Friday Fictioneers – Anything’s possible

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 (C) DALE ROGERSON

Anything’s possible

“Why did you bring that wretched ball along?” grumbled Gerald. “I want to walk hand-in-hand.”

Grinning, Peter kicked the football away. It soared, then plummeted into the half-frozen creek.

Gerald clicked his tongue but said nothing. After all, Peter was holding his hand now.

“I’ll go fetch it,” said Peter.

“You’re barmy! Look at the ice!”

But Peter was already out of his sneakers.

One step, two steps, three steps, pick up the ball and back to shore.

“See? Anything’s possible.”

He kissed Gerald hard on the mouth.

“Now, let’s go tell our families that we’re a couple, huh?

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Friday Fictioneers – The end of an era?

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 © BRENDA COX

The end of an era?

The café lay under a mighty plane tree in a marble-paved square. It was always busy, from dawn until well after midnight.

Giorgios gazed over the café he’d started. He thought of his sons and grandsons working the tables. He thought of his unmarried daughter Katerina, so shrewd. His other daughters were happily married with children. Giorgios smiled briefly.

His heart laboured as he wondered to whom he should leave the business.

That night, lightning felled the plane tree. The deafening crash woke Giorgios. His chest tightened until he couldn’t breathe. Hastily he scrawled, “The café is Katerina’s.”

And died.

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Note – I’m planning to write a longer version of this story and post it on Sunday or Monday. Just sayin’!

Friday Fictioneers – Ma

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

Ma

That was the year it snowed in September.

Ma stood at the back door, hugging her dressing gown around her shoulders.

“My, oh my, look at those roses – poor souls!”

She rummaged for her large scissors. A wisp of powdery snow crept in on the breeze from the door. Ma trotted down the garden path, slippers slapping, her bird-like ankles peeping from under her flannel nighty.

Some quick snips and she had seven stems, each carrying a beautiful, bronze-coloured bloom.

“We’ll soon have you indoors and looking your best,” she told them.

They looked fine in her crystal vase.

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Friday Fictioneers – When Dad gets home

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

When Dad gets home

I walked into Mom and Dad’s room without knocking. Dad choked as he swigged from a flask. When he’d caught his breath, he said, “Must dash. Don’t tell Mom, will you?” He winked at me, ran downstairs, and into the car.

I went to breakfast and sneaked myself an extra spoonful of sugar.

“No more sugar! said Mom.

As she left the room. I dug into the sugar bowl for some more – but it slipped and shattered on the floor. Horror!

Mom was back in a flash.

“You just wait till your Dad gets home,” she said.

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Friday Fictioneers – Fairies are Real!

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 © Ceayr

Fairies are Real!

Cosy in parka and new boots like Mummy’s, Gemma snuggled against Daddy on the bench.

The moon-filled droplets of the fountain hung in the air like pearls on a necklace. The church clock solemnly chimed ten. A breeze shivered the leaves, and ruffled the water. It smelled earthy, moist, full of presence.

Gemma stared into the shadows.

Suddenly, she tensed. Her gaze moved between the dark trees and the sparkling fountain. She clasped her hands and laughed with delight.

Daddy sat quiet until Gemma turned to him.

“Did you see anything, Honey?”

Gemma nodded enthusiastically.

“They were beautiful, Daddy!”

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Friday Fictioneers – Breaking the News

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

Breaking the News

As Rick and Tamara stood centre-stage, bowing, Rick’s mom beamed. What a lovely couple they made! They could marry in the church where her father had been Minister! After the show, she chattered all the way home.

“Mom! Can we stop? I’ve got something to tell you.”

She pulled over. “Won’t it wait?”

“Mom, I’m gay.”

“Oh, no, Honey!” She clamped both hands over her mouth.

Rick flushed crimson.

“My boyfriend’s called Dexter. May I introduce him to you on Sunday?”

Rick’s mom fidgeted, then nodded.

“Okay. Invite him to tea, only…” she hesitated, “let’s not tell Gramps yet. Please?”

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Friday Fictioneers – Maoz Tzur

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

Maoz Tzur

It was the last day of Hanukkah, and all eight candles of the Hanukkiah blazed in the window. We sang the Haneirot Hallalu and the Maoz Tzur, and we sat down. Papa turned on the lights.

“Can’t we keep the lights off? The candles are so pretty!” asked five-year-old Rebekah.

“The candles are for others to see and know that HaShem saved us. It would not be right to use their light for another purpose,” explained Papa, gently.

“Why?”

“Sit here and I’ll tell you.” Papa patted his lap, and Rebekah climbed up and snuggled there.

“Once upon a time…”

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Friday Fictioneers – Shuttered

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

Shuttered

After that first time, Binyamin knew better than to tell his father how he felt about Asher. He shuttered his face and kept his tears for the dark hours of night, alone in his bedroom. Besides, what good would tears do? His father had moved the family across the continent to give them a chance of a better life. How could he argue against that? If only he could speak to Asher occasionally, or even just speak about him to his family…

Day by day his face grew harder.

Day by day his joy diminished.

The shutters rusted solid.

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Friday Fictioneers – Man of Mystery

 

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 © Ceayr

Man of Mystery

Where’s Jack?

Usually at this time we’re sitting together in the bay window, sipping coffee, gazing at the Mediterranean, with the window open to catch the cry of the gulls and the fragrance of the rosemary bush outside.

He’s been banging about all morning. I heard the Hoover twenty minutes ago – but it’s not a day he usually cleans.

“Sorry the coffee’s late, Mandy.”

He puts it on the table.

“What have you been doing?”

He smiles. “International man of mystery, that’s me!”

The doorbell shrills. Jack answers, and feet stampede into the lounge.

“Hello, great-granny!” chorus our three great-grandchildren.

Friday Fictioneers – Love’s Fragrance

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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Love’s fragrance

“Those are pretty flowers, Mommy!” Helen leaned across the table and stroked one of the petals very gently.

“Daddy gave them to me,” smiled Imogen. “Today is a special day – we’ve been married for ten years! They’re made of glass and metal, and the shiny yellow is real gold.”

“Do they smell nice?” asked Helen, doubtfully, leaning close to them and wrinkling her nose.

“I’m afraid not, honey, but they’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

While Imogen busied herself preparing supper, Helen ‘borrowed’ her mommy’s favourite perfume.

“Why, these roses smell just like you, darling!” exclaimed Mark when he returned that evening.