millie’s paper bag brushing against various shrubs that were growing against the perimeter wall of the estate that was on their left.

The sound of the running footsteps behind them made them turn and look back. They saw a young man running towards them. They moved to one side to let the man pass.
As he passed, the man struck Cathy’s right hand. Instinctively she drew it to her chest, dropping her side of the basket. The man stopped and lunged for the phone in her hand.
“Millie! Catch!” Cathy yelled.
She tossed the phone over the mugger to Millie, who had now also dropped the basket.
The man turned towards Millie and again lunged for the phone, slamming into Millie.
Millie tossed the phone in the air as she fell.
Cathy caught the phone mid-air and threw it over the estate perimeter wall. The man paused momentarily, then, to Cathy’s surprise, went after the phone, pulling himself over the seven-foot wall.
“Thief! Thieeeef!” Cathy started yelling as Millie got up and started dusting herself off.

The mugger, in his zeal to get the phone, had not evaluated his circumstances appropriately.
Nearby guards who had heard the commotion quickly apprehended him before he could climb back out of the estate.
Pursuing the phone over the wall had apparently been a bad move for the mugger.

Basket1

Cathy and Millie, again carrying the basket between them, walked to the estate gate, about 20 metres away. The man was dragged to the gate between two guards, each holding him by his belt and hitting him with their clubs repeatedly. He already had a swelling above his right eye and his teeth were blood-stained.

More people gathered, many eager for some violence.
One man slammed the mugger’s jaw with the sole of his boot leaving a partial shoe-print. Millie, being a soft-hearted person, winced.
A young man came with a stick and landed three solid strokes on the man’s back.
A lady drove up in a shiny Audi, stopped and got out of the car.
“What’s going on?” she asked no one in particular.
“This guy is a phone thief,” someone said.
She moved closer to the mugger, who was half-standing between the two guards, his head hanging.
“You are a thief, eh?” she asked him.
He did not reply.
Two resounding slaps, one on each of the mugger’s cheeks, left the crowd stunned in surprise and tears trickling down the mugger’s face.
Without another word, the lady walked back to her car and drove off.
A few people laughed.
“Someone must have robbed her.” Cathy said to Millie.
“Has anyone called the police?” one of the guards asked.
“Yes, someone went to the station” a man standing nearby replied, before punching the mugger on the nose.
Millie winced again and Cathy looked away briefly.

The guards let go of the mugger and he fell to the ground as more kicks and blows landed on him.
“He will run away!” said Cathy.
“Let him try,” said a man. “We will see who is faster.”
It seemed the mugger thought attempting to escape would only worsen his situation, and he only lay curled up on the ground, doing his best to use his arms to shield his head from blows.

“Take him to Mwimuto!” someone said.
This suggestion elicited an immediate reaction from the man on the ground.
He scrambled to his feet and aimed towards a gap in the crowd.
The man who had dared the mugger to run kicked him in the chest and sent him falling backwards. The mugger raised some dust as he landed on his back.
“You think you are clever, eh?” Mr Dare asked the fallen man, kicking him yet again, this time on his ribs.

“Forgive me please!” the mugger said. “It is hunger that drove me to steal!”
“Hunger?” said Mr Dare. “Then why did you not steal the basket of vegetables?”
A punch to the mugger’s temple.
“Why did you not ask for money?”
Another punch.

“What’s going on here?” an authoritative voice said, coming from behind Cathy and Millie.
Two armed policemen had arrived. The crowd parted for them.
“This guy was stealing a phone from these ladies.” said one of the guards.
He pulled the phone from his pocket and gave it to the policeman who had spoken.

The mugger moved and crouched at the policemen’s feet. Cathy thought of a cat rubbing against its master’s legs.
“This is your phone madam?” the policemen asked Millie.
“It’s mine” said Cathy.

“Let’s go, said the policeman.
The other policeman cuffed the mugger’s hands behind him and stood him up.
The policemen, their captive, Cathy and Millie set off towards the police station.
The rest of the crowd dispersed, except for two or three people who trailed the policemen, perhaps hoping to get another chance to beat the mugger.
Cathy and Millie again carried the basket between them.

