Janet dropped her fork and gasped. I could feel the disapproving eyes of the couple at the next table.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“The ceiling blinked at me!”
A sidewards glance at the smirks. “Blinked?”
“Yeah, right there it opened up and for a moment I could see a tunnel of colorful tile that stretched forever.”
A waiter appeared. “Is everything alright?”
As I was trying to formulate a response, the ceiling opened and sucked the laughing couple at the next table out of the room.
“Yes,” I told the waiter, “but can I see the wine list again?”
***
word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.
Dawn spread her multi-colored spender across the sky, painting each cloud with her brush.
Stan took a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out, a routine that sent bolts of energy charging through his body.
He took another step out of the lush, tropical green onto the ledge, getting a better view of his little slice of paradise and the shimmering ocean beyond.
The golden glow of the clouds faded as the sapphire sky deepened.
The warm sea beckoned.
“When will a freakin’ rescue ship ever come to take me from this God-forsaken place?” Stan muttered.
***
word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is hereand uses a photo by @ Bradley Harris. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.
I hate cities and this one was no different, dingy and grey. The crowds of people, far too many and far too close, were as washed-out and lifeless as the cold concrete.
I passed a pavilion filled with sterile art. I steamed by, dismissive until I noticed.
Bright colors of nature in the form of traditional Japanese art.
I caught my breath.
The artist was painting a new scene, fresh as a spring day.
“How…?” I pointed.
He smiled.
“Beauty is not out there; it is in here.” He touched his heart.
Print in hand, I explored the beautiful city.
***
word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is hereand uses a photo by @ Brenda Cox. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.
**
I don’t remember when I last participated in Friday Fictioneers. It was a busy December! I hope to be able to start back up again :)
He’s the only one who gave us good information during the chaos.
Don’t matter one iota.
He did a lot of public projects that helped millions.
Means nada.
He…
So, you are excusing his behavior? Justifying it?
Of course not. I’m saying that the good work still exists even if performed by a monster. Think of Wagner’s music and…
…and it is still the music of a monster, just as all of his “public projects” are just that, so much “public defecation”. He’s a politician…
But what about your guy?
He’s a businessman, not a politician.
Now there’s your manure…
***
word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ LIsa Fox. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.
****
(Trent, stay out of politics!!!!) There is a big name (which will remain nameless ;) ) that is once again in the news. Yesterday someone I know said something along the lines of how good they thought some of the things he did back when he did them, but now that they know what type of a man he is, it is obvious that those works are actually awful. This person isn’t a fan of the businessman, but I have heard people use that argument…. Anyway, fiction, fiction, fiction, not my opinion!! ;)
Although I guess I had always known, it was really at her funeral that I realized how different Mom was from her younger siblings. Looking down the row of mourners, I thought she might have been even more different from hers than I was from my own younger siblings.
It was brought home even more when I overheard Uncle Pat talking to Aunt Ann at the wake. I don’t remember everything, but the way Ann said, “She was so much like our mother in oh so many ways,” that struck me. Pat nudged her after that statement and tilted his head towards me.
The alley was empty. Soon it would be full of delivery trucks and people preparing for the day.
Del half noticed that the lamps were dark and the street light. It was the other way around when he was heading home to change after the gig.
He hated his work and was always tired.
As the newbies they played their three sets after the popular bands had played theirs. Made for late nights and small audiences.
He played through a tough line in his mind, wishing he had time to practice.
“You’re late,” Bob said as he opened the door.
***
word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Roger Bultot. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.
Everyone was sure it was the end of the world as they knew it.
The storm began with a huge surge and hurricane winds. Lightning struck the church, taking the steeple and roof.
For days everyone hunkered in their houses waiting for the end.
When the storm subsided, they knew they still had to face the invasion fleet.
The sails of the mighty flagship appeared. And then another ship.
But that was it.
Where was the fleet? Why the white flags?
The seasick remnants of the invading army surrendered in the burnt-out church.
Life for the town was forever changed.
***
word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Ted Strutz. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.
(The angle of the view made me a little seasick, so… ;) )
Where four and ten meet we have a flying four in common? Right?
Of course, Daddy.
So how does Santa get in here?
Down the chimney, of course!
I mean the diagram.
So do I.
But…
Look at the three convergent points…
Flying four, flying platform and flying Santa?
…and you have the answer.
But I don’t get this truck…
It is meta, Daddy, what is so hard about that?
And you say that is me in the middle, where everything intersects?
Of course, the provider of Christmas gifts.
I don’t follow…
It is hard explaining set theory to adults!
***
word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Jennifer Pendergast. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.
(This story appears in my book, Seasons of Imagination. An earlier version was posted here years ago.)
“Careful, we don’t really need a drink now, do we? Gotta pay more attention.”
Stan stood shivering with delayed reaction as he watched the raging river flow by just below his feet. A week of unusually warm temperatures and pouring rain had melted most of the remaining snow creating a torrent in place of the usual babbling stream.
“They don’t call it ‘mud season’ for nothing,” Stan said out loud as his attention was drawn to the slick spot that had almost tipped him into the rushing water. The bank had eroded into the river taking a good chunk of the path with it. The mud around the cave-in made this collapse doubly dangerous. He’d only just caught his balance in time, his momentum carrying him to the edge of the void.
The reaction of his near fall had shaken him more than he cared to admit so he stood watching the water, waiting until his nerves had settled down. Mount Nodbadigat, which appeared to rise directly out of the river, caught his attention. He had seen this small mountain a thousand times but never noticed its unique shape. It looked like something but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Trying to puzzle it out he unconsciously took his jacket off and tied it around his waist. Feeling calmer, Stan shrugged his shoulders and turned down the path away from the river and mountain.
The conditions were perfect for an early spring hike. Technically it would still be winter for a few more days, but how often does New Hampshire see 70 degree weather in the middle of March? Stan had played hooky from work to get out and walk off some of his cabin fever. He loved to see the seasons change and it wasn’t often he got a chance to walk in Nodbadigat State Park quite this early. He was glad he did, for it was beautiful, a monochromatic masterpiece built largely of browns and grays. The pines supplied splashes of green, but it was a dark green that tended almost to black in the distance. Many of the trees were beginning to bud and some shoots were sprouting, all of which added spice and accents to the stark and dramatic play of dark trunks and golden sunlight.
Wow! Cool beam weapon! Is this part of the Planetary Defense?
Kid has some imagination… No, it’s just a telescope. We use it to observe the cosmos.
Oh, I get it, secret identity and all. Turned one way and it gathers light and lets you see billions of light years, turned the other and it concentrates the light into a super beam. You can both see them coming and shoot them down.
I’m sorry, this is purely scientific.
Right. Your secret is safe with me.
*
Command? Identity of Planetary Defense Weapon Six on Keck has been compromised. Please advise.
***
word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Douglas M. MacIlroy. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.
It has been months sine I joined FF! I took a short break, and the short break seemed to stretch on and on… Not sure how easy it will be to visit everyone, but I will try….
Trent's World (the Blog) 