Friday Fictioneers – Singin’ the blues

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!

FF - Singin' the blues 180815

PHOTO PROMPT © Yvette Prior

Singin’ the Blues

The cigarette smoke stings my memory.

I remember evenings with Robin. We would play the ‘Moody Blues’ on his hi-fi as we sat on his single bed, our limbs tangled under a blanket, sharing a packet of ‘Disque Bleu’ cigarettes, swigging Heineken and nibbling peanuts.

In our first year at university he asked me to marry him, and I said, “Let’s finish our studies first”.

He asked me again when we graduated, but I said, “I want to complete my PhD first”.

He moved. We wrote. We phoned. We visited.

The smoke teases me. I wonder where Robin is now?

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


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.