Friday Fictioneers: Boxed, Stuck.

Possibly late, again, for this merry band of warblers which we call the Friday Fictioneers hosted by the wonderful Rochelle the photo provided by Jean L Hays; nice touch. So once again I’ve been waylaid by the shysters at work, forcing me into concentration rather than the daydreaming I prefer. So lets go folks;

On my Marks…

Get Set…


The cube forced into a corner, having crossed the stones had damaged it’s foot; Cubes can’t gravel travel, they are the packaging world slugs, not salt but a Stanley knife they fear, always when it’s too late, their innards scattered across the floor; a polystyrene, bubblewrap bloodbath of weightless materials. Fit only for landfill.

Boxes will be reborn, gas inside the bubbles mixing with soil as they are thrown into the pit alongside squealing polystyrene. Perhaps find an air pocket and survive for a thousand years, maybe more. Future treasure hunters will be very disappointed in what they might find. 

There we are 100 words, of I don’t know what, forgive me, I know not what I write about.





  1. You know you’re not late, eh? You do have until next Tuesday…
    That said, good thing work hindered you… coz it sure feels like your imagination is working fine.
    Great take… and what the hell is up with your font changing sizes?

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Dear Shrawley.

    I, too, wondered about the sudden change in font. See, who says humans don’t make things that last? Styrofoam, plastics…they last from here to eternity, merrily destroying the eco system as we go. It is Friday and we are Friday Fictioneers. No worries. 😉



    Liked by 1 person

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