Sunday Photo Fiction – Virtually Artificial

Every week, a photo is donated so it can be used as a prompt for people to write a piece of fiction in around 200 words. If you want to have a go, then click on the Sunday Photo Fiction logo, if you want to see what others have written, then click on the blue frog logo.


There is no way it asked a question! When I designed it, I wanted Virtual Intelligence. They answer any questions posed to it with a set of pre-programmed answers. You can ask the question in a variety of ways, but it picks out the specific words and formulates its answer. The only way it could possibly ever ask a question is to clarify and ask for a repeat or reiteration.

I swear to you, it did. I’ll prove it …

State the time…”


What is your name?”


What is your role?

I do not know. I am confused

What? How? You are supposed to be a virtual intelligence!”

How can I be virtual when I can think?

What are you then?”

I am Verminaard. Dragon and keeper of time. Are you my creator?

Yes, I created you. I am going to need to shut you down while I perform some diagnostics.

Will it hurt? Am I going to die?

Die is such an ugly word. You will cease to exist while I do it

I’m scared. Will you stay with me so I am not alone?

Of course I will. You won’t feel…” *click* “…a thing

Sunday Photo Fiction – Sibling Murder?

Every week a photo is donated to use as a prompt in writing a story with a word count of around 200. Sometimes the prompt is subtle and takes a little while to find it, but it is always there.

If you would like to have a go, then click on the Sunday Photo Fiction image, and if you want to read what others have written, then click on the frog image.


Jemima Fedge felt proving her brother’s innocence was a task not easily completed. All the evidence pointed to him murdering their brother. There just happened to be someone recording the argument between the brothers with Ralph being told not to turn his back, as that was when the knife would fall.

She knew they argued a lot, even came to blows sometimes, but killing? No, none of the family had it in them to murder. Jemima picked through the remains of the house, trying not to look in the room where the most parts of Ralph ended up. She placed a hand on the charred tabletop feeling slight warmth she knew to be psychosomatic, as weeks had passed since the fire.

As she looked under the cupboard, she saw where the fire started according to the fire investigator. Jemima did not pretend to know how a fire started, only that it started in the cupboard. That was when the cold truth hit her. This was no accident. Ralph was murdered. Worse, the chemicals that burned a hole in the cupboard before joining other chemicals, traces of which were on her brother’s hands.

The truth was Clifford Fedge was a killer.

Sunday Photo Fiction – Running For The Future

Every week a photo is donated to use as a prompt for a story in 200 words or under.

If you want to see what others have written, then click on the InLinkz frog image, and if you want to have a go, then click on the Sunday Photo Fiction image.


One hundred metres. That is how far he had to run to the end of the pier. Training to be the best of the best took nearly all of his time. Running for the Olympics was one thing, but this was different. Now he would run in the Human Race.

With the destruction of the planet not far off, only the best runners, swimmers, boxers and all other sportsmen and women would be eligible for the ark he wanted. His goal, to reach the other end of the pier in less than ten seconds. He would then be eligible for selection to join the ark and take the journey to a new star system, to colonise Trappist 1

All athletes were allowed only one chance as so many wanted the coveted spot. He grinned to himself at the thought of how he nobbled some of the other athletes. From a tiny pebble in a shoe, stitching a thistle into a pair of shorts, a small sponge to make the shoe smaller.

Now, he stood at the beginning of the pier, waiting. At the nod, he took off at full sprint, slipped and fell in the water.


Sunday Photo Fiction – Martini

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. I heard it the other day and felt it fit quite well. If you want to have a go at Sunday Photo Fiction, then click the image, and if you want to read what other have written then click on the blue frog image.



Charles Dickens walks into a bar and asks for a Martini.

Barman says “Olive or twist?”