Friday Fictioneers 1-31-2019

PHOTO PROMPT © Renee Heath
An InLinkz Link-up

The colored-blanket sky stretched out around him, weighting him down and back to earth. He liked the soft plushness of it; the tingling hint of chill creeping around the edges of the horizon. Out here he was so totally alone he was alien. Nothing else existed.

The hills reminded him of the Blue Ridge he’d left so long ago, back when he could barely remember. His cell lay on another chair, ever silent. No cell signal. No calls.

His ‘fuck-you’ to  the world.

Tomorrow it would fuck him back.

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.

Friday Fictioneers 6-14-2018


Danny watched the quail pacing back and forth outside the screen, forehead scrunched in concentration.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.


“Why is it on the window ledge?”


“It doesn’t look injured.”


“It’s not nesting season.”


Mom looked at Danny and smiled. “You’re right, Danny. The quail has come to visit. We should offer it something.”

Danny took a slice of bread and shuffled out the door, flopping to the ground. With a hop, the quail bobbed over and pecked at the bread.

Mom smile. Thank heavens for small miracles.



Friday Fictioneers 5-24-2018

PHOTO PROMPT submitted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


He stood, fingering the fake ivy inside her favorite crystal bowl. Trust Mom to have fake ivy. Easier on the pocketbook, she’d say.

Looked around the kitchen. Everything in its place. Ultra-functional. Spick and span.

The house was silent. Empty. Hours until the rest of the family would arrive. More hours until the house would fill with mourners and food. Maybe Mrs. Hutchinson would bring her famous Mac-n-Cheese. He’d loved that as a boy. Ms. Smith’s Watergate Cake.

The doorbell rang and the postman handed him a pile of mail. Mrs. Natisha Crenshaw.

He stood for a long time, mail in hand, finally able to cry.

Friday Fictioneers 5-19-2018

PHOTO PROMPT submitted by Courtney Wright.

They stood on the leaf-littered street staring at the abandoned boots, looking as if they’d been put aside for just a moment, waiting patiently for their wearer to return.

“Do you think she’ll be back?”

He rubbed a thumb over the bristles on his chin. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.”

“She’s dead?”


“Are you gonna die?”


“Me, too?”

“You, too.”

“I wish we had a flower.”

“We don’t.”

They stood a while longer then walked on, holding hands, saying nothing as dusk swallowing the land.

Then, in the dark. “Where are we going, Dad?”

“Nowhere, son. Nowhere.”

Friday Fictioneers 4-27-2018

PHOTO PROMPT ©  Jan Wayne Fields

The view was heavenly, but his heart hung too heavy to care. Tomorrow he would be gone, would never see her again in this lifetime. She’d said her goodbyes long ago, but he hadn’t been able to let go. Hadn’t been able to sever her from his life.

Now he had no choice. His company was moving him tomorrow, half way around the world, on a 5-year contract. Five years ought to be enough time, shouldn’t it? 60 months. 1826, 2125 days. 43, 829 hours, 157,784,760 seconds. Surely, enough time to forget.

He picked up his shovel again, continued filling in the grave.

Friday Fictioneers 4-20-2018

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

Danny looked out at the feeder. “No hay,” he said, pointless.

Everybody in the room knew there was no hay for the stock. Damn invaders destroyed everything.

“I’m gonna shoot’em.” Better than letting the invaders get them.

He walked to the barn.

“Real sorry about this, Bess,” he said, “Don’t have enough for you and Jango.”

But he couldn’t shoot. Be like killing part of the family.

“Ah Bess,” he sighed, patting the cow as he walked away.

Friday Fictioneers 4-17-2018

PHOTO PROMPT © Yarnspinner


Randy frowned at the wreak around him. “It looks like shit.”

“Just wait,” she promised, whirling in place. “It is going to be beautiful.”

“It’s a dunghole.”

“It’s perfect.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Just wait.”

Shaking his head, Randy walked away, trying not to think thoughts he could not help but think. She was crazy. Delusional. Mad. Ditzy, though ditzy didn’t half cover the truth.

So he walked away, out of her life.

Two years later, she stood in the lobby of the Madison, welcoming her guests into the most beautiful hotel in the world.


Friday Fictioneers 4-5-2018

PHOTO PROMPT ©Dale Rogerson

Chris stood in the lavish hall, drawing in deep breaths. Finally.

Jay and Kerry strode over, holding champagne. “You were right, Chris.”

“Of course I was.”

Oh, boy. Arrogant prick night. But then hadn’t he had to be? He was the frontman, the one who’d dragged them through hell to standing just a few steps away from a Grammy.

Chris smiled the smile which broke hearts as the rest of the band joined them.

“Ready?” he asked, just like before each concert.

As one they nodded and, following Chris, were escorted into the theatre.

Friday Fictioneers 3-28-2018

PHOTO PROMPT ©Fatima Fakier Deria

“I never thought” Kerry remarked, glancing at the circle of wrought iron chairs around the table, “I’d be having tea in the back-hole-of-Australia.”

“I never thought,” Jay replied, “I’d be having tea anyplace.”


The Ladies Tea Society came out of the house, dressed in white, moving genteelly towards the two men.

“Where’s Chris?”

“Begged off.”

Kerry shrugged. “He is doing the TV interview.”

Silence for a moment.

“I hope they have those little cucumber sandwiches.”

Both smiled, moving towards the ladies.