Friday Fictioneers 4-30-2021

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

They sat amid the devastation, oblivious. If not oblivious, at least resigned. The flood waters lay flat, motionless. Behind them, well, there used to be a house.

“Funny,” the first said, “how these daman chairs are bout the only thing to survive.”

“Yeah, funny,” agreed the second, dead-pan.

“Indestructible less you sit in them wrong.”

“Ah huh.”

“Think FEMA will get their tails in gear this time?”


“You’re right. Probably not. Still……” And he was silent for a long moment. “There is always tomorrow.”

Sunday Photo Fiction – October 23rd 2016


The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.

The city stretched before him, tangled mass of metal and humans and fear. Oh, yes, fear. Humans lived with fear so intricately tangled into every aspect of their lives, they had forgotten what it meant to be free. No masters needed to put the human race in slavery, they did that for themselves, no matter the color of their skin. Slavery, after all, isn’t all chains and whips. Each village build, tower raised, each step of ‘progress’ took men further from the truth. They told stories to trap the monsters and gods out of their lives and into books. Fiction. Forgotten. Dust.

Gods gave meaning to the lives of men, but mankind didn’t want freedom. He was not, would not, would never be the god of fear, rather the god of everything free – free speech, free lives, free minds.

Time to retire to Shady Groves Forgotten Gods Home in the sky.

Maybe… just maybe, Loki had waited for his next move in their chess game. Probably not, the little stinker.  He cheated.

Opening his eyes, he studied the chess board.  Good thing he was the god of Memory too.

Quote For The Day 10-23-2016

“War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn to live together in peace by killing each other’s children.”
Jimmy Carter, The Nobel Peace Prize Lecture

Daily Post One Word Prompt – Upredictable


The Neighbors, Part 4

There are those among us who live unpredictable lives. Nasty men. Vicious women. Forgotten children. You will never see them. They pretend normalcy; friends and neighbors and co-workers. Inside they are monsters.

Am I one? Some things are best discovered on your own.

He stood at the top of the stairs, neither up or down, in or out, waiting. He had no clue what he was waiting for, maybe for clarity, reality or maybe just for his brain to come back together into some sort of logical sense.

He’d never. Not once. His entire life. Been this. Indecisive.

What the hell was happening? Whatever it was, he wanted it stopped. Now.

He closed the door to the basement, backtracking his steps to the kitchen. Bare lines, empty counters, metallic shine of the appliances. This was his favorite room in the house. Spartan. Clean. Cold. Empty.

Like him. Like his life. Before.

He’ never understood the concept of before and after. How could something be right then and wrong now?

So what was he going to do?

A cup of tea. Everything went with a cup of tea. Even the feeling your life was falling apart.

The Neighbors Part 1

The Neighbors Part 2

The Neighbors Part 3


Sunday Photo Fiction 5-1-2016


The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.

Sunday Photo Fiction

The cars sped around the track in a billowing cloud of dust; if it hadn’t been for his facemask, he would have been blind. He was still blind, but not with dust in his eyes. Whoopie!

Sarah hadn’t wanted him to race, not today, but he’d insisted.  She’d insisted something would happen, he’d get hurt, but he’d just laughed. How many hundreds of times had he raced with nothing more serious than some cracked ribs or dehydration. He was smart, cool, professional. He knew how to handle himself on the track. She worried too much.

If only he’d listened, maybe he wouldn’t be trapped in a world of pain, even with the drugs the Doctors had given him. What he’d give for dust in his eyes, for seeing her face one more time, but the fire had burned his eyes. Seared his throat with toxic fumes. She couldn’t even hold is hand.

The memorial was the next Friday, before the race run in his honor.




FRIDAY FICTION with RONOVAN WRITES Prompt Challenge #23-Surprise.

Word Count is off! Let’s focus on the theme of the thing. Not many actually stick to the word count anyway. (SUGGESTED-No more than 500 if you want to try that.)

  • Using the prompt of ‘Surprise, WRITE. A surprise can be anything. Surprise me with yours. (REQUIRED)


23:59 EST (New York Time) Wednesday.

To read more about this challenge, click Here.


The surprise was she came at all. He hadn’t expected it. She never did the expected.

“So,” she asked, swinging easily down in the chair across from him, hair dancing about her face. Sexy. She was so damn sexy, but he forced his mind to focus on the important.

“I’m surprised you came.”

“Darling, you know I adore you more than anything.”

Thing. Yes, that was the reality of the matter.

“Yes, whatever.” He paused, turning his coke can, laying ring after ring of condensation on the dark tabletop. “I’ve been thinking.”

She laughed, reaching across to touch his hand. “You know what I’ve told you about that, darling.”


“Thinking too much.”

He grimaced. This was what she did, distracted him from his real purpose, his truth.

“I’m busy today,” she went on, eyes loving him.

It was a lie, but a lie he desperately wanted to believe.

“Can we do this later?” She cocked her head, smiled. “Tonight, when we have all the time in the world.  Just us.” Her voice softened to a purr, smile promising things he couldn’t refuse.

He was addicted. That was the thing.  Addicted.

She rose, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Tonight, darling.” Her voice promised things he’d never have.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?  Man or mouse? Man or mouse?

He watched her walk away, swing in her hips affecting him deep down inside. Finally, he faced the truth.

She owned hm.

He ran towards her, calling out her name. The street and sidewalk were busy all around, forcing him to duck and dodge.

“Valarie, wait!” he called, skirting around a parked car.

To his surprise, she turned.

Man or mouse? Chicken or egg?

When he stepped in front of the truck, her irritation turned to confusion and then, at the last second, to surprise.

Finally, he’d surprised her.