Category Archives: Friday Fictioneers

Waking up in June

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Waking up in June

Hey Koolaid, get your summer on
Morning dew, I don’t back down.
School’s out, summer!
Playground, dayground, butterfly garden
I can swing so high the chain goes slack
Squealing on the breath-catch dizzy-down.

Ready or not, here I come!
Barefoot and coppertoned, hear my rally:
I’ve got a pool pass, wanna see it?
Olly olly oxen free
Jarfull of night and firefly
I don’t see no streetlights;
I can stay out late ya know

Twenty-five cents buys a fresh box of crayons
Didja wanna know a secret?
Look inside:

I’ve got a million colors.

98 words

This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo courtesy J. Hardy Carroll. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, click here.

A tidbit for you….I am actually in this picture and so are two of my daughters. The place where this is taken is one I’ve gone to for forty years and this particular ride has always been among my favorites. It’s rare thing (and growing rarer) to have such tangible connections to one’s childhood. And nothing says childhood to me like a poem I wrote several years ago, so rather than write something new, thought I’d share a drawer-poem.

As always, thanks for reading.

Karen

She’d Known Too

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Do you understand?”

Instead of answering, she stared at the partially opened door of the bedroom closet.

He leaned into view. She forced a nod.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t say something. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.”

At that, she shot a sharp look. A look, that after eighteen years of marriage, he could read like the road signs on their street.

“There hasn’t been anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just that…I guess I’ve always known.”

He patted her hand. A friendly pat, a brotherly pat. All along, she’d known too.

100 words

This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo courtesy Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, or to submit your own 100-word story, click here.

Unanswered

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

My mouth went dry as I rounded the corner. I’d heard the sirens converge from all around—but it wasn’t until the I saw the lights playing on her building that I let the thought complete. The awful thought.

I never liked that place, not once.

“First apartments are always crappy,” she’d laughed as I helped her hoist the boxes up the narrow stairs.

Her bedroom window—now broken and black with smoke.

Please answer, please. I pressed the phone to my ear.

This is Gia, I’m unable to take your call right now–

I hung up and dialed again.

100 words

This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo prompt courtesy J Hardy Carroll. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, or to submit your own, click here.

The Closer We Get

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Dad was waiting at the dock. Arms folded, the chill wind rifling his steely hair, his jaw set.

Before I’d left, we’d had nothing but disagreement—each of us holding down the polar opposite on every issue. Somehow, I imagined that had changed while I was gone. He’d overcome every objection to technology and set his alarm for 2:00 am just so we could Skype twice a week. 6,500 miles between us and we had never seemed closer. But as I got close enough to read his face, I realized: we’d never been further apart.

95 words

This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo courtesy Ted Strutz. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.

Sweetwater

PHOTO PROMPT © Danny Bowman

Henry crossed the Sweetwater for the third time that day. He was thick in Cheyenne country, or so cautioned the pamphlet that had lured him on this journey. He had not seen a living soul since Jackson. The pamphlet had been right about little, Henry mused as he wiped the film of sweat and dust from his forehead. With providence, the land of Oregon would be as rich as promised. Leaving Ohio seemed rash when he considered the miles of barren land he’d seen since Laramie. What manner of people would choose to live here?

And then, he saw them.

100 words

This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.

It seems like every time I try to toss my hat in the ring for the Fictioneers, I get busy with one thing or another and do not get a chance to read and respond to all the Fictioneers like I mean to. This week looks better, so here I am, showing up for the party.

The Bigfoot of Little Gulch

PHOTO PROMPT© Jan Wayne Fields

It was Brian who was first to laugh after the old man left.

“Backwater bozo,” he muttered. He followed up by snapping a branch in two and hobbling around the fire. “Get out while you still can,” he gibbered, waving the stick at us.

We finished the beer by midnight, then sat back to watch the last sparks of the fire spiral up to the sky. Such an idyllic spot, we thought.

We woke up to the howls.

I sat up. Brian fumbled for his light. Steve shushed us. We held our breath. In the dark outside, a branch broke.

100 words

This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo courtesy Jan Wayne Fields. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, click here.

Her Need

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

She was in the bathroom, staring in the mirror, with that look she got sometimes. Like no amount of heat could make her warm.

I didn’t need this now. Not with the mother of all meetings tomorrow. The whole Cybertown deal rested on my presentation. I needed to sleep. I needed be sharp. I didn’t need her need.

I realized then I could turn around. She hadn’t seen me. I could slip back out, through the bedroom and down the hall. She could deal with this herself.

She was so very pale.

I walked up, touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong, dear?”

101 words

This story was inspired by a similar story which Brene Brown shares in one of her wonderful books, although I can’t recall which one because I’ve read and loved them all. I’ve taken some fictional liberties with the fictionalized account.

This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the talented and generous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This week’s photo prompt courtesy Rochelle! To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.