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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.