Friday Fictioneers – New Life

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © ALICIA JAMTAAS

New Life

The last of the wagons rumbled to a halt, discharged its ore, and sat, dirty and empty.

The last of the ore spilled from the conveyor into the furnace with a gout of sooty sparks.

The last of the molten metal was cast and the ingots trucked out.

Two men secured the gates with thick chains and heavy padlocks, and drove away.

The site was left; it wasn’t worth salvaging.

A whippoorwill came. Fireweed flourished. Brambles straggled over the buildings. Saplings shaded the wagon tracks even as they destroyed them.

New life!

Nothing grew on the spoil tips.

Ever.

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Friday Fictioneers – Plato’s Cave

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © ROCHELLE WISOFF-FIELDS

Plato’s Cave

The first thing he saw on waking was the face on the screen. It was motherly, comforting, with just the right amount of concern.

“Rise and shine, Sam. Would you like a drink?”

“Coffee, please.”

As Sam climbed out of bed, the picture changed.

‘Looks nasty,’ he thought, watching rioters in Philadelphia – or was it Miami?

He picked up the coffee.

“Careful – it’s hot,” warned the screen.

After breakfast, he stepped to the door of his apartment.

“Forty-one minutes until work sign-in,” the screen advised.

Maybe he wouldn’t go out; too much rioting.

He sat at his desk and signed-in.

Friday Fictioneers – The Singer

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © DALE ROGERSON

The Singer

He would ask Anna out tonight, after the gig.

As Eddie made the decision, his hands shook and he fumbled the set-up of his keyboard,

The gig started. The band played brilliantly; the audience were on fire.

Anna’s voice thrilled him. That slight vibrato – so sexy! And when she dropped into the lower register…wow!

The lights dimmed. The music slowed, grew gentler. Anna was singing a ballad, backed only by Eddie’s keyboard. He felt as though she was singing for him alone.

Backstage after the gig, Anna called the group together.

“Let me introduce Phil, my new boyfriend,” she said.

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Friday Fictioneers – Memorial Stone

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © JAN WAYNE FIELDS

Memorial stone

“Rufus!”

The golden retriever ignored me and went on gnawing at something he’d found in a rockpool.

“What’ve you got there, boy?”

Rufus gave a little “Woof” and dropped a seaweed-covered pebble at my feet.

I left it. He brought it to me. I threw it. He fetched it. Repeatedly.

“You want me to take it home?”

“Woof.”

I dropped it in my pocket.

Rufus was an old dog, and died a few months later. I buried him in the garden. There, in my jacket pocket, was the pebble.

Now it sits on my desk – complete with dried seaweed.

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Friday Fictioneers – Here and Now

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © NA’AMA YEHUDA

Here and now

I can only see the very top of the building from where I lie, the top of the tenement block and the clouds above.

The clouds are very beautiful against the azure sky. No matter how much detail I can make out, the pattern is the same. They are fractal.

I wallow in the garbage odour of a dumpster. My head hurts. So does my right arm. I wonder if I’ve broken it? Voices of early workers cackle.

And yet the sky is beautiful. I shall change. Here is where the drinking stops. Here and now.

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Friday Fictioneers – Witnesses

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © Trish Nankivell

Witnesses

Three men sat in a chamber, whose windows opened onto the stars. The youngest, whose tower it was, said, “Three planets will come together at his birth. He will be a king.”

The second, white-bearded and with piercing eyes, spoke in a deep voice. “The prophecies agree that he will be a son of God.”

The third was neither old nor young. His voice was light, sing-song. “I have cast the yarrow stalks many times. Violent men will snatch his life.”

“A strange end.”

“Nevertheless, we are called to travel west to witness his birth.”

By daybreak they were gone.

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Friday Fictioneers – Roller Coaster

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © ROGER BULTOT

Roller Coaster

He sat in Nathan’s diner from two until three every day, stirring a coffee. Sometimes he would take a swallow, look across at the Steeplechase roller coaster opposite, and grimace.

Every five minutes the cars rocketed into the corner of the ride, the squeal of the wheel flanges against the track completely drowned by the shrieks of excited riders.

Every five minutes he saw again in his mind’s eye the car leaping off the track, the boy flying through the air, plummeting.

Every five minutes he heard the despairing wail, “Dad…”

It was even worse the days he didn’t go.

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Friday Fictioneers – Skiing in the rain

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © SUSAN EAMES

Skiing in the rain

“Comment as-tu su que je suis Anglais?” I demanded of the bus driver.

He shrugged.

“Only the English go skiing in the rain.”

It wasn’t actually raining, and at the base station it was snowing thinly. The button lift was steep, seven hundred metres at forty-five degrees. You might call it exhilarating; I called it scary. I dismounted, scrambled a turn, caught an edge and tumbled.

Ow! My ankle burned.

Mobile phone.

Bother! It’s still by the bed.

“Only the English…” I thought, gazing round the deserted piste.

Balancing on one leg, it was a long, painful, exhausting journey down…

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Friday Fictioneers – Who am I?

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © SARAH POTTER

Who am I?

Who am I?

I ask my parents. They are cagey, but I pester them. As I suspected, I am adopted. Mum hugs me, lets me weep on her shoulder. Gives me an address.

“That’s where she used to live,” she says, doubt in her voice.

A bus ride, two train journeys and a walk. It takes me until late afternoon. It’s a big house, casting a long shadow.

I fidget. Walk up and down. Knock at the front door.

She is grey-haired, rather sad. When she sees me, her eyes widen.

“Sally! Would you like to come in?” she says.

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Friday Fictioneers – No Way Back

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © DALE ROGERSON

No way back

The Christmas Market was in full swing. Anne glanced up from the savoury delights of the delicatessen and saw Charles. She stiffened and held her head high. She wasn’t going to approach him, not after last night.

Neither would she hide. She strutted past him, cutting him dead.

“Anne. Anne!”

The voice pursued her.

There was a flurry of feet, and there he was. She stopped.

“I’m sorry for last night, I really am. I was nervous. I drank too much…” He dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me, Anne?”

Anne fingered her bruised cheek.

“No way,” she said.

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