Friday Fictioneers 3-22-2018

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

“What the hell?” Daniel stopped, glaring ahead. The road looked perfectly normal –  for a dirt road – all the way to the curve in the mountain, so why should it be different beyond?

“From the size of that hand, maybe the Bigfoots live around the corner and don’t want trespassers.”

“You’re going to feed me that shit?”

Shrug. “Suit yourself.”

He watched Daniel stride confidently around the curve and disappear, followed closely by a terrified scream and then silence.

“I told him they didn’t like trespassers,” he commented as he turned away. A good cup of tea would be just perfect right now.


Friday Fictioneers 3-20-2018


The camera tipped backwards on the tripod, pose identical to the body twisted on the ground.

“What the hell…” Rawlins asked, squinting beyond the rigged lights. “Is that?”

“Lawn mower?”

“Think the stiff rode his lawn mower way the hell out here to take a picture of… it?…. tripped and broke his neck?”

“Probably not.”

“Ya think?”

“What if the picture was of an alien?” Testing.

Rawlins strode angrily away.

He touched the shutter button with a gloved finger, deleting the unseen photos. Looked up into the empty darkness and smiled.


Friday Fictioneers 3-9-2018

Photo from Sandra Crook

He stood under the line of trees, taking in the world of stone and water spread before him, ignoring the line of cars behind. It was peaceful in its own way, soothing the trapped beast shredding his insides like scissors on paper.

She shouldn’t have died. Shouldn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

It was his fault. If he hadn’t left her in the car. If he hadn’t thought he’d be just a moment.

If the truck’s brakes hadn’t failed. If it hadn’t plowed into the car.

Nothing would ever be the same.

Friday Fictioneers 3-1-2018

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

The Contender

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you coulda been a contender,” Alex muttered, stalking away from the aging boxer. “Heard it before, I’ll hear it again.”

Slamming the door to his office, he slumped into his chair, swirling around to stare out the window at piles of less than pristine snow.

He was getting too old for this. Broken dream. Bitter memories. Too many lives lost.

He picked up the phone. “Still interested in the gym?”

“Ready to sell?”

Reluctant. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be right over with the paperwork.”

Alex hung up, eyes misting as he stared beyond snow.

Friday Fictioneers 1-17-2018

PHOTO PROMPT © Victor and Sarah Potter


“I’ve never seen a white spider before, Danny said, leaning forward to peer at the web stretched frame to frame in the window.

“Maybe it’s an albino.”

“Are there albino spiders?”

Susan shrugged. “Why not?”

Danny leaned closer, almost touching the web, but something stopped him. Probably the spider wouldn’t like him fiddling with his home.

“So what should we do?”


“Your Mom will freak.”

Danny laughed. “Yeah.”

The two turned away, heading back towards their growing Lego kingdom. Neither noticed the spider leap from its web to the back of Danny’s collar.

He never felt the bite.

Friday Fictioneers 1-8-2018

PHOTO PROMPT ©Roger Bultot

Rows of elephant legs hung suspended around the plaza, shimmering in the noon-light like ghosts. In so many ways they were ghosts, vague remembrances of the creatures they had once been, ivoried by age.

Jordon stood talking to the artist. “Why would anybody want….” He motioned vaguely around, not wanting to speak the words.

“Elephants were once sacred animals. Many feel the totems bring great luck.”

“Luck? Certainly not for the elephants.”

Sighing, Jordon walked away. In only he had lived when elephants roamed the earth. That, now, would have been lucky.

Friday Fictioneers 12-29-2017



“And it is…..?”

“A sculpture.”

“Well, naturally, but of what? A bicycle accident?”

‘It’s a statement about the strife and confusion of the modern world.”

“I see. Wheels turning and all?”

“Yes, exactly! So, you like it?”

“I like the reflectors on the spikes. Inspired.”

“I knew you’d like it. ”

As the artist walked away, Jason  remained, staring at the sculpture.  “Strife and confusion of the modern world? It’s a freaking tangle of bicycle wheels.”

Shaking his head, he turned away, heading back to his studio. Michangelo, now there was a sculptor. Dontaello.

Picking up his paintbrush, he returned to work.