I watched the palm trees do their calisthenics as the rain lashed the restaurant window. 

The flight was obviously cancelled again and so here I was, stuck in a stupid hotel as Ralph or Romeo or whatever the Hell they call him grinds up central Florida.

I gulp the whiskey instead of sip it.

Damn, it was just my luck, wasn’t it?

One thing after another.  Would I ever get a break?

My phone vibrated.

Next launch window in two weeks.

Come Hell or high water, or both at once, as now, I’d be the first man on Mars yet.

***

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.

What was he doing at the garden center?

It had been a long day, perhaps something deep in his subconscious told him to do this to relax.  Plants were calming, weren’t they?

Five minutes later he was leaving with a live plant.  There was something irresistible about those flowers.

It was funny what the checkout clerk said.  These plants had been selling like hotcakes since they arrived and yet the stock hadn’t been depleted.

Perhaps he’d do better with these than most plants he’d tried.

In the huge silver spaceship, the beings were happy.  Their invasion was going as planned.

***

word count = 100

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

I remember Pastor Jim using the captain’s console as a pulpit and the choir sitting up front. We’d all watch from shore.  After a spot on national TV, he was a star.  Took all the money and built the church of his dreams.

That place?  Really?

We’re a small town, you know.

And now that he’s made the big time, he’s selling the boat?

Well, sort of. 

Sort of?

He was awful, people only came for the spectacle of his being on the water.  Pastor Jim is selling the boat to raise funds to convert the church into a restaurant.

***

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.

I’d just passed into the backyard through the breezeway between the barn and
house and froze.

Light!

I stared straight ahead and thought, “Straight ahead.”

The light that appeared without a sound had straight edges and the shadows
of my legs were parallel with those edges.

Impossible.

I turned towards the glare in the breezeway, using a hand to shield my eyes
from the UFO.

“Hi!  Come here.”

The alien sounded just like John Brewer.

Stepping onto the drive I only half noticed that the light,
which spread everywhere, was channeled by the breezeway.

“Check out my new electric car!”

***

OK, the first thing I noticed about the photo was the crisp lines… For some reason my first thought was “Arriving UFO”

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.

*

I’ve been away from about a month and may not be 100% back… I will try to read everyone’s stories, but might not have time to catch all. (edit – maybe not so hard if this few people join this week!)

I had a pretty good life.

Well, OK, maybe not so great, and that ending…  Did I just say “well”?

Maybe I should say I had a pretty good after-life.

Had.

I loved mixing with the people, that look on their faces when they became aware that I was there!  Priceless.

Ah the memories!

And then the put a glass tabletop over my well.  My well! 

And suddenly, here I am, a tourist attraction.  All the jerks trying to get pictures of me with their cell phones.

I’ve become a tourist attraction.

I could just die.

Except I’m already dead…

***

word count = 100

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

I came to a stop on Linden Circle.  I was about to go on when I noticed the sign and sighed.  I had to make the call.

“Hi Mr. Driscoll.  You know that it is public property and changes need to go through the proper channels… “

“Oui.”

“When can you put the real one back?  I don’t want to fill out an official report.”

“Quatre heures et demie.”

“Make it so.”

“Oui, Officer Perkins.”

I hung up and stared at the French teacher’s latest bit of what the town called “vandalism” and he called “study aides.”

“Arrêt.” 

I laughed.

***

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.

I lived there until I was six.

We just rented the ancient museum-like house.

I have clear memories about the place, but many are based on childish fantasies.

I remember my brother and sister talking about a flying saucer landing at the adjacent school and I half remember seeing it as well.

There was the little old lady at the spinning wheel.  Did I see her or was it just the suggestion repeated over and over by older siblings?

The town has changed so much, but the house is still there.

I wonder if the spinning wheel is as well…

***

word count = 100

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

*

Yes, based on reality. I don’t remember seeing the flying saucer, but I member all three of my siblings talking about it for years after the event. I don’t really remember the spinning wheel in the attic, but I remember telling my neighbor that I saw it moving by itself and I know I believed it, even if I now don’t have the image (I was not allowed in the attic, which is a kid magnate). I will not say how old I am, but let’s just say Jimi and Janis were still alive when we moved…