PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
I had the dream again.
When was the last time I saw him, and did he bring my son? My son they thought I’d drowned, but didn’t.
Then it was tomorrow, then yesterday, then now, but the fog was so thick I could barely find the daylight. I made my way to the window, to place myself in Place, if I could not pin myself to time. Bedsheet around my neck.
I touched the glass, but didn’t feel it. On the other side, a hornet crawled my palm. My hand, that held the baby down.
That clever wasp was free.
Hello Fictioneers! It’s been awhile. I couldn’t resist some dark madness on this wintry morning when I saw this shot of an abandoned New Jersey mental hospital. If you’re familiar with the movie The Others, you’ll probably get where I was going with this. If you’re not familiar with it, you’ll probably think I’m mad. And you may be right 😉
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting this weekly party and thanks J Hardy for the inspiring photo. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, visit the links via the blue button below:
St. Helena Island | © kyle williamson, Google Maps
They were fighting again.
Derek could read his mother’s moods like a seasoned meteorologist and something had happened while he’d sat on the precipice and sketched for the past hour.
Mom’d showed up, arms folded, mouth taut. “We’re going back to the ship. Now.”
Dad was all false cheer on the drive back to the boat, sneaking sips from the silver flask he kept in the front pocket of his Bermudas and going on about Napoleon and what a treat it was to finally see such a historical sight.
At the harbour store stop, she returned with a bottle of gin.
“Looks like someone means to have fun,” Dad said; the chuckle that followed rang hollow.
She shot him a dark look before turning to Derek. “Someone seems to think this trip isn’t fun at all.”
Derek looked down. It wasn’t, if you wanted to get all honest about it.
This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw. My apologies to the people in this photo. Not sure why it inspired this sad family drama, but it truly had nothing to do with them.
To read more stories inspired by the prompt, click here.
How Aaron and Scott had mocked the old outfitter as they left the store—called him Grizzly Adams and fell into fits of laughter while admiring their new boots and studying the map.
It was Minnesota: land of shopping malls and Vikings football. It was July, for God’s sake. What could possibly go wrong?
Scott was gone now. There was no one to laugh with—not that Aaron would.
The gear was long lost: the canoe, compass, the matches. Even the Bowie knife and the new boots.
And Aaron was finally realizing: the old man was right.
Another edition of the Friday Fiectioneers. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting, and Jennifer Pendergast for the marvelous photo!
Joe first saw the Saab just east of Des Moines, when it nearly clipped an old Chevy by darting past a busfull of Baptists.
And there it was again, outside of Iowa City. Top down: the woman jabbering on her mobile as she roared on the on ramp, blaring her horn at a shimmying Winnebago.
Around DeKalb, the black convertible had slowed to a crawl. The woman never even paused to look up from her texting as Joe passed her.
Not long after, she was on his tail, laying on the horn before leapfrogging across four lanes of traffic.
Three hundred miles of these antics, her always in a hurry and then inexplicably behind him again, weaving around as if the lane lines were only suggestions.
And so, when he saw her parked at the lakefront bar, he could hardly believe his luck.
Joe nestled his rig inches from the driver door. He chuckled as he got out and admired his parking job. She’d never get into her car, let alone extract it from that spot.
He stretched widely. There’d be no sleeping in the rig for him tonight. No, tonight he’d get himself a nice hotel.
This has been a selection for Alistair Forbes’s Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge–where participants are encouraged to contribute 100-200 word flash fiction based on the prompt. To read more or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button.
A Friday Fictioneer fail–this one weighs in at 104 words.
PHOTO PROMPT © G.L. MacMillan.
Havon was a gentle man. When she’d come by with the swollen eye, he’d made a compress to soothe it. And when she came in crying—two months gone with Mister’s baby—Havon had made her tea.
Today, she’d limped in clutching bruised ribs from where Mister’s boot had landed.
Havon walked to his window and took a bottle from the highest shelf. “Two drops will take away the pain, but any more is deadly.” He handed her the bottle. “I won’t expect to see you back. Not like this.”
She hurried home with the tincture curled into one fist. Mister’s dinner would not be late.
This has been another edition of the Friday Fictioneers–where writers from around the world contribute their own 100-word story for the prompt. To read more stories or submit your own, click the blue froggy button:
To learn about the Fictioneers, visit our talented and gracious host Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
PHOTO PROMPT – © Kent Bonham
It was where we said goodbye. Where he kissed me on the forehead and we made promises: me to be a good girl and him to be back Friday.
We didn’t even stay to wave goodbye. Mom had a meeting and when she dropped me off at Daisytowne she said, “I don’t know why you’re crying. It’s only three days. Why do you have to be such a brat?”
I couldn’t tell her I knew.
I counted the days anyway. They told us about the crash on Friday night.
After that, I didn’t even try to be a good girl.
This has been another edition of the fabulous Friday Fictioneers, hosted by The gracious Rochelle. This weeks photo courtesy Kent Bonham.
To enjoy more 100-word flash fiction entries based on the prompt, or to submit your own, click the froggy button:
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PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
“I daresay, you should give it a poking.”
“What a saucy lass you are. Get on the bed and I shall give you a proper poking.”
Danielle fluttered her eyelids and hid her expression. The Duke’s attentions could mean an escape from the kitchen. Who knew? Maybe even nurse… and a room upstairs. But she had to keep his interest.
“Good sir, perhaps instead of the peaches, you’d prefer something sweeter.”
“And what do you recommend?”
“Perhaps a cherry?”
Below, an ambulance blared by the hotel and the Duke broke character. “Can we just get naked? Our reservation’s at 8:00.”
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