Tag Archives: Fiction

Fume #writephoto

smoke-fume

Photo by Sue Vincent

It seems that after all of my efforts, these experiments with biology, anatomy, chemistry and electricity came to naught.  The lifeless clay of my life’s work lay on the table, mocking my years of toil.

Adding insult to injury, Mrs. Kemph, the woman who straightens my living quarters, had dared to enter the lab and threw away a work in progress.  To say I was livid would be an understanding.

Walking through the village, my mind working out what went wrong with this latest experiment, I fumed as I couldn’t get past the dolt Mrs. Kemph. Continue reading

Chill #writephoto

snow-chill

Photo by Sue Vincent

“Great, now it’s snowing.”

A chill sent a shiver down to my spine.

No use worrying about it. I trudged on.

The last month ran through my head, the misunderstandings, the angry words. Perhaps this was for the best.

I kept my head bowed as I plodded along, as much to avoid seeing the familiar landmarks as to protect myself from the frigid wind.  The ground was just ground, one clod like any other, one rock no different from the hundred thousand I had just passed.  But it was changing as I climbed higher, for snow began to cover the trail.

Perhaps Driman was right, perhaps I had stayed far too long. Most of my youthhood companions had settled down long ago, but I was different.  Restless. I was not made to be a farmer! Continue reading

Locked Doors

jhardy-storage

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Martha sat, rocking, smiling into the sunlight streaming through window.

John sat in the far corner, unnoticed and forgotten for the moment.

Elisabeth tiptoed in and handed John the album. Martha didn’t notice.

John flipped to a random page. A beautiful young woman in a military nurse’s uniform smiled up at him. England, 1945.

He glanced at Martha.

Another random page and there was his and Elisabeth’s mom as a baby. 1951.

Another page. Paris, 1979.

Another page, another memory.

“It’s all there, but the storage doors are locked.”

John looked up. Elisabeth was watching Martha, tears in her eye.

***

Word count = 100

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

Glow – #writephoto

frosty-dawn--glow

Photo by Sue Vincent

“Ouch! Damn…”

I could feel the warm glow on my cheek where the twig had slapped me.  I rubbed it. Was I going to get a welt?

Wiping away that unbidden tear – I was sure it was from the pain of the slap not something else – I continued on my way.

“Damn” was right. In fact, it felt too weak for the turmoil surging through my brain.

I pushed another leafless branch out of my way, but was careful this time that it didn’t slip and smack me as the last one had.

I was going to my little private spot on the ridge. “Private”, though it was the worst kept secret in the village.

Perhaps even worse than my love for Anita. Continue reading

Balefire #writephoto

balefire

Photo by Sue Vincent

The tests had been phased out with the coming of Common Law, but The Church took Robert the Newcomer’s case and prepared a trial by cold water. Some argued that he was freeman so trial by fire would have been more appropriate, but nobody argued that a trial of God’s will was better in this case than using the King’s Justice.  Not only was Robert a relative stranger to the parish, thus called “the Newcomer”, but all agreed that he had behaved in the most peculiar ways. Several witnesses claimed that he had performed black magic.

Unfortunately, the trial by water did not go as planned. Robert immediately sank out of sight, thus proving his innocence, yet when they went to retrieve him before he could drown, he could not be found. Assuming he had drowned, they dredged the water, yet no body was found.  They searched for days, but came up empty handed. An appeal was sent to the archbishop who proclaimed Robert the Newcomer guilty of witchcraft and stated that Satan himself must have retrieved his servant rather than have his guilt proven by floating on the cold waters. Continue reading

Books to This Point…

books-7-16-2019

My time for writing and blogging disappeared half way through the week, but I wanted to do a post.  Hey, why don’t I talk about my books?! So here is a list of books with their blurbs in order of publication:

Seasons of Imagination

Trent P. McDonald’s Seasons of Imagination contains an eclectic mix of stories covering many places, times and even different genre, yet they all hold one thing in common, they are all about people.

Be they silly, serious or speculative, all of the stories are about us.  What makes us tick?  Why do we say the things we do?  Why do we react as we do?

So whether it seems the stories are exploring outer or inner space, in reality they’re always exploring the human space.

Here is an invitation to open the page and come with me to explore the
Seasons of Imagination Continue reading

Within #writephoto

echo-within

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

Aflame #writephoto

pond-set-055-aflame

Photo by Sue Vincent

It was a hard day.  The hardest.  It was never ending toil, but I had to do, if not for myself, then for them.

The one bright spot is that I didn’t struggle alone.  Silently by my side was my neighbor, the little girl who used to bother me as I did my chores, little no more.  She didn’t have to share this, but there she was.  As, I realized, she always had been.

At the end of the day I looked down at my companion.  Her face glowed in the setting sun.  My heart soared, turned aflame.

“Mary,” I said, “if we survive, will you be my wife?”

The last rays of the day painted her face a bright red.  What was she thinking behind those flaming eyes?

“Of course.”

I took her hand, saying nothing, for nothing needed to be said as we watched the dying embers of the day.

***

Written for Sue Vincent‘s #writephoto challenge.  This weeks challenge, “Aflame”, is here.

Clarity #writephoto

clarity

Photo by Sue Vincent

“Where do you think you’re going?”  Sean’s voice was loud, harsh.

“Away!”

Jan jumped into what she hoped was the local variant of Uber.

“Take me to some far away beach, someplace where I will never be found.  Ever.”

The large man turned to her.  The thought that he looked like some wild Hollywood villain crossed her mind.

He smiled.  It made her skin crawl.

“I know just the place, Ma’am.”

It took 15 minutes for the tiny car to navigate the congested, narrow streets and leave town.

In 20 minutes the constricted, claustrophobic feelings started to dwindle.

After about 40 minutes the car stopped.  There was nothing around.  That worry struck Jan again. Continue reading

Castle #writephoto

castle

Photo by Sue Vincent

“…and on a day, so they say, the Fairy King will leave his castle at Deep Blue and sail off to Evermore.  The legends tell us that whoever reaches the castle first will then become king or queen and rule Fairyland until it is their time to sail the dark sea to Evermore.”

I remember my great-grandmother’s words well, though I was no more than three.   After she made her own journey “to Heaven”, or so my mother told me though I secretly believed she went to “Evermore”, I heard no more about the Fairy King nor his castle at Deep Blue.  Yet, when the clouds towered over the water, full of lightning and thunder, or when the fog rolled in, I could make out the craggy towers exactly where great-grandmother told me the castle should have been.

That was oh so many years ago.  Now I am far older than she was when she made her final journey. Continue reading