Tag Archives: Fiction

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.

Mission Impossible (Wait, Wrong Show)

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Brother Ray oozed from the ancient ex-police cruiser’s updated speakers.  The 440 Magnum purred counter melody, ready to scream forth if called on.

We were on a mission from God.

OK, maybe not, but trying to follow Jake and Ellwood, we needed some divine help.

“Are you sure this is where they filmed it?”

“Yeah.  See the ‘L’?”

“No way could a car go 110 through there.”

Dan popped out the cassette and put in the Peter Gunn Theme song.

“It’s night, we’re wearing sunglasses, hit it.”

A member of Chicago’s finest put an end to it before it started.

***

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.

Eldorado?

PHOTO PROMPT © Carole Erdman-Grant

There was a rumor that one town survived the collapse and continued on as if nothing happened.  After Mark was murdered for a 15-year-old can of green beans, I went in search of the modern-day Eldorado.

I kept my treasure close, a real-life paper map, printed a decade before the collapse.

There was a red “X” on one town.

I’d find it.

Three months, at the map’s “X”, I saw a glow on the horizon.  That was it!  I hadn’t seen such a glow since the collapse.

The next day I found the recently burned-out husk of my dream Eldorado.

***

word count = 100

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

Lost

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Just two blocks from the theater district and the world had changed.

The city had always frightened Kim.  She would never think of straying beyond her comfort zone, but here she was.

Robert had dropped her for the matinée in front of the Wang, not the Colonial. She had never walked there, but was it really that hard?

“Ma’am, wait, hold on…”

Kim barged forward to escape the dark face calling to her.

She didn’t see it until too late.

Now when she visits the city, Kim makes sure she spends time in “her neighborhood” with the “world’s friendliest people”.

***

I drew a blank at first, but the photo reminded me of a section of Boston close to the theater district. It is an area that someone from a rich suburb who never visits the city might find scary, though it isn’t at all, and few spots int he city are scary during the day… So, a little story about the breaking of unfair biases…

***

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.

The Door

Photo by Anonymous (use only for Friday Fictioneer prompt)

It all stopped at the door.

The door was spotless and gleaming.  The little alcove between the door and the iron gate was filled with dust and debris.  The gate had never opened in Robbie’s memory, but every so often a potted plant would appear, as if to shout that there was life beyond that door, and just as suddenly it would disappear.

Robbie often wondered what lay beyond that door.  In his imagination he saw a beautiful princess awaiting rescue.

With a sigh he turned back to that wasteland that once was a city, years before he was born.

***

word count = 100

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

In a Dime Store Novel

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Inspector Darren sighed.  Never in his life did he expect to be investigating a real “locked door” murder, as clichéd as something in a pulp mystery novel.

He turned away from the gruesome exhibit and studied the bookshelf.  Who was this woman, Ms. Peterson?

Hmm, Italian, French and English.

“Three copies of Les Mis’.  Figures.”

He reached out to take one then jumped back as a head appeared.

“Who let the cat in to destroy evidence?”

“Nobody, the cat is right, hmm….”

Inspector Darren smiled, pulled the three copies of Hugo uncovering the latch.  Just like in the cheap paperbacks.

***

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.

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.

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Guarded #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

“Nowhere.”

Tom glanced over his shoulder at Cheryl.  She just watched her feet as they trod the almost empty landscape.

He wasn’t the type to pry, and thought he did pretty well to only bring it up then, but it did bug him.

Where had she gone?

After dinner she had said that she needed a short walk to help digest.  Fine.  Alone.  Not a problem, he’d go back to the room.

She showed up over two hours later.

Not a word was said. 

In fact, very little was said at all since then.  She was quiet, guarded, all through breakfast, only speaking in mono-syllables if spoken to. 

They were there through an odd series of coincidences.

Tom thought back as they hiked across the open moorland.

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Return #writephoto

Photo by Sue Vincent

It’s getting cold, very cold.

I look up at the dark ridge where I last saw him silhouetted against the sinking sun.

It continues to scream its emptiness.

I had always heard that he was the type to hold a grudge, so was a little surprised when he called me. After a nice, amicable chat we decided to go hiking in the mountains.  We both loved getting out into the fresh air, though I had to admit that he was a better, stronger hiker.

He drove us out into deep wilderness.  Perfect.  We didn’t see a person all day.

I have no idea what happened.  The day had been long and I was very tired.  Making mistakes. Having a hard time with footing.

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