There they were, just as I’d seen them a thousand times on TV, only now they were right in front of me.

It had been easier to get onto the set than I ever imagined.  Sure, it was a local studio in Podunk, but you’d think it would be tighter.

They were local celebrities, all right.  They went to all of the events and such.  People watched them every night.

And for what?

They called it “news”.  More like mainstream lies and Deep State propaganda.

Tonight, people would get real news.

I took aim and waited for the right moment.

***

Word count = 100

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

Yes, the clouds are beautiful, and, yes, looking up is one way to remember the natural world when surrounded by this artificial one called a “city”.  But, no, that’s not why I’m looking up.

My mother always told me I had an overactive imagination.  My father, when around, would just snort.

I remember once, when visiting the city, seeing that blue streak across the sky and knowing exactly what I saw.  It was him.  I could tell.

Of course nobody believed me.

But I believed, and do to this day.

And right now we need a superhero more than ever.

***

Word count = 100

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

*

OK, I borrowed the title from a Laurie Anderson song…

Jered studied the fields with a frown.

Heat cracked the rust-red oxidized soil, a dust devil, some scrub brush on the side.

But it was gone, all of the corn and beans.  A bit of shriveled brown and tan with a hint of yellow and green.  That was it.

This was once considered prime farmland with rich, black soil.

Or so his pa had told him.

But that was when a huge tractor plowed acres in minutes and the fields stretched to the horizons.

Before the heat.

He shook his head.

You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

***

“A brain, I have not.”

“But all living things have a brain.”

“Know so much about the Force of Life, do we? The brain of a tree is where, and life would you deny a tree, young Padawan?”

*

“What is this?”

“It’s a new remake of The Wizard of Oz.  It has Luke Skywalker as Dorothy, Yoda as the scarecrow, Darth Vader as the Tin Man, Jar Jar Binks as the Cowardly Lion…”

“Stop! Stop! Is this for real?”

“Why not?  It’s fun.  And Darth Maul makes one scary witch!”

“I think Disney has taken Star Wars too far…”

***

Please Note – Although Warner Brothers owns the rights to the movie The Wizard of Oz, the book, and so the story itself, is public domain… ;)

***

Word count = 100 (Not including my note about copyright)

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

***

“I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little R2 unit too!”

A day at the park is always exciting.  The roar of the rides, the screams of the crowds.  Music fills the air, yeah, hokey reproductions from another era, but everyone loves it.  At least at the park.

But today the park is empty.  There are no lines to stand in.  No smell of popcorn and hotdogs. 

A man sits at a solitary picnic table in a place that should have been crowded with tables and packed with people.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

“Where have you been the last six months, in a cave?”

I smile.  He wouldn’t believe me.

***

Word count = 100

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

Everything was immaculate.  Even the paving stones were scoured clean.

The throngs slowly filled the street sides like a rising tide.  They were subdued, yet an energy unlike anything before filled the air.

The parade was short, the members in it few, but the intensity was too much for some.

Hidden tears.  Hidden laughs.  Hidden jeers.

Still as a postcard, vibrant as the sun.

We waited.

When it was done, people walked away, quiet.

Would it be different?  Would a new world truly dawn?

Those are my memories.  That was what I saw the day they hung the last king.

***

Word count = 100

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

Everyone gathered, giving me sympathy. Yuck.  I love the anonymity of being an assistant.  Mr. Jameson tut-tutted over my foot and told me he would take it easy on me.  Even Ms. Evans stopped and patted my head like a sick child.  I doubt if anyone believed my story.  Fine.

Later, my other phone vibrated.  Nobody was around so I took it out.  Fingerprint, retina scan and 18-digit passcode later, I read the text message.

“Thanks for making the world safe, once again.”  It was the president.

Mr. Jameson had joked that at least I had some excitement.

I smiled.

***

Word count = 100

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