Friday Fictioneers 7-2-2018

 
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


He sat frowning, frustrated, staring at the small workstation stuck in the corner of the room. It wasn’t like he couldn’t write here, but the lack of space, and freedom, irked his sense of creativity.

Picking up a guitar, he stepped onto the balcony and settled into a chair, strumming softly. Singing softer, words for his ears only.

The sky was bright blue, fluffed with clouds. A breeze nuzzled his hair and, for the first time in days, he was content.

Music rolled off his fingers, words from his tongue. Angels bending down around him, whispering in his ear.

Advertisements

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- June 28, 2018

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, June 27th. 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 Thursday night, July 5th, 2018.

 

pexels-photo-626164 shadowPedro Fogueras pexels-photo-626164 shadow

 

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner


It was the nightmare again, always the nightmare, trapped in a gauzy world of nothing on nothing on nothing.  The Notherworld, he called it. A nothing world. Full of nothing. For nothing. For nowhere.

Only for the dream.

As always, he called. Searching. “Maria! Maria!Maria!”

Always answered by the strange silence hung in that land, a silence made of nothing.

Stumbling through a white eternity. The Notherworld wastes. No Santa Claus. Not in the nightmare.

When he woke up in the morning, he was still clutching her teddy bear. Knew she was gone forever.

 

 

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- June 27, 2018

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, June 20th. 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 Thursday night, June 28, 2018.

pexels-photo-462867

Kai Pilger pexels-photo-462867 Taxi

 

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner


 

Taxi wasn’t his preferred method of travel, but it would do in a pinch. And this was the pinch of all pinches. If he didn’t get there in time, he’d be on the couch for the rest of his natural life.

The taxi driver glanced in the rear-view mirror, but he ignored the look.  Too bad if the man felt threatened. Everybody had a gun these days and most would use them just for the fun of it. He didn’t have time to explain he wasn’t one of those nor did he even own a gun. Let the man sweat. Might get him there faster.

As the cab screeched to the cub, he leapt out, tossing two fifties to the driver. Rushed into the building, collapsing into a chair just as she walked in.

“Almond coconut or chocolate chip?” he asked breathlessly.

To his relief, she smiled.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 6-20-2018

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Enisa.

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 in the amount of words).

 


She sat at the rickety table, staring at the one thing she had left (besides the crappy furniture and the cracked mirror in the bathroom). A fake crystal vase. He’d given it to her once upon a time, with a single peach rose inside, a token of his love.

A love that hadn’t lasted long until the lies started and never stopped. Bad enough a divorce and then the medical problems and now bankruptcy. Where, and how, had she gone wrong?

Was it wrong to want to live a normal life? To experience love and happiness? To honor truth? Sometimes, she felt that it was, at least for her.

Maybe, she didn’t deserve a normal life, even if she wasn’t sure why. Something had to be wrong with her, didn’t it?

Didn’t it?

Rising, she walked to the back door and stared outside.

Sunset, a beautiful sky.

The last day of despair?

Or, simply the last day?

(157)

Sunday Photo Fiction 6-17-2018

Sunday Photo Fiction

DSCF5305Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

 


He sat quiet, watching the coming and going in the park, Alfred standing to the side, staring off towards the pond.

“After we eat, don’t worry,” he said, taking a bite of his biscuit. Sipping coffee. Tossing half of another to his friend. Alfred ignored the sharing.

He shrugged. It was early. Alfred wasn’t a morning bird.

Neither of them were young. Maybe that was why they were such good friends. Both of them looking at the world from the wrong end of the telescope.

He hope Alfred went first. Who’d take care of him if he passed first? Alfred was a quiet bird, a reflective bird, set in his ways.

Taking his last bite of biscuit, he crumbled the bag and tossed it into the trash bin. Two points. He still had it.

Glancing down, he saw Alfred eating his biscuit, settled back to wait. Friends waited for each other. Friends accepted each other. Friends were friends.

Besides, he enjoyed the quiet. The pond would wait.

 

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 6-15-2018

photo prompt from wildverbs

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 in the amount of words).


“Where would you go, ?” Jace wondered, “if you swan down inside the fountain?” He was always asking questions like that, nonsense really. Impossible fantasies.

I turned towards him. “Everybody knows you’d go down into the things that make the fountain work.” Pipes and plumbing, of course, but I didn’t know the words or the details then. I still don’t know the details, but I’ve gotten the basics down.

“Are there whales down there?”

“Of course not, Stupid!”

“Baby whales?”

I pushed him off the bench and ran away. Mom found him later, still on the bench, still watching. Still dreaming dreams nobody understood.

I remember those days on the bench, watching the fountain. Sometimes ducks would come, treading water with orange paddle feet.

Sometimes….

I tuck the picture away into my pocket, hidden but not forgotten, knowing something soon would spark the memories, bring him back to me, if only for an instant.