“We took our time,” the more talkative policeman said to Cathy, “hoping you would finish the job.”
“What?” Cathy looked at him, not understanding.
“You could have taken him to Mwimuto and finished him. These things of going to the station and to court are a hassle.”

————

I Googled ‘lynch mob Kenya’ Images. The images in the results were quite graphic.

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This work of fiction, inspired by actual events, is my submission for Friday Fictioneers that is ably hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

You can read about Friday Fictioneers at the end of this post.

Join us.

Below is the picture prompt for this week and below that is my story.

Picture copyright Janet Webb

Priorities

2013-10-18-photo-88

Peter and his daughter Janice queued patiently at the supermarket till, finally buying the toy that Janice had long agitated for.

“Daddy,” Janice said “I want to go for the cooking event upstairs.”

“I’m sorry, not today. We’re going visiting. We’ll plan and go another day.”

Janice kept silent.

Just as they left the till, there were some loud sounds. It seemed everyone froze, then realisation hit.

Gunshots.

Reactions were varied but all dramatic. Some people screamed, some dropped to the floor.

More gunshots.

Peter grabbed Janice and made a crouching run for the exit.

Their purchase no longer mattered.

—-

100 words

You can read pieces by other participants here:

I read all your comments and I appreciate them, even if I take long to respond and even if I do not respond to each comment individually.

Comments

This story is inspired by actual events here in Nairobi. I am yet to write a longer blog post about that, but for now, here are a few links.

(If I don’t get lazy, I may write a longer fictional piece on that terrorist attack).

http://www.theguardian.com/world/interactive/2013/oct/04/westgate-mall-attacks-kenya-terror

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westgate_shopping_mall_attack

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/africaandindianocean/kenya/10337908/Revealed-American-family-rescued-by-hero-of-attack-on-Nairobis-Westgate-mall.html

2013-10-18-photo

Photo credit: Goran Tomasevic/Reuters

About Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers is a group that works as follows:

Every week you get a picture.

Prompted by that picture, you write a piece of fiction that is 100 words long (or as close as you can get).

You add a link to your story on the Fictioneers page, and read the (awesome) stories by the other Friday Fictioneers.

Feel free to join us! Everyone is welcome.

Read Full Post »

This is my submission for this week’s Friday Fictioneers that is ably hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
You can read about Friday Fictioneers at the end of this post.
Join us.

Below is the picture prompt for this week and below that is my story.

Picture copyright Danny Bowman

Miss Communicate

2013-05-24danny-bowman

Picture copyright Danny Bowman

Stu approached the phone booth.
“I hope it’s working,” he thought.
He pressed the code for the operator.
“Hello. May I help you?”
“I’d like to make a reverse call.”
“Pardon, sir, you’d like to make what?”
“Reverse call.”
“I’m sorry I don’t understand, sir.”
“A reverse call – one where the other person pays.”
“Which other person?”
“The one receiving the call!”
“Oh. You’d like to call collect?”
“Call who?”
“Collect.”
“Collect what?”
“Making a call where the person receiving the call pays for it is called calling collect”
“Who calls it that?”
“Everyone, sir.”
“Not everyone! I certainly don’t!”
—-
100 words

“You don’t what, sir?”
“I don’t call it calling collect.”
“You no longer want to call collect?”
“I certainly do! I am saying I don’t… Never mind.”
“You seem… I’m sorry, sir. I’m not following you. Do you want to make a collect call?”
“Yes, please.”
—-
146 words

You can read interesting stories by other participants here.

I read all your comments and I appreciate them, even if I take long to respond and even if I do not respond to each comment individually.

Comments
I grew up with British English 🙂
I have missed a few episodes of Friday Fictioneers.

About Friday Fictioneers
Friday Fictioneers is a group that works as follows:
Every week you get a picture.
Prompted by that picture, you write a piece of fiction that is 100 words long (or as close as you can get).
You add a link to your story on the Fictioneers page, and read the varied and awesome stories by the other Friday Fictioneers.

Feel free to join us! Everyone is welcome.

Read Full Post »

This is my submission for this week’s Friday Fictioneers that is ably hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
You can read about Friday Fictioneers at the end of this post.
Join us.

Below is the picture prompt for this week and below that is my story.

