Tag Archives: short story

Shore – #writephoto

shore

Shore – Photo by Sue Vincent

I looked at the faces around the dinner table.  There wasn’t a spark amongst them, they all looked tired and about ready to fall down on the spot.   It had been rough going and the future didn’t look any easier.

That was it.  Something had to be done to keep everyone upright.  After dinner I sat and thought about it.

It was obvious that we as a family were unstable and likely to collapse, and that we as individuals were almost as bad.  I knew that I was pretty close to that point where the gravity of the situation might take over.  I needed something to hold myself together, to prop me up.  I knew that if I was stable, it would be the first step in keeping us all upright.  One solid beam could do it.

But how do you fix the foundations of a person and a family? 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

Enigma – #writephoto

enigma

Tortor was a warrior and understood how the world worked.  He shook his head as he looked around the earthworks and the stones.  He approached the man who was obviously in charge.

“Hey you, what’s your name?”

The man slowly turned and studied Tortor as if he were an insect.

“They call me Tim, Tim the Enchanter.  What do you want, Tortor the Stonehead?”

Tortor’s mouth dropped.  It wasn’t just the insult, but he had no idea how the man knew his name.  Regaining control, he tried to drill holes into Tim the Enchanter with his eyes.  Failing that he said, “Look here, Tim, I know a thing or two about defense.   The ditch needs to be on the outside of the earthwork, not the inside.  What good is this going to do when the defenders can’t reach the wall and the attackers will just climb right over it as if they are out for a Sunny-day picnic?” Continue reading

Final Celebration

dale-rogerson-pizza

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

I knew there was trouble when she left a message that she was celebrating our 15th anniversary.

It had been 15 years since the divorce, not the marriage.

Hey lady, we split because you had the affair, not me.  If my second marriage worked and yours didn’t, well, I’m sorry.

She didn’t answer or return my calls.  That was bad.

I used my spare to key to enter her apartment.  It was filthy.

I found the partially eaten pizza with the powder on top, the empty medicine vials and the half bottle of wine.  Then I saw the body.

Word count = 99

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

Stones – #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

“See here,” wise Beandor said to his young pupil, Therry, “This arch, though appearing so weak, is very strong.  Although the walls may crumble, unless the keystone is disturbed, the arch will stand and bear weight.”

Beandor used his staff to tap the keystone of the arch.

“This arch has allowed people into this temple for over a thousand years, protecting our town of Kernsh from every attack.  Look at this ancient place, overlooking the mighty ocean, it appears weak, and yet it is so strong, like our people.  Our fair country, Aladia, seems fragile, and yet it is just these points that keep it whole.”

Therry studied the arch.

“That is a point of power,” Beandor said.  “Knowing where the keystone lies.  Often the seemingly weak is really the strong, and yet there may be one point, the keystone, that holds it all together.   With the weight of the building pushing this stone down, making it stronger, do you know how to remove it?  Once you do, power over this building is yours.  When confronting an enemy, always try to figure out his keystone.  It may not be the leader or the bravest warrior, just as the keystone of Kernsh is not the castle or mighty Verith, our protector.” Continue reading

Shadows of the Heart

jellico3

PHOTO PROMPT © Jellico’s Stationhouse

Mom tried to hide her tears when she was in my room.  I only smiled.

It was spring.  I knew Mom had gone down to the park for her walk.  I’m sure the park was filled with kids with their kites and balls and bikes.  I could imagine them playing and running and riding.

With my eyes I could only see the blank ceiling, but with my mind I could see more, the shadows etched in heart.  I knew what Mom saw as well; a shadow of my forever empty, lonely bicycle, the one that I’d never ride again.

Continue reading

Gold – #writephoto

gold

Photo by Sue Vincent

People have often called me a “49er”, though I didn’t make the journey across the country until ’52.  I was young and foolish back then, but I guess we all were.  I had “gold fever” as bad as the worst of them.  Stars in my eyes and a spring in my step, yes sir, I was going to stake a claim and strike it rich.  Ha!  Even if I did make that first wave in ’49, it would have been pert-near impossible to get rich.  By the time I got there, well, there were opportunities, but not in prospecting.

Of course, by the time I arrived, I was a different man with a different goal.

Early on I had joined a party of farmers who were moving west to set up some sort of religious commune.  I’m not sure what they were about, because they only did their thing in privacy, but during the day they acted like everyone else.  It wasn’t safe to travel alone or unarmed, so we struck a deal.  I’d stay with them for safety in numbers and they would get my gun.  Not that I was any type of fighter, but they were peaceful Christian folk that saw no use of weapons.  I grew up on a small farm in a backwoods section of Kentuck and ate what I shot or didn’t have any meat but the occasional chicken. Continue reading

Authentic Pirate Cruise!

fatima-fakier-deria1

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

The sign said, “Harbour Cruise on a Pirate Ship!”  The three-master seemed out of place amongst the huge cargo ships, but we had to do it.

I was surprised that before we reached open water, the captain steered us between two hulking vessels.  We were soon surrounded by skiffs, the masked crewmen all carrying AK-47s.

The passengers were taken out, distributed in the small boats and then blindfolded.  The skiffs motored around for a while before returning us to the pier, where blindfolds were removed.

By the time I realized my wallet was missing, the ship and sign were gone.

Continue reading

A Leaf

Drawing of a leaf in ice, a human body can be seen in the leaf

Consciousness slowly flowed into Seb, like the tide over the sand flats.  Nothing is there, and then you notice the waves coming closer.  Eventually the water is at your feet.  Seb noticed the glow long before he became aware that he was awake.  Hearing and feeling, like his consciousness, faded in a bit at a time.  First it was a numbness that admitted “numb” was not necessarily “nothing”.  It slowly grew to cold and pain, while the slight ringing in his ear grew to a ringing roar.

In the back of the roar Seb could hear the continuing battle.  He could feel the ground shake from the concussions.

“But Mother,” Seb said, “You always say things like that.  You call me special, and yet every child of every mother is special.  If we are all special, then none of us are.”

“Ah, but to a mother they are all special,” she said.  “And you are.  You, Seb, are extraordinary.”

“No, I am a nothing, a nobody, like everybody else.”

Seb thought back.  He tried to understand how he ended up face down in the cold field. Continue reading

Empty – #writephoto

An field with trees barely visible through the early morning mist

I awoke at dawn, as always, even though his alarm obviously didn’t go off.  I wasn’t hungry, so I did my morning walk through the wisps of the dying fog on getting up.  Breakfast could wait.

The fields, ever my friends, called my name and welcomed me as I forged a path through the dew-damp weeds.  The wet cold of my shoes kept me cleanly in the present, forcing me to take in the splendors of the new day.  The distant trees, still a mirage only glimpsed as the sun burned away the mist, for some reason reminded me of him.  My heart beat faster, as my brain told me lies.

“He is out there, just over the next little hill, behind that little splash of woods.  He’s there.  Hurry, you can catch up,” my brain seemed to say, against all logic. Continue reading