SCFrankles

Mara was used to weird things happening to her. And now here on vacation in Britain where they thought ‘Penguin’ was an appropriate brand name for a chocolate cookie, honestly she had been prepared for anything. It was still a bit of a surprise though. Wandering around London’s Natural History Museum… Stopping to casually examine a tableau of stuffed foxes and cubs… Spotting two marble heads tucked behind the vixen—one in a woollen hat and the other in sunglasses, and the two of them arguing together in hushed tones... “Everything… okay there, guys?” she asked. The two heads froze. Then

Mara was used to weird things happening to her. And now here on vacation in Britain where they thought ‘Penguin’ was an appropriate brand name for a chocolate cookie, honestly she had been prepared for anything. It was still a bit of a surprise though. Wandering around London’s Natural History Museum… Stopping to casually examine a tableau of stuffed foxes and cubs… Spotting two marble heads tucked behind the vixen—one in a woollen hat and the other in sunglasses, and the two of them arguing together in hushed tones... “Everything… okay there, guys?” she asked. The two heads froze. Then

The sheep smiled awkwardly. “Look, I sympathise. I really do. But—” The jumper threw its arms around her. “Please take me back! Please!” It choked back a sob. “I thought this was what I wanted! To be knitted. And becoming a Christmas jumper seemed so exciting.” It released its arms and slumped on the grass. “But I’ve made a huge mistake. Everyone has just been so cruel. And I don’t understand it. I mean, I’m warm. I’m bright…” The sheep winced. “Indeed you are.” “And I thought I was witty! Took ages before I realised they were laughing

Miss Baggley smiled brightly at the class. “Yesterday we learnt how to sew uniforms for supermarkets. And today we’re learning how to hand paint knick-knacks for the local tourism industry.” She checked her watch. “And we’re going to have to learn how to paint them at the rate of one every two minutes as the van will be picking them up in three hours.” She looked back up at the class. “The sandcastle on the keyring should be yellow, the little flags are blue, and the personalised name at the bottom is red. Let’s get on! No talking please.” She and her assistants began to hand out the k

It’s never good news when you’re getting a visit from the head demon of the netherworld’s uncivil service. The demon smiled apologetically at the keys to the Gates of Hell. “I’m afraid, you see, there’s going to be some cutbacks.” “Oh, yes..?” said Brimstone Key. “Yes.” The demon hesitated. “And unfortunately we’re thinking of making you both redundant.” “Heavens!” said Sulphur Key. “Well, there’s no need for that sort of language,” said the demon. He sighed. “Look, it’s not your fault. But there just isn’

Bride/Groom Wife/Husband      /Widower

Jerome K. Jerome Came from a poor home. But Three Men in a Boat Kept him afloat.

CHARACTERS POLLIN (male office worker in late middle-age) MASSONIA (female middle-aged office manager) HABERLEA (male office manager in mid-30s) STRELITZIA (female office worker in early 20s) RUDBECK (female office worker in late 20s) GALANTHUS (male office worker in early 30s) ZINNIA (male office worker in early 20s) JUNCUS (male office worker in early 30s) YUCCA (female office worker in mid-30s) SCENE 1 (Lights up. There are two desks facing each other centre stage—not parallel, making an inverted V from the audience’s POV. HABERLEA sits behind the desk on the right, and MASSONIA sits behind the desk on the left. Facing them,

This is an attempt at an informal essay on fan fiction, by a middle-aged woman who reads and enjoys fan fiction. It won’t really be a balanced argument—I will be concentrating more on what I see as the positive aspects of the genre. I’ll be using mainly examples from the Sherlock fandom, that being the fandom I’m most familiar with. (There will be some spoilers, especially for series 3, so if you haven’t seen the series yet and you intend to, it might be wise to give this essay a miss.) Why do I read fan fiction? The basic reason is exactly the same reason I read anything—some of it is of astounding qualit

John was in the frozen vegetables aisle, contemplating the advantages of peas over broccoli, when Sherlock suddenly appeared beside him. “What the..?” said John. “I’m here on a case.” Sherlock was staring over John’s shoulder. “Just try to act naturally.” John looked round and saw a scruffy, prematurely-aged woman shuffling towards the baked goods. He turned back to Sherlock. “Isn’t that a member of your homeless network—Miss… Adlington?” Sherlock nodded, and then tensed. “The security guard’s spotted her.” “Oh, God,” said John. &

John loved tea. Just the thought of it made him feel warm inside. Sometimes it even felt as though tea were a part of him. But then, he was a teapot. No. He had to face it. He was an ex-teapot. It was six months since the last time he'd been used to make tea. Six months since he'd ended up in this charity shop. He'd started off in the window, then been moved back to the table, then onto a low shelf, then a top shelf and now he was residing on what could only be called the 'junk shelf': sharing space with a haggard baby doll, some statement jewellery and a couple of battered paperbacks. He couldn't help but feel bitter. Yes, he had been throu

It was quite a puzzle. Just what was Watson doing wearing a dress in his sitting room? Holmes approached cautiously. He turned the available data over in his mind. Firstly: when he had arrived at Watson’s home and asked to see the master of the house, the maid had demonstrated no embarrassment. She had shown him straight in, before leaving to fetch tea. Secondly: though the figure before him at the writing desk had the unmistakable profile of his friend, the moustache was not so heavy. And were there perhaps a few more curves than he remembered? Ah. It all fell into place—the solution was… “I see you’ve met my

A/N: "Cut out the poetry, Watson," said Holmes severely. “Too ‘poetic’?” I thrust my latest manuscript at Holmes. “There! You have my permission to edit it!” Some days later Holmes returned my story. “I think I have removed everything that was unnecessary,” he smirked. I glanced at his work, then frowned. “I will never understand your sense of humour, Holmes.” He had trimmed my story to exactly 60 words.

James Em Dodd Searches for God. Moving heaven and earth Reveals Em’s-worth.

Fandom: Dear Ladies Rating: G Disclaimer: Hinge and Bracket were created by Patrick Fyffe and George Logan. Dear Ladies was written by Fyffe and Logan, and Gyles Brandreth, and produced by the BBC. 957 Words Dame Hilda Bracket tooted on the horn of the Rolls and Doctor Hinge came hurrying out of the house, still adjusting her cardigan. “Do be patient, Hilda.” Evadne locked the front door and joined her companion in the car. “At last!” said Hilda. “Anyone would think you didn’t want me to buy you a birthday present.” Evadne frowned. “I was at a very delicate point in my winemaking.” S