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.”

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Extinction – 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 23

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

Extinction

The signpost was crude: a human handprint, stained on wood. Christian stared at it.

“Is that blood?”

Argus shrugged, “No ink around here.”

“What lies beyond?”

“Extinction. The other side of the mountain is a hunting ground for predators: the changed kind. Head that way alone; nobody will bother looking for you.”

“You don’t like me, do you?” Christian said.

“‘Like’ doesn’t come into it. Our community hasn’t seen a new face for years. Suddenly you show up with tales of people moving back into the cities: ‘Rebuilding’, you say. Which begs the question: how come you’re here, not there?”

(Can I tell you I love you in a) Clichéd Love Song? – 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 16

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

(Can I tell you I love you in a) Clichéd Love Song?

How do you capture the sky?
In blue, grey, pink, or black?
Tonight I’m going to try.

Forgive the rhyme,
I’m nervous.
I thought I’d write a song,
But I can’t make it through this line without asking you to “come along”
Or “make me feel like I belong.”

The universe is infinite.
And you’re so close.
Is it divine retribution
Or cruel joke
That says you’ll never be close to me?

Please
Be close to me.

I don’t ask much.
I just need you such
That I would spend my life alone,
For a moment shared
Alone with you.

Awakening – 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 09

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Awakening

The Guardians protected this place during the earliest wars; fought between gods, not men. After the truce, they patrolled the water’s edge lest conflict return. There they remain, hardened by time.

The stone relics seemed mightily unimpressive: another of Ma’s fairy stories. Brigid aimed a dismissive kick at the nearest, then froze. Had she imagined the pulse of light that radiated from it? Reality swam away, leaving her in a bubble. She reached for the relic, needing to feel solid stone against her fingers.

Brigid!

The membrane popped. She reeled back. Sky filled her vision before water flooded over her.

Biographer – 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 02 23

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

Biographer

“I suppose you want my final thoughts?”

I nod, embarrassed.

“I wish I had died young,” she says, irritably. “To be cut down in one’s prime is a luxury afforded to few. Those are the lucky ones: those who never wilt and grow old; who never experience the decay of body and mind.”

“My mother wasn’t lucky.”

She eyes me sympathetically.

“She was, my dear. It’s you who were not. And now you’ll have to go through it all again, poor thing.”

The resulting silence is definite, save one request.

“When you write my story, tell them I was beautiful.”

Therapy – Friday Fictioneers

Happy New Year! Apologies, I’ve been absent from my blog for a while. Too busy to write 100 words each week apparently. How does that happen? Anyway, it’s Friday Fictioneers time again! The challenge is to write a 100-word story in response to a weekly photo prompt chosen by our wonderful 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 01 12

PHOTO PROMPT  © Victor and Sarah Potter

Therapy

“How do you mean, ‘tired’?”

“I don’t know,” I avoided her gaze. She looked like the mother of a childhood friend. “It’s not like I’m unhappy all of the time. I have moments, days even, when I feel fine. But when I’m low, I recall those happier times as though I had to fight to feel that way. I’m tired of fighting. I’m exhausted. Like a fly caught in a web, waiting to be consumed. I’m terrified of spiders. Did I mention that?”

She didn’t answer. My story had put her to sleep.

I left when my hour was up.

Nothing – 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 12 01

PHOTO PROMPT © What’s His Name

Nothing

Christ, it was cold. Colder than his marriage bed, these 12 years since Mary passed.

She had loved the farm, and she had loved him. He tried to comfort her with talk of heaven, but she would only smile and say, “Nothing could be better than here.”

His hot whiskey piss burned through the layer of ice in the outhouse toilet. He let out a chirrup of delight. Small victories.

Somehow he knew this would be his last winter. The thought warmed him.

Perhaps Mary was right. Perhaps there was no heaven.

And, perhaps, nothing could be better than here.