friday fictioneers – Kelley Farrell

Fried Okra

Posted on October 24, 2020October 24, 2020 by Kelley Farrell

“I was surprised you agreed to get BBQ with me.”

“Why? I know the importance of good BBQ. I am from here remember?”

“Debatable.”

“Oh, fuck off, it is not.”

He tossed a sugar packet in my direction.

“For your ‘unsweet’ tea.”

I stared out the window, wondering if things would ever be the same.

“Seriously, what are you going to eat?”

“Well, I do love fried okra.”

“You’re going to eat fried okra? That’s it?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think anyone likes okra that much.”

“Blasphemy. Fried okra is the best okra.”

Brief smiles.

Sighs.

“Why are you here?”

Word Count: 99
Returning to Friday Fictioneers , after forever, with an only dialogue piece.
PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sure Thing

Posted on June 19, 2020June 20, 2020 by Kelley Farrell

We aren’t born with murderous intentions.

Walter’s a good man. He would do anything for those he loves. He’d never hurt a fly.

That’s what I hate the most. I need someone with a spine, someone not afraid to push back and knock me around.

I clutch the ladder until my knuckles go white. In my mind I can see Walter tumbling head first two stories down.

My muscles tense, ready to rip the ladder from under his feet.

“Honey, I don’t really need you to spot me. Can you get my toolkit?”

I relax, my fingers loosen.

“Sure thing.”

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Salt

Posted on May 29, 2019 by 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
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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
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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
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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

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