Category Archives: Fiction

Short Fiction

A Faded Rose from Days Gone By

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

I remember her clearly, the oversized suitcase, the faded rose on her jacket.

Later, at the diner, I asked a local about her.

For at least 30 years she had gone down to the bus station daily and waited for her lover to come take her away.

Funny thing was that the dark-haired stranger had jilted her long before, back in the 1950s.  She had waited patiently for him until she was 41 and began the crazy ritual.

I saw her the next day, the spring beauty just beneath the snowy old surface.

I wonder if she is still waiting?

***

Some of you (if you are old enough) may recognize this as coming from the song Delta Dawn (or try this if you like Tanya better than Helen), only I set it 30 years later, say 2003, when poor Dawn is in her 70s, not her 40s (the song says 41).

***

Word count = 100

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

Storm #writephoto repost

Photo by Sue Vincent

(This story was posted almost exactly a year ago, on 2/14/2020 (Valentine’s Day!) With Sue not able to put up a new write-photo prompt, I decided to revisit this one :) And a reminder to visit the Carrot Ranch Sue Vincent Rodeo Classic.)

I felt the turbulence as she entered the room, the low pressure system sucking the air out and drawing all eyes in.

A flash of lightning struck as she glanced around the packed room.

The crowds parted as torrent moved forward.

She didn’t even see me as she passed inches away, but the gale force winds turned me with her.

She went at the bar.

People turned back to what they were doing.  The music came back on.

I remembered to breath.

But then I saw her again.  I drew in a sharp breath.

My mind clouded up.

How dare I even think I could even speak to one such as her?

Continue reading

Cold Storage

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

It was not a job I was looking forward to!

Aunt Margret was always more than a bit eccentric, and she had that side to her which, well, let’s just say that more than one family member said they were happy she never had any children.

Her storage unit, which was my responsibility, was not pleasant.

Damn, I’d have to call the county about disposing of hazardous waste. And what was up, did she rob a pharmacy?

So there’s her dog Baxter!

What did that say on the mail package, something about remains?

We always wondered where Uncle Harry went…

***

Word count = 100

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

Deeper #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

It had been a hard day.  I went straight to my room and flopped down on the bed.  I didn’t even take off my jacket.

Deeper and deeper into the abyss. 

I didn’t try to sleep, just stared at the ceiling seeing nothing.

Black, only black.

My cell rang.

Swirling water, a whirlpool, sucking me down.

Continue reading

Galvin – The Old Mill

Galvin is… Well, Galvin is Galvin.  There is no better way to describe him than that.  Some would say he is “a character” or “a bit of local color”.   Others might shake their head and mumble “eccentric” or “oddball” while still others would say “every town has their Galvin.”  Gill isn’t so sure – he has never met anybody quite like the strange, little old man. 

Strange, of course, is a matter of opinion, but “little” fits to some extent.  Galvin is small and wiry, perhaps 5 foot 6 and 115 pounds, maybe less, but surprisingly strong.  In ways, “old” is more attitude than age.  Galvin is in his mid-60s, but has always tried to put himself up as older and more experienced.  And there is something about him that if you didn’t know, you might place him closer to 80 than 60.  Yet he is active and agile, spry as a 22-year-old.

Galvin loves to tell tall tales and can spin quite a yarn.  On the other hand, doing a little research you might find that some of his most outrageous claims about the town’s history are true.

Continue reading

Escape?

PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas

They are coming!

Shhhh.  Close your eyes.

I can’t sleep with them out there!

This bit of woods is special, a fairy forest.

Their guns are real, not fantasy!

Shhh.  They are fairies of light, of good.  The magic is powerful, but you need to believe.

Believe?  Now?

They have a trail in the trees, one our enemy can’t see, because they are rough and can’t believe. You need to believe.

I hear them!

Close your eyes and see.  We can catch the rail, escape.

But…

Shhh. Close your eyes.  Do you see?

Yes…

“Stop, or we’ll shoot!”

Let’s go.

***

Word count = 100

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

**

Remember – You do have to believe, keep that hope alive, even if you’ve reached the end of the track….

The Old Mill – Released!

A stench lies on Avebury, New Hampshire. It isn’t something that one can smell, it is more of a psychic soot polluting everybody’s mood. No one recalls when it arrived, but there does seem to be a connection with the Old Mill and its mysterious new owners.

*

Following the trail of the local legend, the ghost of Martha Goode, Gill Baxter is driven to discover the truth behind the events of 1821 and, hopefully, prevent another “time of dying.” That trail, though, leads directly to The Old Mill.

***

The Old Mill was released today! You can find it on Amazon with the links below:

Kindle
US
UK
France
Canada
Australia
India

Paperback

US
UK
Canada
France
Germany
Italy

Continue reading

Jessica Franks – The Old Mill

Jessica Franks is, as the saying goes, 35 going on 16.  Or do they say it the other way around?  It doesn’t matter, since for Jessica, the first statement is completely true.

Back when she really was 16, Jessica Wallace (her family name) was an intelligent, vivacious young lady with a bright future.  A romantic at heart, she found dark corners of the library to read love poems.  That romantic side also showed itself with her fantasies about that cute 22-year-old programmer that lived next door to Amy, Gill Baxter.  Gill, for his part, attempted to ignore Jess and her group of friends, The Inseparables, so Jess flirted with him to get his attention.  All of the time.  And in not-so-subtle ways.

But then things changed.  Or perhaps, they didn’t.  The world moved on, and the pages of the calendar flipped, but Jess seemed to be frozen in time.

Continue reading

Lyndsey Wallace – The Old Mill

Lyndsey Wallace is living the dream.  She love, loves her job and is zipping her way up the org chart like nobody’s business.  She gets up every morning raring and restless to get started and yet looks forward to when she might achieve her true dream, being the head of research.  And that goal now seems within her reach.  Only…

Only…

She isn’t sure what’s wrong.

It has to be the move.  The move is frazzling everyone’s nerves. Ripping everything down and rebuilding it.  Reworking every process imaginable.  Ugh.  Her last few weeks have been a nightmare!

Yes, yes, she always loves the challenge.  The sense of accomplishment when she solves the impossible, well, there is nothing quite like it, is there? And there is that energy she gets from doing it all, slaying one daunting task after another.

In many ways, the move has been a test, and she has been acing every problem. She felt fantastic.

Maybe it’s not the move.

Continue reading

Appointed #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

It seemed that every time I opened the door they were there.  They followed me when I walked and even when I drove.  They were everywhere.  And, no, it wasn’t just my imagination since a few people commented on it.

The wings were beginning to drive me crazy.  Why was I being shadowed so?

We all know what happened next, and the less said, the better.

Yep, lucky me, I was a survivor.  A one in perhaps ten million survivor.

Only it wasn’t luck.

As I explored the new, emptier world, I still had my constant companions. The wings stopped bothering me and became welcome.

The world was not just emptier, it was lonelier and so I tried to communicate with my new “friends”.  I slowly began to understand them.

No, it wasn’t luck.

I discovered that I was the region’s appointed survivor.

They knew it was coming and wanted a representative human to keep around for a while.  You know, as a warning. 

For some reason, they chose me.

Continue reading