Friday Fictioneers – Choices

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

Choices

‘Mom! I’ve finished my homework! Now can I go see the artist?’

‘Tidy your bedroom first…’

It was too late; Dale was gone.

Day by day Dale had watched as the artist conjured beauty from derelict buildings. Where there had been blank walls covered in flaky paint, green and rust, there was now a forest glade in which a log cabin sat, serene in the sunlight. Pink clouds lent a glow of enchantment to the scene.

The artist beckoned.

‘Ya wanna try? I’ll show ya how…’

Crimson with excitement and delight, Dale nodded her head vigorously.

‘Yeah! Oh, yeah!’

Inlinkz – click here to join the fun!

Friday Fictioneers – Creating an Angel

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

Creating an Angel

In her day, giggles had been famous. Now she was ‘merely’ a legend.

Midnight had passed. She packed her tools. Paint – gold, white, amber, olive, black and her trademark Cayman blue. Propellant. Stencils.

Carefully, listening, feeling, she clambered onto the railway. Forty minutes before the train.

Using each stencil in turn, she unerringly sprayed colour beside colour. The tang of solvent stung her nostrils. She imagined the radiant angel taking shape, though her age-blinded eyes couldn’t see it.

She added her tag.

The rails hissed.

There was a rumble.

Timing it to perfection, giggles stepped in front of the train.

Inlinkz – Click here to join in!

Friday Fictioneers – The Historian

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story 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 © Mikhael Sublett

The Historian

The final aftershock took out the floor. The Historian, swathed in cerements and looped with cable from the ceiling, clung to the remaining piece of wall. He assessed the drop to the ground, then jumped, landed jarringly but intact.

He sighed. What difference did survival make? Everyone had fled the hospital. There would be no rescuers. The struggle for life was too bitter for altruism.

A painting on the wall caught his eye. It was beautiful. The artist had thought it worth creating despite the crisis.

The Historian took out his notebook and started to write.

“The Apocalypse was self-inflicted.”

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Friday Fictioneers – The Artist’s Take

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 (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

The Artist’s Take

“When looking at conceptual art, we need to consider what the artist means.”

The tour guide scanned her group. Mostly earnest attention; one stifled yawn.

“For example, this sculpture is displayed in an attractive garden. Why? Is it to contrast the unforced beauty of nature with the decorated but crudely angular construction?

A hidden drive turns the wheels, and some wheels drive others – wheels within wheels – but the work itself goes nowhere. Is that a metaphor?”

Damien, the artist, grinned as he listened. He knew what he meant; he didn’t care what the punters thought – as long as they paid.