Friday Fictioneers 4-2-2021

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

“Chris, your brother has something for you!”

Chris slammed the door. Just what he did not need right now. His mother. Just another fight waiting to happen.

Davies swung around when he entered the kitchen.

“It’s us,” he said in his strangely high voice, his way of responding to the fight.

“Who’s the one without pants or a shirt?”


He laughed. “Yeah, figures. Which one is me?”

Davies pointed to the cookie with the green sweater and necklace.


“You going to be Rock Star!”

His eyes met his mother’s. She smiled.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 1-22-2019

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

This week’s photo prompt is provided by H.R.R. Gorman. Thank you H.R.R.!


They lay in the blanket fort, staring at the mint green sheet above them.

“Tell me again, why the toilet paper?”

“In case we have to use the bathroom,” she explained with that 7 yr old I’m-smarter-than-you tone every child seemed to learn in the womb.

“We can’t go to the bathroom right across the room?”

“Not unless you want to be eaten by the Dingledort in the ch….chasem….”


“Yeah. In the middle of the room.”

“Ah, so cut off from the bathroom. Good thinking.”

She rolled onto her belly and started to color, pushing one of the books over in front of him. “You color the pink fairy wand. It’s protection against the Dingledort.”

“So, pink?”

The look again. The tone.  “Yes.”

He rolled onto his belly and picked up a hot-pink crayon, outlining the rose branch wand. “So when do we storm the castle.”

“This IS the castle.”

“Oh? Right.”

She looked seriously over at him. “You have to get with the program.”

“Sorry, I’ll do my best.”

“That’s okay, Dad, you always do.”






JulyMorgueFile file581316132183

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Thursday morning, August 24th. Allow the prompt to take you anywhere you want to go! (Limit your stories to 200 words.)

This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Friday night, August 31st, 2017.

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner


“It’s there again!” he said, peering out beyond the window shade.


“The green bicycle.” Whispered.

“Oh for God’s sake, Sam, grow up.”

“But it’s a spy bike,” he assured his mother. “Really.”

“It’s a bike, nothing more.”  She swished back into the kitchen.

“It’s not,” he whispered, still watching.

A window above the bike opened and a boy dropped to the sidewalk. He jumped on the bike and pedaled quickly away.

Sam ran to the door. He was just about to step outside, when his mother called.

“Sam! Come back and finish your supper!”



Sulking, he slunk back to the table. “Spies don’t eat peas.”

“Of course they do, Sam. That’s what makes them so sneaky!”






JulyMorgueFile file3771234848491

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner


“Do you think it would be good to eat?”

She cuffed him. “Birds aren’t for eating!”

“Of course they are! I know they are!”

“You are nothing but a silly boy. You just wanting to kill everything.”

The bird’s tail feathers twitched and both were instantly mesmerized, eyes taking in every detail. Bo-Bo flicked his tail, making silent meowing sounds.

Princess curled her tail, cuffing him again on the ear with one paw. “Stop that. You’ll scare it away. It’s pretty.”

“Pretty? Pretty? Who cares about pretty?”

She sniffed, just enough to show her disdain.  “Killer.”


“Take that back!” she hissed.

“You take it back!”

They tumbled together, teeth and claws. Neither realized the bird was gone until too late.

Both hissed, glaring at each other.

“What mother would name her kitten Bo Bo?”

“Better than Princess.”

“No it’s not! Princess is a great name.”

“Is not!”



Another bird settled on the fence.



“Good to eat.”




Response to JSW Prompt for 6-5-2017

Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 words. If you reply, I will re-blog your post to my site (sometimes I am slow at this, but I get there!)

I don't get mad...

“Damn it, Jason, where the hell are you?”

“Right here,” his brother replied, close enough to make him jump.

“Frick. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Too bad I didn’t. 

Marcus rubbed dirty hands on his pants. “Can you please stay here? Where I can see you?”

Jason shrugged. “It’s not my fault.”

“I know, I know,” Marcus sneered. “It’s the witches fault. She put a curse on me,” he complained in a fake high-pitched voice, not like any witch they’d ever come across. “At least appear in front of me.”

“Last time I did that, you almost shot me,” Jason pointed out.

Too bad I didn’t.

They smiled at each other.

“Well, shall we carry on?” Marcus asked.

“By all means,” Jason replied, sweeping his arm in a go-first gesture.

Satisfied, Marcus walked down the path. Behind him, Jason slowly faded from sight and disappeared.


Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 3-28-2017


photo-20170327143644962Photo prompt provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode.

Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.

3. Please credit photo to photographer.

4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try to stay within this limit.

She stood tall and straight before the piano, Archibald playing and their daughter, Maureen, turning the pages. She couldn’t count all the times they’d been like this, one happy family, surrounded by things they loved.

Most of all, she loved the picture of the Blue Woman. In her foolish times, she sometimes pretended she was the Blue Woman. Wondered about her life, her home. Her hopes and dreams. Wondered if, somehow, they mirrored her own.

She’d had dreams before marriage. Visions of singing opera on the stage to applauding crowds, flowers falling at her feet. But her father brooked no such nonsense, nor did her husband. She loved Archibald, but something inside her was being crushed by the very reality of her existence.

Something, she could not ignore.

It was late at night when she left, crying for the loss of her daughter, her husband, her family, but something pushed her on. Refused to let her go back.

Stepping into the horse-drawn carriage, hooves clattering stone, she sank back, peering out the curtain as she left her home forever.

Quote For The Day 12-28-2016

“Each New Year, we have before us a brand new book containing 365 blank pages. Let us fill them with all the forgotten things from last year—the words we forgot to say, the love we forgot to show, and the charity we forgot to offer.”
Peggy Toney Horton