Posted in friday fictioneers

First Date

“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.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Word Count: 100

For Friday Fictioneers (I’m late, I’m late!). Click on the InLinkz below to read more.

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Posted in friday fictioneers

Captivate

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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

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

Posted in friday fictioneers

Best Laid Plans

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.

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

Word Count: 98

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

Posted in friday fictioneers

Chicken Little

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.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

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

Posted in friday fictioneers

Dad Said

“When can we go home?” Arnie watched his mom battle with the campfire. She rubbed sticks together, cursed, then clanged rocks above the cold wood.

“Think of it as connecting with your ancestors.” A frog escaped his mom’s frantic fire starting attempts. He counted the colors in the sunset. Five. His ancestors could have probably counted more.

“I thought dad said we were Irish.” The rocks hit the ground with a muted thud as his mom sat back.

“Well baby, your dad said a lot of things.”

“Like, that he would meet us here?”

Arnie watched his mom look away.

PHOTO PROMPT © Renee Heath

Word Count: 100

For
Friday Fictioneers. Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields

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Posted in friday fictioneers

Knotted Hands

My grandfather planted this tree with roots poisoned after the war.
His father watered it, the seed which came before.
My father nurtured them, these roots of ruined fiber.
This tree grew ever higher.
Its fruit, rotting, my mother prepared for me.
She sweetened it, tried to soothe it down,
Nothing could disguise the smell of these roots rotting in the ground.
It falls to me, as this tree must be fed;
A living sacrifice of a life never lead.
I toss my children as far as I can;
Mutter the same empty words my mother offered
Over knotted hands.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Word Count: 100

A write for
Friday Fictioneers, roped in by Rochelle Wisoff Fields. I also think it’s Sunday (though I am not 100% sure). I’ve been writing my research proposal/thesis. I’m afraid I’m not good for much else right now.

Click the blue froggy to read more!

Posted in friday fictioneers

The Wild Things

The girls stared across the table at each other. Each clutched a brightly colored piece of paper in dirty fingers.
The warden tapped his watch.
“Which one’s it gonna be?”
Hana watched as her younger sister slowly unfolded her small pink slip. Janey’s face contorted into a silent victorious howl as she shot up from her old chair to take a lap around the room.
Hana slumped, defeated.
“Ok Hana, let’s go.”
“No!” Without thinking, Hana was up and running towards the muddy grass outside. “You’ll never take me alive!”

Her father groaned towards the sky, “It’s just a bath.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

Word Count: 100

A write for Rochelle’s weekly Friday Fictioneer’s. Thank you Rochelle for keeping it in line as always.

To read more click the blue froggy

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One Good Rebellion

PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer

“It’s soldiers; marching …” Liza stomped in place.
“I don’t know. What about a mass influx of downtrodden people?”
“Hannibal’s army rumbling over the Alps?”
“Liza, you’re always thinking war. What about the devastation left behind?” 
“Bea, those rocks are strong! Why shouldn’t they be troops marching to victory?”
“One good quake and they’d fall.”
“One good rebellion from your influx?”

A group of high-pitched voices chimed in, “There they are! Ready or not here we come!”
Liza tried to run but found herself face down in the dirt thanks to a stray rock. 
“One good rebellion.” Bea laughed.

Word count: 99

A write for
Friday Fictioneers wrangled in by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

To read more click the blue froggy below


Posted in friday fictioneers

Shelley Robotics

Will had built robots and explored AI since he was a boy. This new project presented new challenges but Will was ready to tackle them.

This one looked just like Sheila. Sometimes Will had to remind himself S2 was different. As she stood, unblinking, in the garage Will didn’t need reminding. 

Her arm fell to the floor with a soft thud. Will stared at the fleshy decomposing mass.

“Well, the robotic one is almost ready.”

S2 pulled her crumbling lips back like a scared dog baring teeth.

“We’ll work on that smile next. Sheila had the most beautiful smile.”

Copyright –Douglas M. MacIlroy

Frankenstein was first published in 1818. 

Word Count: 99

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers as always.

Posted in friday fictioneers

4:29 – Friday Fictioneers

Beep.

“Hey kid. It’s …. uhhh …. it’s dad. I’m here.”

Howling wind and feedback sent the signal fading in and out.

“Wherever here is. I think I found it. It’s on the train tracks … over a valley. It’s a steep valley, gotta be careful.”

Quincy squinted at the figure moving towards the tunnel in front of him. 

“Anyway, it’s 4:30, Sunday the … 30th. It’s … uh … it’s October. Hey it’s your birthday, sorry I’m not there bud. I know you’ll tell your mom I’m sorry. She never believed me.”

The message sputtered feedback.

Beep.

Quincy checked his watch, 4:29, the 30th of October. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn M. Miller

Word Count: 99

I’m super late on this one. I intended to write it back on Friday, then I intended to write it over the weekend. Thank you to
Rochelle for wrangling Friday Fictioneers.