Friday Fictioneers – Stone Walls etc.

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!

Stone walls etc.

With stealthy violence, the plant grew through the wrought-iron railings. Its tendrils insinuated themselves into cracks in the wall. Its leaves bathed in the sun. The plant grew and became strong.

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Marriage to Benson had been fun at first. It was entertaining playing up to the bragging about his possessions, especially Hemingway’s typewriter; ‘See – Hemingway’s blood on the keys!’

But nothing lasts for ever, and yesterday I told him I was leaving. I hadn’t expected the fury of his reaction. Nevertheless, battered and bruised, I left. Even iron bars can’t imprison a flower.

Inlinkz – click here to join the fun!

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This story draws on one I wrote in March 2020, ‘The Passionate Collector’ but it stands alone. Anybody interested can follow the link below.

The Passionate Collector

Friday Fictioneers – The Passionate Collector

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!

FF - The Passionate Collector 200325

PHOTO PROMPT © Jeff Arnold

The Passionate Collector

“Of course, the old typewriter was Hemingway’s,” drawled Benson. He’d invited me in for a nightcap after our first date. “Look – you can see traces of blood on the keys.” As though absentmindedly, he half drained the glass of red wine he’d poured for me. “Screaming Eagle Cabernet 1992; an unbelievable vintage,” he murmured.

“At least it’s a bourgeois lamp,” I muttered under my breath.

“And the lamp,” continued Benson, relentlessly, “is the first prototype made for Louis Tiffany by Clara Driscoll.”

There was only one response I could make to Benson’s vulgar display of wealth.

Reader, I married him.

Inlinkz – Click here to join in the fun!