friday fictioneers – Kelley Farrell

Saoirse could smell the ocean salt clinging to his skin. She could still see the sunlight reflecting in his hazel eyes. This was where Julian belonged.

It hadn’t been good enough.

He had the ocean in his soul but around here the dark corners echoed of empty promises far louder.

She begged him. He answered their call anyway.

If I could go back, Saoirse wondered, when was the moment you decided?

His mother wiped her tears away.

“This is where he was happiest.”

Saoirse inhaled the ocean air and tilted the urn. They watched as the waves carried Julian away.

Word count: 100
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Day 339

Posted on May 11, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

Sometimes I forget to breathe.
It’s not that I don’t want to.
The air is just so heavy now.
Like at the end of it all we only had sins left
And they’re trying to smother the few of us that remain into non-existence.
Of course I survived, heaven nor hell wanted me.
I wouldn’t have pushed the button if I’d have known …
I’m forgetting again.
Today I saw it.
Squat pale sandstone in the distance and figures bobbing in and out.
The lab notes said they have a way to go back,
If they’ll let me in.

on-route-66-jean-l-hays

Word Count: 100
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No Business for Friends

Posted on April 26, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

Words blurred in and out of Delia’s focus. She slammed the book into her lap and glared towards the younger woman bound by ropes in the backseat.

“See, this is our problem. You never shut up.”

The woman blinked as the statement hit her but the gag prevented her from responding.

“Even now I can just hear you whining.”

The woman stared towards the slouching fabric above her despondently.

“I thought we were friends.” Delia mocked. “You know you can’t have friends in this business.”

The woman sighed.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Tomorrow I’ll pretend I never knew your name.”

Word Count: 100
For the always fascinating Friday Fictioneers, click the link and blue frog to read more.
I realize this is a beach and not a pier that you drop bodies off but you know … artistic liberties.

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Gathering Place

Posted on April 5, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

You always said the kitchen was our gathering place.

“Over fine food families are saved.”

We’ve finally begun washing away the smoke gathered on your plates. Odds and ends scavenged from charred remains gather dust among piles of bills. There’s a bill for every emotion it seems but our payment for grief falls short.

In your absence we gather under your favorite tree. We try to laugh but they burn our lungs on the way out, so we stand and pretend. Maybe we believe you’ll turn the corner, picnic basket in hand. Maybe if we just squint a little harder …

Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers, many thanks to Rochelle for herding us in.

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Modern Gods

Posted on March 29, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

The fates decided to mechanize after Atropos, a little overwhelmed with the increasing demands of the job, had her “spree”.

“Well, there were too many of them anyway.” She dismissed the fragmented lives with a sweep of her hand.

Clotho agreed, “I don’t think I’ve had a break in a few thousand years. They reproduce like rabbits.”

“I’ve heard talk that machines can replace gods.” Lachesis reminded her sisters.

“I’d cut their strings too if I could.”

Clotho shushed the old women, “This is insanity. If Zeus can use Tinder we can have a machine to spin thread.”

Word Count: 98
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First Date

Posted on March 24, 2019March 24, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

“Do you think they’ll let us go around again? Just look at the view!” Tom moved from side to side taking in the sparkling city lights.

Jane’s nails dug into the seat. She clamped her knees together, maybe that would keep her legs from shaking off.

“Tom, please just sit still. You’re making the car swing.”

His date was stiff as a board. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

“God, I wonder if this car can shake as much as you are?” He laughed when she shrieked. “I’m just kidding. Hey, maybe we can do this again on the second date.”

Word Count: 100

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Captivate

Posted on March 15, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

She appeared in the music shop window. An enigmatic child before Christmas breathing slow circles of lust across the glass. Day after day she faded in and out, inching closer to the gold plated door handles. Her rats nest hair, highlighted by shimmering grey, and clanging camping pots scared patrons away.

The day she finally slid her dirty fingers across the grand piano keys we knew. Whatever she unleashed, it was beauty the world wouldn’t be ready for.

People looked on. Phones took video. It wasn’t long before every mind became captivated.

We haven’t seen her in months now.

Word Count: 98
For Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

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Best Laid Plans

Posted on March 9, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

The plan was fool proof.

I picked up the dress – white lace and satin – and called the priest, well, six. That’s how many it took before I found a priest rogue enough to perform a Catholic ceremony in the dead of night.

All the man had to do was show up.

His bike leaned politely against the building as always. My knock echoed loudly only angering me more.

“Can I help you?” I stared at the woman peeking over his shoulder. “My wife and I were just leaving.” Rage burned through me.

That’s the last thing I remember.

Word Count: 98

Friday Fictioneers, many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click the link to read more.

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Chicken Little

Posted on February 28, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

Sia tapped an unsuspecting puddle with her toe. Startled it rippled away, gently distorting the realities reflected on its surface.

The ripples transformed her brother, straining to peer into the dark general store, to a boy scavenging after Christmas. Barren trees became crumbling sticks, not even good for fire.

The sky was falling.

“Something’s wrong.”

Marta’s back spasmed and her lungs burned as she coughed. Thin strings of blood stretched from her lips to the palm of her hand.

Only her son caught sight of the panic in Marta’s eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong Sia. Stop daydreaming and come on.”

Word Count: 98
For Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff Fields. Thank you as always.