Friday Fictioneers – 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 © ALICIA JAMTAAS

Home

“Hello, Dad.”

Who’s speaking? Who’s this man so tall and strong, crowding my room? I don’t like him. 

“Dad, it’s Colin.”

I stare at him.

“My son was called Colin. Do you know him?” Somehow the words come out jumbled.

Why am I here? Am I in prison? I want to be home. I want to be home in my cabin, nothing but trees for miles.

I knew the forest. I knew the trees, from sapling to maturity. In summer the dry ground was springy; in winter, the mud clamped my boots.

“Dad!”

Who’s speaking? I don’t like him.

InLinkz – click here to join the fun!

What Pegman Saw – Forgotten

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. Using the location provided, you must write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 150 words. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page,  from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. This week’s prompt is the ghost town of Buckhorn, Iowa.

WPS - Forgotten - Buckhorn 171216

Forgotten

Ann stepped lightly on the grass of the cemetery, leaving footprints in the dew. She was glad someone still cared enough to mow it neatly. She laid a bunch of flowers from her yard on the grave of her Aunt Betty, murmured a doubtful prayer and walked downhill to the disused church.

“See you at the old church, 8:30 on Thursday May 23rd” Mike’s last email had said, a fortnight ago.

He’d been away a long time, three years, treading the far places of the globe and following his dreams. How would he look? How would he feel?

The sun became hot. Ann found herself a shaded spot, heady with the scent of wildflowers and loud with the insistent buzzing of honeybees. 8:30 came – and went. At 10:00 she sighed and left.

“I guess he forgot.”

In the cemetery, the dew had already disappeared; already the grass had forgotten her.