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

Fire in the Night

“What do you see?”

I see the future. I see you and me. I see my heart exploding. I see a million fireworks. I see galaxies.

I feel it all within me.

I see our first kiss, unintentionally wonderful. I see awkward laughs and gentle embraces.

I see lives intertwined, threads to a needle connecting time. 

I see my past fade away at your touch.

I see light fill empty spaces.

“What do I see?”

I see I’m in love with you but I can’t tell you that.

“It just looks like a fire dying in the night to me.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

Word Count: 100

For
Friday Fictioneers, massive thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for wrangling this massive flash fiction challenge in every week.

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

Click the blue froggy for more

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