Bad influences – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry! 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.

2018 07 13

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

Bad influences

Mama never heard the monster, but she saw the results of its tutelage and she wasn’t impressed. She beat him; warned him to stay away from ‘bad influences’.

So he locked the monster up and threw away the key.

Now Mama was gone.

The day she got sick he heard a distant clanging; a rattling of metal bars. The volume increased incessantly until the day of the cremation.

She’s gone, a voice chuckled. But I’m still here. I can protect you.

Just let me out.

He removed the lid from the urn. Amongst the ashes lay a rusty, iron key.

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Like ships in the night – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry! 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.

2018 06 22

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier

Like ships in the night

The airing cupboard was still housed in my old bedroom. With great effort I squeezed myself past the water tank into the hidden recess behind, a feat which had been much easier as a child.

It was still there! Penned on the wall: ‘Thomas, aged 8’. The relief was immense: like finding something you didn’t realise was lost, then realising how much you had missed it.

As I prepared to extricate myself, I noticed a second scrawled message: ‘Max, aged 7′. Another boy had lived here; shared this bedroom; discovered this secret spot! I wept uncontrollably, not fully understanding why.

Absurd Bird – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry! 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.

2018 06 15

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Absurd Bird

“It’s not a ‘hissy fit’,” I explode. “I’m intellectual; deep: an artist! I should be Poe: writing hauntingly melancholic poems about ravens.”

He roars with laughter, pointing.

“Look! Your muse!”

There, struts the campest creature I have ever seen. This thing really puts the ‘cock’ in cockatoo.

“That’s…ridiculous.”

“It suits you. You absurd bird.”

I smile, defeated. He kisses me.

I close my eyes, soul expanding, but never feel the touch of his lips.

 

He evaporates, my imagined love, along with the scene. Leaving me alone.

 

The mirror reflects a familiar look of disappointment and mild amusement.

“You absurd bird.”

Holes – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry – my first in a few weeks! 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.

2018 06 01

PHOTO PROMPT © Connie Gayer

Holes

“What are you doing?” The boy asked.

“Digging,” the man replied. “One hole for every life I couldn’t save.”

The boy gazed out across the horizon.

“How many?”

“Enough for you to understand that I’m not the hero you’re looking for. Go home kid, I can’t help you.”

He watched the man a while longer, then silently picked up a shovel and joined in the work. By the end of the day he had added two holes of his own to the already pockmarked landscape.

“Who are they for?”

The boy looked down at his blistered, bleeding hands.

“My parents.”

One of life’s simple joys – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry! 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.

2018 04 27

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

One of life’s simple joys

The sun burns down relentlessly. Beads of sweat swell out from the dilated pores of bronzed skin. A volleyball spins atop a finger with effortless skill. And a shirtless, immaculately chiseled Maverick prepares to return serve.

Wait.

Things have gotten weird.

“Why are we really watching this, Grandma?”

~

Of all the films that have ever been made, she chose Tony Scott’s 1986 classic as the one to watch one last time.

I love her for that.

I can’t remember our last words to each other. But we’ll always have Cruise. We’ll always have Kilmer. And we’ll always have Top Gun.

The Dragonfly – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry! 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.

2018 04 13

PHOTO PROMPT © Yarnspinnerr

The Dragonfly

I sat before the fan, mesmerized. Entombed between the bars; back broken; wings flickering lifelessly in the breeze, was the body of a dragonfly. Its emerald coat, now faded and grey.

An earth-shattering crash shook me from my trance. I ran to the balcony. On the street, a crowd gathered around an unidentifiable shape. The air was dust, screams, and tears.

Later, Mother comforted me. She said it had been a terrible accident and that the lady was in heaven now, with the angels. I couldn’t tell her the real reason I was upset.

Nobody had cried for the dragonfly.

Repeaters – Friday Fictioneers

Time for another Friday Fictioneers entry! 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.

2018 03 31

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

Repeaters

The first one I saw was a woman. She emerged from the woods sobbing in relief. After a while she became agitated: pacing around the treeline as if looking for someone, before reluctantly going back in.

There are six in total: old friends who met for a reunion meal. We call them ‘Repeaters’. It’s kinder than the alternative, and they might not even be dead. The man didn’t seem to be.

“Hold tight to your friends and don’t lose track of time,” he said, looking through me but not at me. “Or one day time might lose track of you.”