Gramps thinks the machine-men are going to take over the world.  Said he saw his first one in the battle of Heartbreak Ridge.  That’s why he won’t buy Chinese or Korean goods – he thinks the Chinese started it.  But now he is convinced the US made their own machine-men.

Last night he ran out of the house, blasting away with his shotgun, shouting about machine-men.

Craig was working his 4-wheeler and the engine was in pieces.  In the morning Gramps pointed to the parts spread over the yard to prove he hit a machine-man.

Mom is looking into nursing homes….

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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.

I haven’t been keeping up with my blog in the last couple of weeks. Sorry if I didn’t read your FF post last week (I hit a few…) and just a warning that I might not read many this week.

Hi Em.  I know I said we’d go out tonight but I forgot that it is opening of Z-Guys Part 9 and I promised Seth.  Yeah, I know you hate Z-Guys, which is why I’m not inviting you.  What do I want you to do?  I don’t know, how about go out with Jen?  Her brother is home from college?  Yes, I remember, he was the star quarterback.  Voted best looking in his class.  He’d be with you? Fine.  I’ll give you call tomorrow.

“Dude! You’re skating on thin ice…”

As Z-Guys say…. he goes back to school on Sunday.

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word count = 100

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

I really like Grandpa’s study, but it is a bit creepy.  You see, he has a porthole to another world, a world that is strange and distorted.

My older brother tells me that I am full of beans, that I’m just seeing a mirror.  But why does it look so funny?  He said it’s “con-hexed” or something.  I knew there was magic involved!

When I asked Mom, she said, “Go ask Alice.  I think she’ll know.”

Who’s Alice?

And why did Uncle Bill laugh and call Mom “Grace”?

Grandpa is no longer here.

He must have gone through the porthole.

***

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.

We entered town on the old state highway, following the railroad tracks past boarded up businesses and huge, empty warehouses.  In my mind I saw the other side of town, the garden that grew parking lots, strip malls and fast food on approach to the interstate.

Those flowers of the 2020s wouldn’t do.

This plot of the 1930s, though, was perfect.

We stopped in front of an empty warehouse and I got out.

We could set up and nobody would know.

But then I saw the CCTV cameras.

Glancing at the boss’ casket, I left town. 

We’d find a place.

***

word count = 100

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

Waves of shimmering heat rose off of the broken asphalt.

I mopped my brow.

“Fields gone to weeds.”

“Yep.” Meg had said little beyond single syllables since we had crossed the fence.

We paused in shade where the Smith’s place once was.

Except that the lawn was now a hayfield, it looked fine, until we left.  The back half of the barn had collapsed.

That next oasis of trees beckoned.

A quick inspection relieved the worst of our fears.

Looking deeper, I could feel every year since we were evacuated after the accident.

“Home.” Meg had tears in her eyes.

***

word count = 100

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

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I may not get to many stories this week as I will be journeying home after (Covid enforced) years away and so will be off line.

“They’re sleeping,” the waiter said.  He bent down to Jimmy’s height.  “Have you ever seen a tree sleep?”

Jimmy, staring wide-eyed at the four large downed trees, shook his head.

Looking at the emergency tape and remembering the nasty storm the night before, I asked, “When will these ‘sleeping trees’ stand back up?”

“They missed their alarm this morning, so we aren’t sure.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be up real soon,” Jimmy said.

It was when we came by a few hours later to find all four trees standing and healthy that I realized that Jimmy had inherited my great-grandfather’s magic.

***

word count = 100

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

We were lost and tired. 

The cockpit crew died when our transport was shot down over the empty jungle. They were the only ones who knew where we were and which way we needed to go.

But we had to move.

Have you ever walked for days in a sticky oven with no food?  How about knowing a sniper could be in any tree, a boobytrap on any path?

We approached the ratty house, arms drawn. 

No luck.

It had been empty for decades.  Not a scrap to eat.

But we found a sign – Ashtabula.  

Port Cleveland wasn’t too far!

***

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“.

**

Ashtabula is a town in Ohio, a bit east of Cleveland. I wanted to say “Akron”, but the punchline would have been softened. I like the sound of “Ashtabula” better – it was used in A Bob Dylan song, “You’ll Make Me Lonely When You Go”. With the title and jungle warfare, I wanted people to think Vietnam, not Ohio ;)

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I was super busy last week and didn’t read many FF posts. Hopefully I’ll get to more this week.