Category Archives: Fiction

Short Fiction

Mirror #writephoto


Photo by Sue Vincent

“Which is the real world, the one in front of me or the one reflected in the mirror of the pool?”

Dan laughed at his bit of silliness.

It had all been getting to him, work, family, everything.  Reality.  His reality.  He needed some time alone, far from his work and family, far from his reality.  Time to be alone with himself.  What is more important than self?  It wasn’t a hard decision: he took a long weekend to unwind in the woods. It would be perfect.

But it wasn’t going as well as planned.  Despite being away from it all, so far all he had done is worry, worry and more worry. The real world just wouldn’t leave him in peace.  He would see a flower and think of bills unpaid, work not finished, arguments unresolved. Continue reading


Welcome Home


PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

My eyes, once adjusted to the dark, were assaulted by the mix of bright teal and dingy diner red.  The hokey orca and great white on the wall were far older than the current shark craze.

“Sit where you want, hon,” A female voice called out.

The table, though clean, had obviously been there since the early 1940s, or perhaps was a refugee from an ancient railcar diner.

Recognizing a few faces half seen in the dim light, I smiled as I took my seat.

After six years living in the tourist town, I had finally found the local hangout.


Word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo © Dale Rogerson.  Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.

Journey #writephoto


Photo by Sue Vincent

I don’t remember ever being so hungry.  Starved.  What an awful journey!  I cursed our captain and king, and went over the ridge.

Just think, we had been staying in a land where the fruit was unlimited.  There was nothing to do but sit back, eat, sleep and enjoy ourselves.  After all of those years of war, what more could a man ask for?  But no, we had to move on, continue our journey.

The idiot.

I stopped and pointed.  The weeds had been close cropped, so I assumed there was something edible around, but my suspicions were proved correct when I spotted the sheep.

Oh, delicious mutton!  Lamb steaks!  Lamb chops!

Actually, any meat would do, but this was glorious. Continue reading

The Celebrated Barbecue-off of Cook County


PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

I talked to an old man in my quest to find Don Optner.

“I know Jim Opnter.”

“No, I want Don.”

“Claimed he made the best barbecue, period.  Grew his own herbs and such and it was awfully good.”

“Don is…”

“He set up the Cook County Barbecue-off.  Had three Weber grills running and a tent.  Hoped to make a fortune.  People came from all over.

“A stranger had a pretty good sauce, worrying Don.

“Don went back for more herbs and some kids destroyed his setup with a firehose.  Said it was rain.

“And then….”

I left him, mid-sentence.


A maybe not so successful attempt at a parody of a parody, The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.  Why Weber grills?  Look up the short story and the frog’s name ;) OK, Weber, Webster, a little different…


Word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo © Jan Wayne Fields.  Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.

Out of Place – Chapter 3


Note – in June I posted the first two chapters of this story (See Chapter 1.  See Chapter 2).  Chapter 2 was one of my least popular posts looking at number of likes and views since my first year of blogging in 2014.  I had already written Chapter 3 at that time, but decided to not post it since people seemed to not like the story.  Well, I’ll try again ;)  Here is the third chapter.


I took a sip of the dark beverage.

When I was a freshman, a friend’s girlfriend made me a drink that she called “hot cocoa”.  It was actually some cocoa powder, yerba mate, cinnamon and other spices in tepid water.  She said it was full of energy.  It was bitter but had odd notes that were just beyond description.

I took another sip.

This beverage was similar, though I liked it better.  More than that, it really did give me energy.  More than energy, it calmed my rebelling stomach erased all signs of alcohol. It cleared my head, but my mind continued to spin.

“So this place is a portal?” I asked.

“Maybe a multi-portal.  A confluence?  A hub? It isn’t just a simple passageway,” Threck said.

“Hundreds of worlds?”

Threck shrugged. “Hundreds, thousands, millions, who knows?”

