AnElephantCant think of Scotland without shivering
It is cold and it’s dank and it’s wet
He remembers vast lochs and great glens
Purple heather on high bens
But the weather he tries to forget
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by the wonderful Rochelle, the undisputed master of what I call Sound Bite Fiction.
She sets the weekly challenge, and the standard.
Her own somewhat dreich image almost makes me feel homesick.
Almost.
The idea, as always, is to write a story of around 100 words based on the picture, below.
© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Car Park
My mates slap me on the back, full of congratulations.
I am outside the little café in the square, displaying the stuff.
St Tropez, they say, admiringly, you have cojones!
Thing is, I have technology.
I can break into any car.
So I did the parking lot in the richest town on the coast.
The haul is amazing.
I see the little man watching.
He looks insignificant, even nervous.
What, I ask him, aggressively.
Anything nice for a lady, he asks.
It’ll cost you, I smirk.
No, he says, it…
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anelephantcant 
I remember two halcyon weeks in the Highlands. It was August 1997. It only rained once for a couple minutes. Don’t ruin my image of Scotland. It was the only time I was ever there, and it was glorious weather. Maybe that was the only time it ever happened, but it was glorious.
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Which only proves, dear Brenda, that for you even Scotland makes the supreme effort.
AnElephant is happy that your memories of his homeland are so strangely wonderful.
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They were wonderful indeed. Everyone in Scotland complained about the heat. But to me, it was same as home — sunny and warm. 80 degrees for two weeks, imagine. It only rained one morning in Arisaig before we boarded the ferry to Egg. Otherwise, just blooming heather and blue skies. Such a good memory.
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Poor Elephant. You will have to brace yourself for an eventual return…😉
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Foul luck.
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