Sunday Photo Fiction 10-14-2017


“Ugly fellow.”

“Why would you say that?” Holding back irritation.

“I never understood those beards.”

Workers bustled around, packing the statue into a sturdy wooden box, ensuring each delicate part was safely secured, and screwing on the lid.  I marked the papers on my clipboard.

“They are fake. Worn for religious purposes.”

“Still ugly.”

I turned away to hide growing anger. One simply did not talk about the Pharaoh in such a manner. Remained turned away, watching the wooden box loaded onto the first truck. Tapped the driver’s window.

The driver pulled away.

“No worries, Your Majesty. Soon, you will be free to rule once more.”

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Friday Fictioneers 10-3-2017

He watched the island falling behind, harvest moon rising over the land like an omen.

“I will never come back here,” he said aloud, repeating the words in his mind. Never come back.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t do his duty. He would. Bravely and proudly, he would serve his country.

But, his eyes remained fixed on the island growing smaller in their wake, smudged to nothing by falling dark.

Soon it was gone.

He turned away, letting go of what he had lost forever.

——–

His mother held the flag from his coffin like she once held her son.

He was home.

 

Gone, Parts 1-4 9-28-2017

I had forgotten I was in the middle of this series. I started with the Daily Post’s One Word prompts, then ran out of time to continue. Part V does not have a One Word Prompt, but I might go back to using the Prompts for the rest.

Below are the links to Parts I-IV and I will be posting Part V shortly.

Gone, Part 1

Gone, Part II

Gone, Part III

Gone, Part IV

 

If you like this kind of continuing story, you can search “The Midnight Hour” on my site for another.

Enjoy!

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 9-27-2017

This week’s photo prompt is provided by shivamt25.
Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
1. A prompt photo will be provided each Monday pm to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.
2. Linking for this challenge begins on Monday pm and runs to the following Monday pm.
3. Please credit photo to photographer.
4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try to stay within this limit.
5. Please indicate the number of words in your story at the end of your story. (It doesn’t count into the amount of words).


“What?” he asked as if in dismay.

Giggles. “You…..” A fit of giggles.

He hid a smile, loving the light in her eyes, the strands of ash-brown hair drifting across her forehead. Laugh lines crinkling around her eyes.

He faked a frown as if her giggles insulted him. This just made her giggle harder.

Raised his hands in a ‘what’ gesture.

“Oh, Chris!” She laughed, pointing at his coffee cup upon which he’d rested his sunglasses. Lennon glasses, he called them.

“What? You don’t like meeting Mr. Lennon?”

Reaching out, she grabbed his hand from across the table. “You are horrible!”

He chuckled, twining his fingers with hers.

“So I’ve been told.”

They drank their coffee in easy conversation, as if they’d known each other all their lives, not just met at the counter less than an hour ago. They spent the day pretending to be in love. Pretending they had a life-time before him. Making memories they would both forget tomorrow.

Sunday Photo Fiction 9-24-2017

Walking in fall was the best, he decided, scuffing his boots through the leaves. He liked the nip in the air, the cold night, the shortening days.

“All right, time to walk on your own,” he said, lifting Andrea off his shoulders and to the ground.

Off she went, tottering and laughing at the crunching leaves.

He hadn’t wanted to take her when her mother died, hadn’t wanted the responsibility. She wasn’t his child, but he was as close to a father as she had ever known.

She tumbled, silent for a moment as if not sure whether to laugh or cry.

His heart melted. A career was a career. This was….

This was….. well, he didn’t know what this was.

Scooping her up, he lifted her above his head, spinning wildly to her shrieks and laughter.

She’d changed something inside of him, something vital, something he’d never wanted but now would never let go.

Dropping her down, he hugged her tight.  “Don’t you worry, baby girl. Daddy’s here forever.”

 

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 9-21-2017

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Pamela S. Canepa.

Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
1. A prompt photo will be provided each Monday pm to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.
2. Linking for this challenge begins on Monday pm and runs to the following Monday pm.
3. Please credit photo to photographer.
4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please try to stay within this limit.
5. Please indicate the number of words in your story at the end of your story. (It doesn’t count into the amount of words).


City Lights

“Up there?” she asked.

“Up there.”

“Why so high?”

“That’s where my rooms are.”

“Oh.”

The likelihood of getting lucky was falling fast.

“Couldn’t you get a room on a lower floor?”

“I don’t need two rooms.”

“I don’t like being up so high.”

“The building is safe. No chance of danger. Stairs. Elevators. Fire escapes. Everything in its place.”

“That’s what they said about the Twin Towers.”

Well, that put a damper on the conversation.

The taxi pulled up to the front of the hotel. Opening his door, he slid out, leaning back down to look at her. Thumped on the roof of the taxi and stepped back.

His phone chirped. “Hey, babe. Good. Yeah, just getting back to the hotel.”

He headed inside, listening, nodding, shutting the room door behind him.

“Look, I’ve got to go. I’m beat. Gonna shower and crash.”

He stopped, slowly loosening his tie. Stared out the window at the darkened city beyond. Car lights like stars.

“Yeah, baby” he replied softly, “love you, too.”

(165)

 

Sunday Photo Fiction 9-17-2017

© John Robinson

UCLA’s campus lay deserted, shaded dorm windows honeycombing out like cells in a beehive. A quiet break from the push and pull of students searching out tiny grains of knowledge, buzzing here and there, carrying each nugget carefully back to their cell at night.

His sneakers made little noise on the pavement, hands stuffed in jean’s pockets. He’d be gone soon, a semester at Julliard, a dream since forever. The band thought they’d lost him, or would lose him, once he arrived to the esteemed halls.

Who cared if the band he’d inherited here was called The Pink Marshmallow? Names changed all the time (and this one would). What if they only played tiny clubs and dark basements? Venues changed.

They would be famous one day. He wouldn’t allow otherwise.

The band met him at the curb.

“We wanted to wish you a good trip,” Jay said.

Chris hugged each one. “See you after Christmas.”

He’d given up convincing weeks ago. It was enough he knew he’d be back.

A taxi pulled to the curb. Giving them a thumbs up, he slid inside. Julliard might be a dream, but those four, they were his future.

Leaning back in the seat, he began to hum.