Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneer

My Two Cents

ted-struts-in-the-rain

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

It was raining, like all of the tears at all of the funerals in the world.  I wouldn’t have minded, but the queue was long.  Not that I worried about getting aboard, of course not, but I was miserable waiting.

Finally, I was there.  Those in front of me just walked on board when their turn came, but I stopped and looked at the ticket taker.  I held out my hand and his eyes sparkled.  I dropped the two pennies into his waiting palm.  The coins turned to gold.  I knew my afterlife would be good.

Always pay the ferryman.

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Word count = 100

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

I clicked “Publish on my last story and almost instantly regretted it.  I had a new idea, a much better (in my mind) idea.  I had to write this.  I hope you don’t mind that I double-dipped this week.

The Last Ferry

ted-struts-in-the-rain

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Sean looked over his shoulder.

Just behind them, the soldiers pushed back the wet and wary crowds.  The wall was near and closing, causing a panic.

“Are we going to make it?” Jasmine asked.

Before he could answer, a guard waved them through.

They’d get on, but it would be tight.

The car parked, Sean and Jasmine went to the observation deck.  They heard guns firing, then yelling.  The guards had been overrun.  People were racing to the ferry.

The mighty ship lurched forward violently.

Sean looked out, watching in horror as the flames ate all.

They had made it.

— — — —

Word count = 100

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

Moonlight Palms

dale-rogerson4

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The tranquil night was shattered by the screams.  The guests awoke to darkness, a clue that the electricity to the resort was cut.

Flashlights came on, emergency vehicles crowded the streets.  The search was on.  A hint of terror could kill the tourist trade.

I slunk between darkened buildings, staying out of the light.  If I could make it to morning, it would be fine.  At least for me.

I knew what they’d find.  I knew the horror of the mutilated bodies.  But I couldn’t shed a tear.  Not until the full moon set and I was back to normal.

— — — — Continue reading

Creativity Interrupted

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

Meg sat at the writing desk, looking for an idea.

There was a seed.  Then a sprout.  Vines came up, tendrils.  A branch, another storyline.

The vines grew, covering the desk.  They bloomed in multicolored fractals, ideas within ideas.  A new sprout.  It continued to grow and grow, occupying every corner of the room.

The ideas came faster than words, budding, twisting, branching, filling all with their presence, growing…

“Dear?”  Meg turned to her husband.  “You looked bored.  Do you need some company?”

“No,” she said.

The room was bare.

Meg sat at the writing desk, looking for an idea.

— — —

Word count = 100

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

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OK, this is a second helping.  This screamed to have a non-literal interpretation, so…  Like the other story, this one has a moral – don’t disturb me when I’m writing, even if it just looks like I’m staring out of the window ;)

 

The Sun Rose at Midnight

charred-toys

PHOTO PROMPT © Karuna

The sun rose at midnight.  The city was gone.  Another city and another sun, around the world it repeated.  Who started it?  Does it matter?

A house in the desert that once was a suburb.  Charred remains, ghosts of lives long gone.  Ruins under the slate grey sky that rains death.

We seek shelter.  Perhaps we’ll soon be gone, too.  The before times were before my time, not even a memory.  Just the stories.

My son found them, hidden treasures.  Nothing in the building, but sheltered from the firestorm, they survived.  Memories of childhood before the sun rose at midnight.

Continue reading

Diner

inside-the-diner

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

It stuck out, an old railcar pushed into a corner of town long after the trains had stopped running.  Back in the day, shiny chrome welcomed day trippers from Boston, but it had turned dingy and grey.

An old woman, the original owner, a perpetual cigarette hanging from her lip, served me.  The coffee was bitter, the eggs greasy and the toast older than the diner.  The next youngest customer had half a century on me.

I never returned.

I passed the empty lot today.  What the health-inspector found came back.  It’s been 20 years and I still felt nauseous.

Continue reading

Found

auto-aftermath

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Doug didn’t know the section of town, but he had received a call, a stranger with a tip.

The ruined house was squished between two others that had “Condemned” signs on the doors.

He hesitated, but there was no denying the car.  Covered in dents and missing a mirror, the car was spotless three years earlier when Em had disappeared on her 17th birthday..

Doug climbed the trash-covered steps and knocked.

There was no answer.

The door wasn’t locked.  He entered.

Em, thin and pale, stared with hollow eyes.  He picked her up and cuddled her.

“Let’s go home.”

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Word count = 99

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

Place of Consequence

When he saw the name of the village, Sean Brown blanched.  It was destiny.

Great-grandfather Brown had fought and died in a trench just a few miles outside of town.  Grandfather Brown had been hidden in an attic in this town after the Germans shot down his airplane.  Celebrating family tradition, his father had proposed to his mother here while doing a grand tour.  This was a town of consequence for the Browns.

After years on the run, of all of the places in the world to finally be caught and arrested, didn’t it figure this was the place?

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Word count = 99

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

When the Frost Comes Early

frost-on-the-tombstone-liz

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

My withered hand moved a branch, allowing me to see Francis’ resting place.  The memories flooded back.

With young idealism, we had founded the commune.  We could overcome and create a place that radiated peace out to the world.  War was over because we wanted it.

The poetry, eating food we had grown with our own hands.

The first year was perfect.

But then they came to arrest our draft-dodging butts.  Francis was shot resisting arrest.  The rest of us were sent to the frontlines of ‘Nam.  The Vietcong took the others.  They are young forever, while I grow old.

— — — Continue reading

Great Aunt Isabel

shoes-and-books-by-magaly-guerrero

PHOTO PROMPT © Magaly Guerrero

Margret talked about her Great Aunt Isabel from the day I met her.  The matriarch of her clan had done everything, been everywhere.  Her family lived in this larger-than-life character’s enormous shadow.  Perhaps “great” was a title or description, not a generational mark.

I was nervous when I finally met her.   As we waited in the parlor, I noticed the stacks of oversized books here and there, and the random platform shoes tossed carelessly about.

When the giant of Margret’s family arrived, I went into shock.  She could barely see the table top, even seated on her stack of books. Continue reading