PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter
The story about Great-grandfather’s shoes again? I guess it’s appropriate tonight, since it’s been exactly 50 years to the day.
Great-grandfather was a bit eccentric, saying “spacemen” were spying on him. A guy from the government stopped by, and left laughing.
One evening there was a knock on the door. When Great-grandfather answered it, a burst of light filled the house. All that remained of Great-grandfather were his charred shoes.
Before they took Grandfather away, he constantly said the “spacemen” would be back in 50 years.
Hmm, who could be at the door at this hour? I’ll be right back…
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PHOTO PROMPT © Danny Bowman
We walked up the never-healed wound of a 19th century wagon trail. This was forgotten land, rarely trodden in modern days, awash in legend. But there were rumors.
“I see no signs that anybody has been this way in decades,” I said, but my daughter, Jenna, grew more determined.
As the sun set, I could see the glow of the distant city on the horizon, a warning to all.
Nearer at hand, though, was the unmistakable landbound stars of campfires.
Jenna pointed. “There is yet life here.”
I nodded. The deepest desert had to be better than the radioactive cities.
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Our captors entered the musty basement room in their makeshift headquarters. Even before they turned on the light, I knew that all eight of the soldiers still on the premises and the commander where in the room. I guessed they were moving us again.
A big guy came over and undid our leg restraints, one at a time. There were only four of us and in total nine of them, but they kept their rifles pointed at us. I smiled inwardly. The reputation of our unit made them nervous. Nervous guards are easier to overcome. I was sure that the commander knew that the only reason he had captured the four of us was we were taken unarmed and off guard.
We were led up the stairs and into a small room. The soldiers spread out so that there was one in each corner and one in the middle of each wall. They kept their guns at the ready. Continue reading
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
“What’s wrong, Dad?” Abby asked.
“Your mother put fresh flowers on the table every morning for 60 years.”
“This is for the best. We have plenty of room. No worries.”
“I know. This house is just so full of her. I can imagine her going to the garden and selecting exactly the right flowers for the day’s mood.”
“The truck will be here in a second.”
“I feel like I’m leaving her. And part of me with her.”
Abby stopped and stared. Nobody had been in or out, yet a vase of fresh flowers graced the kitchen table.
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PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
“Oh My God! Look at that! Is this the Land that Time Forgot?”
“What is it?”
“An old payphone. Back in the Dark Ages people actually paid money to make calls on those monstrosities.”
“Sure, smarty. Have you ever seen one before?”
“No, but my parents talk about them. My mom even gets nostalgic about them.”
“Ha! I bet she walked five miles to school each day. In the snow. Uphill. Both ways.”
“That’s her. I’ll call her and send a photo.”
“Hey, I don’t have a signal!”
“Anyone have a quarter?” Continue reading
Someone stuffed a coffee into the president’s hand as he entered the Situation Room. He glanced around. If it was a full-blown meeting of the National Security Council, there were a few people behind him, but there were also a handful of extras, mostly from the military or intelligence. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs looked as groggy as he felt.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said as he took his seat. “Well, technically morning. What was so important that you had to get me up at 3 AM? Are we at war?”
“No sir,” the Director of National Intelligence said. He looked over at the director of the CIA. “Jim, can you brief the president?”
“Good morning Mr. President. Our sources tell us that the dictator of Iritastan has been assassinated.”
“Iritastan?” The president looked unsure. “I guess get State to write up a nice condolence and I’ll look at it in the actual morning. Where’s Carol?” Continue reading
PHOTO PROMPT © Kent Bonham
A car pulled up behind me as I was stopped at a traffic light. I didn’t often see a VW, so I studied it in my mirror. To my shock, there was no driver. When the light turned, it started off, just like normal.
Hitting a busy area, the car accelerated, moving into the oncoming traffic.
Thinking only by reflex, I rammed into the car as it passed. The impact pushed me into a parked car and my world went black.
I was later told that if I hadn’t stopped it, the autonomous self-driven car-bomb would have killed dozens.
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I was reading about Sub-Genre and decided to put in a comment. Only, my comment soon took a life of it’s own. (“It’s alive!”) It wasn’t long before I had an entire blog post. I hope you enjoy this little tale ;)
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“Hey, what’cha doin’?”
“That looks like the same book you’ve been reading for months. Are you rereading it over and over?”
“This is the ninth book in the series, moron. Can’t you tell the difference?”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t looked all that closely. I really haven’t noticed any difference in the covers. What’s up?”
“OK, if you are so blind, I’ll tell you. The first letter in the first word of the title changes for each volume. It’s super obvious.”
“What’s this series about, then?”
“This high school girl is a bit of an outcast. Of course she’s super pretty, ultra-smart, has the greatest personality in the world and comes from a rich family with all of the right social values, but her classmates just don’t understand.”
“Of course not. Poor girl.”
“She meets a mysterious boy. At the end of the first book she realizes that he’s a werewolf.”
“Not a vampire? Too bad.” Continue reading
PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb
I had collected it all, quicksilver lightning captured in a jar and a candle made of the wax from Cleopatra’s bees. Only the purest color yellow distilled from the sunlight in my window would do. The bit of our star must illuminate a painting representing my heart’s desire.
“Why don’t you do it the old-fashioned way?”
I jumped. I hadn’t heard Mom come in.
“Just talk to her. Girls like that, you know.”
“But Mom, the ancient magic spell will ensure it.”
“I’m sorry, the magic she used is much older than that.” Mom winked.
I’ll never understand girls.
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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 © Janet Webb. Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.
“Give it up, Ray. We’ve looked at this a million times. We see him entering.” Jorge pointed to a figure on a screen. “It matches perfectly. We’re even sure that he has the gun. This is the assassin. We’re sure. But he never left. I think he got through the electrical closet and used the utility tunnel. He had to have a key, so an employee. A maintenance worker, perhaps?”
Ray stayed glued to the screen showing more security video. “Stop,” he said. “Him. Right there.” He pointed to a man on the screen. “He never entered the building.”
“Oh, come on,” Jorge said. “This guy is a good three inches shorter than the perp. Different hair. No mustache. Walking different. It’s all wrong.” Continue reading