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.

Posted in friday fictioneers

Friday Fiction

When I was a little girl I pressed my nose against the glass of my dad’s old Volkswagen as we passed under bridges in the city. I puffed great smokey blasts of fog to draw little hearts and “hellos” in as the sleeping men tossed in their bags.

“Dad, why don’t we help them?”
“They have to help themselves first.”

There was a woman beneath the bridge today snapping pictures of our homeless communities. Preserving our tents and bags in rough black and white photos for exhibit.

“Don’t you want to help yourself?”

I hear they feed you in jail.

camera-ted-strutz
PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

And Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


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