The Legend of The Hewn Man – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Friday Fictioneers time! The challenge is to write a 100-word story in response to a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Follow the link to her blog for more information. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like, or comment.

2017 10 20

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

The Legend of The Hewn Man

A girl once lived where a mighty oak now stands. She possessed knowledge of nature and of love: the oldest and most powerful forms of magic.

When the hunters came, her lover stood between them long enough for her to escape. But men who seek violence will have it, one way or another. They opened him up from navel to neck, and left him where he fell.

The girl returned as a raven, an acorn in her beak. She planted it where his blood soaked the land and awaited his return, that she might nest in his arms once again.

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The Phoenix – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Friday Fictioneers time! The challenge is to write a 100-word story in response to a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Follow the link to her blog for more information. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like, or comment.

This is my first post in a while. I was off trying to write a dissertation. I don’t recommend it.

2017 10 14

PHOTO POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

The Phoenix

“Oh please,” she laughed. “You’re writing a story about a phoenix?”

“It’s a metaphor,” I said. “The phoenix represents my struggle against adversary.”

“Adversary? You mean adversity, moron. And what adversity? All you do is stay in your room playing video games and reading comics.”

She laughed again and her features morphed: her eyes became black voids, her mouth pinched into a sharp beak, her auburn hair caught aflame. I reached out a hand to smother the fire before it consumed me.

“Don’t touch me, freak! Mum!”

“Leave your sister alone.”

“She’s not my sister,” I muttered. “She’s my adversary.”

Graffiti – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Friday Fictioneers time! The challenge is to write a 100-word story in response to a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Follow the link to her blog for more information. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like, or comment.

2017 07 28

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Graffiti

Emblazoned across the station’s once beige tiles, a colourful scene was now depicted: A man stood with his trousers around his ankles, arm outstretched to deposit a coin into the public payphone. The artist had positioned the subject in such a way that if someone wanted to make use of the wall’s electrical socket, they would be forced to plug directly into the man’s naked backside. The crowd of onlookers wasted no time in obliging.

“Bloody kids,” the security guard muttered to the grey haired woman beside him.

“Quite,” she replied, smiling.

Her bag jangled softly as she walked away.

The Warlock – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Friday Fictioneers time! The challenge is to write a 100-word story in response to a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Follow the link to her blog for more information. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like, or comment.

2017 07 14

PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb

The Warlock

“A spell?” The Warlock said. “What does a boy like you want with a spell? Come, let me have a look at you”

He lifted down a heavy glass jar from a shelf. It appeared empty but was sealed with a large cork.

He shook the jar vigorously. A series of high pitched wails emanated from within.

“Pipe down that screaming; you’ll waste your oxygen,” he bellowed. “Now shine you no-good wretches!”

Upon his command, the jar burned briefly with a fierce brightness before settling down to a warm glow. He placed it on the table.

“Fairy lights,” he grinned.

I am – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Friday Fictioneers time! The challenge is to write a 100-word story in response to a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Follow the link to her blog for more information. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like, or comment.

HPIM0533.JPG

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

I am

I am insignificant.
I am the only thing I care about.

I am alone
In the company of all.

I have known more pain than many;
Less than most.

I do not know if love exists.
I trust that she does.
I do not know if God exists.
I hope that he doesn’t.

I can’t abide hypocrites.

I am selflessly selfish.
A martyr to my own cause.

I am a grain of sand.
Buried at the bottom of the pile, weeping
“Look at me now.”
I would climb to the top
To shout the same thing.

I am no poet.

Irrevocably Changed – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Friday Fictioneers time! The challenge is to write a 100-word story in response to a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Follow the link to her blog for more information. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like, or comment.

2017 06 16

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Irrevocably Changed

He reached for me. I hoped my flinch would be imperceptible. It wasn’t.

“Why won’t you let me get close to you?” He asked.

“You don’t know me,” I said. “I’ve done terrible things.”

He looked at me kindly; not with the scrutinising gaze I expected.

“These things,” he said. “Are you going to do them again?”

“I hope not.”

He pointed towards the full moon.

“Each time we see one of those, the world has irrevocably changed. Become the person you want to be; not the person you were.”

He reached for me again.

I surrendered to his touch.

Landslide – Friday Fictioneers

It’s Friday Fictioneers time! The challenge is to write a 100-word story in response to a weekly photo prompt chosen by our host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Follow the link to her blog for more information. Thank you to all who take the time to read, like, or comment.

2017 06 02.jpg

PHOTO PROMPT © Karuna

Landslide

I found the boy alone and afraid, where I knew he’d be. It was the same place I had been found at his age. Same pyjamas too. All those damn Quacks; what did they know?

He dropped his teddy as we evaded the landslide. That was different: mine had survived.

When we were finally safe, he fixed me with a look of pure adulation.

I slapped him, hard.

“You have to break the cycle,” I screamed. “You have to be better.”

I showed him my prison tattoos.

“Don’t grow into me. And if you do, don’t save the next one.”