Tag Archives: Fiction

Now I am the Master

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

It was a place where myth met history.  I was proud to be looking up at the ancient buildings.

I had heard stories of when the place was full of life.  Servants and magistrates scurrying across the brick courtyard, scattering the children at play.

Now it was empty.

Empty, but it was as if they had left a few minutes ago.  I expected to see a person at one of the doorways, offering a treat.

It had only been two years since the great plague.  Seems like a lifetime.

I wagged my tail and barked, so happy to be there.

***

The picture seems to be taken from a dog-eyed point of view, or a very small child. I’m assuming the camera was about two feet off of the ground.

So the story.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ © David Stewart. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

Every Day is an Adventure

PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox

“We blame this indignity on you!”

“Moi?”

“Top predator and all.  Thought you’d have a taste a bird, huh?”

“No, he wanted some frog legs!”

“You’re bigger than me!  I was just playing.  Kitten, remember?”

“Right.”

“Hey, don’t blame me.  You are so obsessed about your frogdom that you had to jump in that water.”

“To escape you…”

“You wouldn’t escape jumping into Tommy’s bath!  And you idiot birds followed.”

“We had to help our friend!”

“If only your brains weren’t made of stuffing, you’d have the answer.”

“How long before we dry and go back to Tommy’s bed?”

***

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.

Wreath #writephoto

Photo by KL Caley

“You freaking idiot!  It’s people like you who are destroying the country!”

I ignored the outburst, just like everyone else in the restaurant.

Well, not quite.

I ignored it because I had grown used to these types of things over the last couple of weeks being in town.  The rest ignored it because it might be them the next time.  They all were just like these two and any one of them could be in the next in a fight or argument, it just wasn’t their turn. 

I had heard of the village, of course, and knew it was supposed to be charming, but after two weeks there on business, I grew to understand why it wasn’t the big destination it should have been.

A big part of it was that the political divide that I believed was ripping apart the fabric of society was even worse here than any place I’d seen.  I was almost surprised that there was no real violence.  And by that, I mean gun battles.  Perhaps that was the next step.

Part of the problem wasn’t just the people arguing over it, it was he extreme to which it was taken.  For instance, the people I thought should be acting from caring compassion instead pushed their agenda out of anger, spite and a weird sense of superiority.  This got me even more than the ones who acted on hate, fear and self-interest. 

The selfishness of the people went far beyond politics and economics.  Every day actions were filled with it.  People did the bare minimum for others out of duty to their employment, but no more.  Others helped people, but out of deep felt obligation, not because of any deep warmth for fellow humans.

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Neighbors #writephoto

Photo by KL Caley

I was walking down a residential section of the city when I stopped to look at the two doors.  I smiled and gave the doors a tip of my black hat.  It was possible I found my man.

Or whatever you call them.

A man walked out of the well-lit Number 4, stole a frightened glance at the darkened Number 2, then started to walk away.

“Sir, one moment,” I said.

The guy jumped.  Then spun around.  I could see beads of sweat appear on his forehead.  People often don’t see me, so that he walked past me without a second glance isn’t surprising, but that frightened reaction, well….

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Last Embers

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

The room was dark and drab, the flowers looking more funeral than cheerful. 

The sunset over the river, though, was different.  Seen through the window the bright reds and oranges did speak of endings, but the colors were also filled with life and hope for the future.

“Red at night,” Dave muttered.

It only took a second.  Dave knew it would be over by the time he turned from the window.  Nobody would know, nor blame him if they did.

For the moment, though, he watched the last dying ember of daylight, ignoring the dimming light on the hospital bed.

***

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.

Perhaps He Has a Point…

PHOTO PROMPT © Bill Reynolds

“I don’t have a mortgage or pay rent.  If I don’t like the view out my front window, I can just go someplace else.  I have everything I need.”

I had given him a few brochures about shelters for the homeless and cards for people to help him find a job.  He handed them back and asked why I felt such a need to turn him into a person like me.

Look, I’m just trying to help my fellow man.

Funny, as I waited for my town to be rebuilt after Ian, I saw his trailer in an abandon lot.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Bill Reynolds . If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

Monthly Gathering

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

“Hey, Ma, come look at this.”

“One minute.”

I finished the transaction and grabbed the basket with a few jars of canned fruit and veggies.

We walked through the little booths and trucks that had gathered in the middle of the dusty plain.  I only glanced at the goods and food on display.  Some looked interesting, but I knew the basket would be my only purchase this month.

The truck Jimmy wanted to show me was at the edge, near the solar panels and charging stations.

I stopped.

“What are those?” Jimmy asked.

The tears came unbidden.

“Flowers,” I said.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Jan Wayne Fields. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

Life, Second Hand

PHOTO PROMPT © John Nixon

They say many have a special place that is all important.  They become part of it and it becomes part of them.

Others have an attachment to a defining thing, or even an idea.

I have been thinking about my life and wondering. What else can I do with the time?

I can remember sitting in Mother’s lap as she told me how pretty I will someday be in my wedding dress. She never called me pretty.

Perhaps I was more fixated on the dress than the man.

That same dress I was wearing as my new husband murdered me.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ John Nixon. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

**

I have been away from Friday Fictioneers for a few weeks. I am hoping I will have time this week to read other posts…

Ooops. a Little Late

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Never a thought for anyone but himself.

I drove home, that self-righteous voice narrating my way.

He would mutter his “’Morning” and paid no attention to me after that.

And then yesterday he snapped when I dared walk into his office!

Seems to think he can do everything by himself?  Fine.  Let him cross the Styx by himself.

Imagine my surprise when I got home and found the single rose and the note apologizing for his behavior as he finished his super important project at work, the note that promised a special second honeymoon where ever I wanted to go.

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Dale Rogerson. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.

A Cold, Spring Morning

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

What a rough night.  It’s Spring, but still frigid, and last night’s rot-gut barely cut the edge before it was gone. I was shivering so much that I even spilled some of the precious fluid. 

Well, I have been shivering even when it is warm for a while, and sweating even when it’s freezing.  Stupid world.

Damn, though, it’s cold.  I can’t move, seem frozen to the spot.

I don’t remember coming to this garden, but all I see are flowers and people in heavy coats.

Here comes someone with a blanket.  Why did they put it over my face?

***

word count = 100

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo by @ Na’ama Yehuda. If you want to join or see other stories, go to the inlinkz linkup.