Well on the eve of the local elections in the UK, I’ve sought relative calm in the smooth waters of Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers one more. Hoping the Tories get shafted, you can’t go around lying to the electorate, its pretty simple, Don’t be a Dick Mr Johnson (Oh the Irony) Anyway, the aim is to craft a story out of the picture by Na’ama Yehuda with a beginning, a middle and an end, or maybe just a middle, who cares> The important thing is to do it in 100 words and have fun, so
On My Marks…
Greta and Hans had been nurturing and tending to their gardens for nearly five decades, planting beautiful and exotic flora in the richly composted soils.
People flocked from miles around to see the countrywide famous raised beds. The railway sleepers around the back were piled high to create the beds, and seasoned lovingly in the fresh air.
Harvesting the compost was more painful as both were suffering from progressive hip and back complaints. Since the near miss at the truck-stop, the ability to kidnap and drug had faded.
Sadly they realised they’d have to make their compost using conventional materials now.
There we go, the best compost is obviously human compost, literally. 100 worlds bang on, hope you like it!