“You say they are different worlds spread throughout the one Universe, some perhaps billions of light years from others, not different Universes?” Continue reading

Within #writephoto


Photo by Sue Vincent

I wake and open my eyes.

It is dark, but that is to be expected.

There is nobody around.

That isn’t expected.

No children.  No progeny.  No kin.  Nobody.

It doesn’t feel right.  Something is wrong.

I walk to the entrance and look out across the barren landscape.

I can still see the villages and the fields full of crops, but I know they are gone.  The thin soil could not bare the weight of the plows for too long.  This was no longer Home and people had to purposefully travel to see me.

I sniff the air.

Although what I see seems unchanged for time out of mind, I know everything has changed.  The world is different.  The times are different. Continue reading

Big Jim

PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie

Big Jim.  Hez da brains of our operashun.  Hez smart.

Me an’ Nukkles set up shop, see.  Kep low and make shur you ain’t kausin’ suspishun Big Jim sed.

Da place was abandoned an’ boarded up.  Nukkles wanted too B shur, so he painted No Trespassing on the side.

Nukkles ain’t the brightest bulb, see?  We had The Nife rite it down. We wanted it would look good.  But Nukkles wote No Tressrassing.

The cops took us away an our later.

We gave dem Big Jims address.

The cops laft.  It was City Hall.

Big Jim.  Hez da brains, alrite.


Sorry, I hope the accent isn’t too annoying ;)


Word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo © Randy Mazie.  Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.

Welcome Home


Byron Davis continued to walk, eyes forward, mental blinders on.  If he ever thought about it, he would have called it his “urban defensive mode”.  He saw obstacles to avoid and heard noises as warnings, just the bare minimum needed to navigate without running into things.  He didn’t see or hear individual people above the static.  A person was a distraction.  They were “things”.  It was his way to survive the crowds.

“Byron Davis!  It is you.”

The half familiar voice cut through his defenses, his name being recognized and thus the voice flagged as “important”, or at least “something over the background din”.

A young man approached him.  The man was dirty.

“Do I know you?”  Byron curled his nose, drawing his mouth into a slight snare.

“Are you telling me that you don’t recognize your own brother?” The man half laughed.

Byron frowned.

“I don’t have a brother.”

He turned to walk away, but a hand come down on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Sure you do.  Derrick.  Remember?”

Byron turned, his face burning.  Who was this idiot, disturbing him like this?

“Derrick died almost 30 years ago.  Quit bothering me.  I won’t give you any money or whatever in Hell it is that you want.” Continue reading

Destination #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

It is all kind of foggy.  I need to think.

I see a flash, like a snapshot, of the highway. A truck in front of me.  It all looks wrong.  It is just a flash, like a nanosecond frozen in time.

That’s it.  No before nor an after, no origin nor destination.  I was traveling, that is all.  That instant is my everything, lost in this fog.

It doesn’t make sense.

But there is a light.  There.  Just in front of me.

The fog of my mind lifts slightly revealing little, but the fog around me lifts more.

How odd.

I am on a tree-lined country road, the branches reaching over me forming a tunnel. Continue reading

The Final Post



This will make great story that the folk back East will eat up.  Famed aviator lost on the north pole.

Shut up, Will, I don’t need your wit now, I need your eyes.

Sure thing, Wiley.

There’s a good size settlement on that lagoon.  We’ll put her down her and get directions.  We’ll be off in no time and to Point Barrow before you know it, just watch.

You can’t just find it on the map and figure out our position?  Do we have to land?  Or do you call it “watering” in a seaplane, not “landing”?

We’ll be fine.


On August 15, 1935, humorist, vaudeville actor, movie star, newspaper columnist and perhaps the most famous entertainer of his day, Will Rogers, was flying with famed aviator Wiley Post between Fairbanks and Point Barrow, Alaska.  They put the seaplane down just 20 miles south of their destination to ask directions.  The plane fell nose down just after takeoff, instantly killing both men.


Word count = 100 (not including history lesson.)

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo © Ted Strutz.  Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.