friday fictioneers Archives

The Road He Built

Posted on December 11, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

When the wrecking ball crashed into his childhood bedroom the crowd gasped. Dawes felt glee tinged with betrayal.

He could practically hear his mom, “how could you?!”

It’s just a house. He reasoned her nonexistent voice away.

“But the land. Your father!”

Dawes found himself pulling up his bank account on his phone. One glance reminded him why.

Those zero’s are worth it.

The wrecking ball crashed through his family’s living room.

“You’re not MY son.” Years later it still stung but Dawes shrugged it off.

But I am his and he built this road. It’s always been his plan.

Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers

Bus To Anywhere

Posted on December 6, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

I think it’s my bus.

Then again, if you asked me whether the sky was blue, I’d say I wasn’t sure.

The bus rattles to a stop. A never ending flow of people disembark through its doors.

Maybe it’s a clown bus.

“Last call for boarding!” I’m not sure I heard a first call.

There’s no seats, only pillows spread over the floor.

It looks nothing like buses should look.

This isn’t right. Where’s this bus going? It can’t be mine.

“Anywhere and nowhere kid. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

I do as he says. Nothing makes sense anyway.

Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers

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Do Not Allow

Posted on November 20, 2019November 20, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

Friday Fictioneers Round 2

Damn, wine glasses keep getting bigger.

What used to be four is now two. And two, the equivalent of … six?

Math was never my thing.

But this wine …

One time I slipped into the basement of a winery. Oh boy, let me tell you …

They dragged me out a few days later, happy as Pepe LePew in a harem.

They pasted my picture around with a “do not allow” sign but you know, I’d do it again.

Word Count: 80
Number 2 for Friday Fictioneers (don’t ask why they’re both about being drunk)
See round 1 here

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Save Me

Posted on November 20, 2019November 20, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

I’m 45 years old and what have I done? Everything and nothing.

Died. More times than I care to count. They always manage to bring me back to life.

But have I done what I truly want?

Have I reaped the benefits of a wealthy childhood? Have I earned my parents coveted pride?

I don’t need to reach into the silence to hear an overwhelming “no!”.

And here I am, sliding away on stolen booze in a ships cargo hold.

I plan to be good and drunk by time they find me. Maybe this time they won’t save me.

Word Count: 99
Joining back in with Friday Fictioneers
See also round 2 of this weeks prompt here

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Lame

Posted on November 1, 2019November 1, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

The briefcase and half empty glass of juice meant only one thing.
Julia tapped her papers against the glass table.
“Why do you always do this?” Robin dragged his fork through the syrup running over his pancakes.
“Why do I always do what?”
“This.” Robin pointed at her briefcase with his dripping fork.
“Go to work?”
“It’s lame. When I grow up I’m gonna be a dancer.”
Julia leaned down to the boy’s level where his blue eyes pierced her own.
“That sounds wonderful. I know you’ll do that but until then …”
Julia lifted his backpack and ballet slippers.

Word Count: 100
For the always wonderful Friday Fictioneers

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Pin Cushions Look Like Tomatoes

Posted on October 24, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

“That things a voodoo doll.”
Lori kneeled down beside her sister.
“It is not.”
The duo peered into the room where Ms. Mack snored with her mouth agape towards the ceiling.
“Of course it is. Why do you think your stomach always hurts when we’re here?” Lori tapped the side of Jules head. “Think about it.”
“It’s a pin cushion you meathead.”
“No, a pin cushion looks like a tomato.” Lori nodded towards the coffee table where Ms. Mack’s sewing supplies spread over the edges and onto the floor. “Hers has little people on it. All the kids she watches.”

Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers

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Possession

Posted on September 21, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

I imagine the breeze rustling the trinkets dangling above me. I even hear them in some distant space, clanking against each other ruefully. I can see them battling for space, a place to occupy my mind.

I remember watching TV. Knights clashed their swords together for the attention of some distant maiden. Sunlight carves stark lines across my single mattress like the scales of a dragon’s belly.

I’m careful with this one possession. I lay still but not for long out of fear my waif body will destroy it.

I sink into the lines, willing the beast to devour me.

Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers

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In The Name of Control

Posted on September 11, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

It is an act of happenstance that humans age. We were supposed to be the all supreme, controllers of our environment and all that means.

At least, that’s what this book says. Personally, I’ve never felt one bit in control of this life. Try telling your military commanders or your knuckleheaded children to just go with the flow. They laugh in your face and tell you to put your glasses back on so you can see reality.

They’ll see one day. All these lies in the name of control will fall away. Someone will need glasses, it won’t be me.

Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers AND the RDP word of the day: happenstance
2 for 1! And Friday Fictioneers on Weds!

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The Floozy

Posted on August 19, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

The floozy next door thought she was perfect. Mia could tell by the way she smiled and let out that noise she called a laugh. It was nauseating and often accompanied by a playful hand on your shoulder.

Today there was some kind of shindig. Her overly bleached hair was piled on her head. She pranced down her drive with a glass of red in hand.

Mia’s husband ventured, like a moth to a boozy flame. The floozy’s red nails slid over his shoulder as her laugh trilled through the air.

Mia grabbed the hose, “I’ll take care of this.”

Word Count: 100
For Friday Fictioneers (greatly inspired by Patsy of AbFab)

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Things My Father Taught Me

Posted on August 2, 2019 by Kelley Farrell

My father was a gravedigger; taught me everything he knew.

Like that graves aren’t really six feet deep or that coffins and shrouded bodies require different things.

He taught me about the afterlife, murder and suicide. He taught me to wield a shovel whether I dig it in the ground or fight for my life. He taught me that those who feared death would be the first to die.

Mother never appreciated his gifts. “Unladylike.”

She never imagined I would own a yacht. I took her out to sea.

My father taught me a lot, like ignoring her screams.

Word Count: 99
For Friday Fictioneers – I know the picture isn’t a yacht.