Picture copyright Claire Fuller

Friends

2013-04-26-claire-fuller

Picture copyright Claire Fuller

“May I go and play with my friends now?”
“Take your tea first.”
“But they are waiting!”
“The books will still be there. You need to eat to be strong and healthy.”
“Yes, my friend said that yesterday.”
“Which friend is that?”
“Juma, from Kenya.”
“Ah! Your book friend. Good advice.”

After tea, Andy took his plate and cup to the kitchen, and ran off to the library.
He stepped up a ladder to reach the top shelf and pulled out a book titled Juma’s Safari.
He opened a page, tapped it thrice and found himself in a forest.

—-
99 words

You can read interesting stories by other participants here:

I read all your comments and I appreciate them, even if I take long to respond and even if I do not respond to each comment individually.

Comments
I have missed a few episodes of Friday Fictioneers.

About Friday Fictioneers
Friday Fictioneers is a group that works as follows:
Every week you get a picture.
Prompted by that picture, you write a piece of fiction that is 100 words long (or as close as you can get).
You add a link to your story on the Fictioneers page, and read the varied and awesome stories by the other Friday Fictioneers.

Feel free to join us! Everyone is welcome.

Read Full Post »

This is my submission for Friday Fictioneers for 19th April. Friday Fictioneers is ably hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
You can read about Friday Fictioneers at the end of this post.
Join us.

Below is the picture prompt for this week and below that is my story.

Picture copyright Janet Webb

Outlast

Picture copyright Janet Webb

Picture copyright Janet Webb

“Honey, I’m home!” said the man, getting into the large hut.
“D’you have a good day, Colin?” said his wife, hugging him.
“Tiring, but good. The new classroom’s coming up well. The villagers are pleased. How’s the health centre?”
“Good! It’s always a delight to see the gratitude on the mothers’ faces.”
“I’m glad you enjoy working here. I was nervous about having us relocate.”
“This is more fulfilling than the high-flying city life we left.”
“I wanted us to build something that would outlast us.”
“Wafula’s wife gave birth today.”
“Wonderful! Boy or girl?”
“Boy. They named him Colin.”
—-
100 words

You can read interesting stories by other participants here.

Comments
The relation of this story to the picture may be obscure. I saw a honeycomb among rocks. I was trying to show that there can be good things amidst hardship.
In parts of my country, children are sometimes named after great or famous people. For example, I (think I) have a nephew named Bill Clinton and another named Winston Churchill. I have four names, myself, two of which are from a family friend.
I have missed a few episodes of Friday Fictioneers.

About Friday Fictioneers
Friday Fictioneers is a group that works as follows:
Every week you get a picture.
Prompted by that picture, you write a piece of fiction that is 100 words long (or as close as you can get).
You add a link to your story on the Fictioneers page, and read the varied and awesome stories by the other Friday Fictioneers.

Feel free to join us! Everyone is welcome.

Read Full Post »

This is  a very late submission for Friday Fictioneers that is ably hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
You can read about Friday Fictioneers at the end of this post.
Join us.

Below is the picture prompt for 29th March and below that is my story.

Picture copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The Visitor
Genre: Paranormal

Picture copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Picture copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“This won’t work!”
“It will too! Stop making noise. We need silence”
The boys lit the lamps, sat and held hands.
“Oh great spirit. Come to us”
“Come to us” echoed the younger boy.
“Oh great spirit. Come to us”
“Come to us”
They paused, eyes closed.
“Can you feel anything?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s wait.”
The waited, fidgeting a little.
“Let’s go outside and play”
“Yes, lets!”
The two boys slammed the door behind them as the smoke from the lamps blew to the third chair and formed a shape that was almost human.
“You summoned” it said.

—-
100 words

Comments
I have missed a few weeks of Friday Fictioneers. 😦

About Friday Fictioneers
Friday Fictioneers is a group that works as follows:
Every week you get a picture.
Prompted by that picture, you write a piece of fiction that is 100 words long (or as close as you can get).
You add a link to your story on the Fictioneers page, and read the varied and awesome stories by the other Friday Fictioneers.

Feel free to join us! Everyone is welcome.

Read Full Post »

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