Friday Fictioneers 9-17-2021

PHOTO PROMPT © Krista Strutz

“Wow, look at that,” Suzy whispered.

The Eagle watched with hooded eyes.

“He’s huge,” Bob agreed, bobbling slightly on his board.

“Don’t fall. You’ll scare him.”

“Nothing would scare him.” How could anything scare an eagle?

Suzy allowed herself to drift. She’d never been so close to a wild bird before, especially an eagle. Something about it made her feel a little wild and fierce inside.

They eventually paddled away from the bird, continuing their journey around the bay, both agreeing this was the best part of the trip.

Friday Fictioneers 9-10-2021

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Jay looked out the hotel window, watching the tractor pulling the hay bales wind through the narrow streets. Somebody would be eating well this winter, or so he assumed. What he knew about farming could fill the proverbial book.

Chris would know. Chris was the farm boy of the bunch. Or Kerry. But Chris was off doing third or fourth sound checks and Kerry was asleep. It really didn’t matter. He was just bored.

“Saw a shitload of hay,” he told Chris later.

Chris burst out laughing. “You really need something to do don’t you?”

Jay shrugged. “That would be good.”


“I’m there.”

Friday Fictioneers 9-3-2021


The creek was wide and shallow, splatter-dappled with shade. Once Ringo found his way there, he knew his troubles were over. He splashed half-way across, listening to the distant bay of the hounds. Once he slipped their noses, he’d have no trouble slipping the law-enforcement on his trail. He started moving up the middle of the stream, careful not to disturb the larger rocks scattered along the bottom.

The crack was loud in his ears. Arms wide spread, he fell forward, baptized by blood and water.

Friday Fictioneers 8-27-2021


“Welcome to the Bike Hotel.”

I was almost, one-hundred percent sure, he’d made this up. Until now. Looking at the bike on the outside wall. Well, there was always inside.

Which – to my surprise – had bikes everywhere. At the check-in desk. By the bell-boy. (Did he ride your luggage to your room?) In front of the Bike Cafe. And in the room. Bicycle headboards. Ironing boards. Pictures on the wall.

He had actually been telling the truth. Stripe-me surprised.

“What do you think?”

“It’s great.”

“Wait till you see the Disco Ballroom!”

I’m pretty sure, ninty-nine percent, he’d made this part up.

Friday Fictioneers 8-20-2021


“Imagine riding one of those,” Doug had said, tapping the glass partition as if to get the bike’s attention.

“They look a lot different now.”

“Of course they do. This was just the beginning of them.”

“I’ll stay inside the vehicle.”

‘You are missing the point. And the freedom.”

“I’ll stay inside,” I said again. He looked good at least. They hadn’t had to have a closed coffin.

“He went out doing what he loved,” Sister Sue said from my elbow.

I nodded like that meant something and walked out of the church, never looking back.

Friday Fictioneers 8-13-2021


“Just because I took my car apart down to the bolts and put it back together doesn’t mean I’m gonna put together any old thing.”

“Just this once, Uncle, please.”

He saw where this was coming from. Distraction. Hoping it might ease his restlessness though restlessness wasn’t the word for the things pinging about inside him.


“Please. Please.”



“All right, but only if you help me.”


Friday Fictioneers 8-4-2021

PHOTO PROMPT© Jennifer Pendergast

“Poor Harold.”

“Who’s Harold?” the children asked.

“The giant who lived across the lake.”

“Was he a real giant?”

“All one hundred and ten feet of him.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was crossing the lake one winter day, early in the morning, when he fell into a hole.”

“How big of a hole?”

“One hundred and ten feet deep hole!”

“What happened?”

“Before he could climb out, the lake froze and all that was left on the surface were his eyes.”


“Could he still blink?”

The speaker looked at the children. Kid’s asked the darndest things.

Story For The Week 4-20-2021

The sadness was all persuasive, wrapped around them like a blanket of fog, holding them all together. Alone they would have fallen and quickly. Together, they managed to prop each other up and hold the grief at bay.

“Why?” was Susie’s endless question.

“How?” Macy’s.

He just wanted to go home and be alone. This was something he didn’t like or want to share, this sorrow. It filled him full, leaving no room for kind words or reassurance of hope and continuation. Dead was dead. The mere fact of the matter took away the last traces from his life. Soon even the memory would be gone, the sadness over.

Maybe, if he hung on tight enough some sprinkle of memory might remain; colored sugar on a cake.

“He was a good man,” Macy said, wiping raccoon eyes. “He never judged me like the fathers of some of my friends.”

“He always supported us in everything we did,” Susie agreed.

They both looked at him so he nodded. “Never said a word when I bought my bike.” The bike that lived in his living room so he didn’t forget. The father who lived with him so he remembered.

“He was hoping you’d get over stupid on your own,” both of his sisters said and laughed.

If only they knew. He hadn’t ridden the bike in over ten years, not wanting to risk more loss. The Doctors couldn’t tell him why the accident wiped away only part of his memory, only that he was lucky.  At least he had something left, some memories, some hold on the world of his past. Not people, but events. Some didn’t. Some people with similar brain injuries simply forgot everything. He might have been left with only 15 minutes of everything. Or 15 seconds. Or nothing.

Lucky meant he only forgot people once they faded from his life. Like birthdays. He remembered the day, the cake, the presents but not the people. He knew people had been there, but they no longer existed. Bare walls bracketed the memories; he the last person alive. Childhood. Christmases. Lovers. Nothing.

The funeral was over. They hugged, kissed, promised to keep in touch before another funeral brought them together again. They wouldn’t, but they pretended for him. He looked at them, his sisters, aching to commit them so deep in his memory he would never forget but eventually, inevitably, he would.

Turning, he walked away.  Why the heck was he in a cemetery anyway?