Friday Fictioneers – We Will Remember

 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 - We will remember 191227

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

We will remember

Digging through four thousand years of time, the archaeologists reached the stratum of the calamity. Background levels of radioactivity were tolerable in most places, although there were still hot-spots. Saijin, in charge of the dig, ensured that levels were carefully monitored.

Across the world, few structures had survived; they had all been pulverised by the incomprehensible violence of hydrogen bombs. This find, a granite cross set above a polished marble slab, was virtually intact.

“Astonishing,” breathed Saijin. “It must be a monument – there are even characters – perhaps writing – chiselled into the stone! I wonder what significance they had?”

Inlinkz – click here to join in the fun!

Friday Fictioneers – We Will Remember Them

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 (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 - We will remember them 191010

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

 We will remember them

Liz glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes before her grandson, Oliver, was due to arrive.

She shuffled through the photographs until she found a small, square, monochrome print. Her brother Peter. She had snatched the shot as he entrained for the front in 1940.

Liz shook her head. Peter’s image seemed imprisoned by the margin. The severity of his mouth was belied by his apprehensive eyes.

What else did she have that she could pass on to Oliver?

A single page letter in Peter’s beautiful handwriting. A cutting from the local press, after…

A tear trickled down Liz’s cheek.

The doorbell rang.