Tag Archives: Prison

Friday Fiction – The Prisoner’s Dilemma

Koi carp: so nice, they named them twice. This week’s picture for the Friday Fictioneers led me to a whole load of research about carp, none of which I used. It bred in my brain several terrible puns, none of which I used. Hopefully, you enjoy the story I did go with. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who has been distributing our weekly picture ration for a year now, and to founding-Fictioneer Doug MacIlroy, whose picture is this week’s prompt.


The Prisoner’s Dilemma

It’s a feeding frenzy out there. I can hear them pushing and shoving, desperate to get the first bit, the last bit, anything in between. Hungry mouths: never full, never satisfied.

I can hear them, but I can’t see. The small slits that serve as windows too high to provide a view, let alone an escape route. I’ve been here how long? Days, maybe. Weeks, even. The nights and days uncounted.

And yet, I hear them and I wonder if I am the lucky one. My meals are scarce and scraps, but no one fights for my gruel and roaches.

Operation Unified Response


Filed under Friday Fiction, Writing

Friday Fiction – Soul Memories

Madison apologised for the photo this week, but it’s one of my favourites. The minute I saw it, I had so many ideas, it was hard to narrow them down. So instead, I decided to include them all. When you read this piece, you’re probably have your own opinions about what’s happening, and that’s great. I’d love to hear them in the comments! But the truth is, there’s no right answer – I had a lot of ideas about it myself and I still haven’t settled on one. Take a look at the tags if you want to know some of the things I think might be happening.

As ever comments, critique and outright criticism are welcome. Enjoy!

It pulls me up short, like a shot in the chest. Innocent here, but still arresting.

The sun’s just beginning to rise and I’m just beginning to settle into my run. Then it’s there, a roll of barbed wire, casually slung over a post. No doubt it’s waiting for some farmhand to use.

But my soul recognises it and screams. Once upon a time there was a fence, and barbed wire. Once upon a time there were even sunrises, and the person who was me watched each one with a little bit of gratitude and a little bit of despair.



Filed under Friday Fiction, Writing