Friday Fictioneers – #9

Photo Prompt:

flowers-and-packing-boxes-dale-r
Copyright Dale Rogerson.

 

A Gift

There were fresh flowers lying in a tool box in the garage. A note was attached to it. “Happy Mother’s Day,” it said, gold letters embossed on cream eggshell. There was even a pink bow tying the stems together.

They got delivered late due to a scheduling mishap. Rachel was on her way back already from her mother’s wake. They belonged in the trash but pickup wasn’t until next Wednesday, and Denise didn’t want Rachel to see them, even wilting in the bin. So out with the screwdrivers they sat, until she could drive out – alone – and dispose of them.

Friday Fictioneers – #8

More of a setting than a story. I kind of cheated the word count with the title, just a little. But I think it plays better this way.

Photo Prompt:

HPIM0533.JPG
Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

 

Alone, in the Foreign Quarters of Sutak

The streets of Marlow were always shrouded in a fine, yellow mist. It came from the digsites down river, and the warm southerly wind carried it through the city center like acrid decay. Carts and carriages traveled blindly through at night, and any exposed baked goods tended to come accompanied with a layer of crumbly sand.

Jesef hated it. Hated the duststorm days when he had to plug every seam of his house with wet rags. Hated the tingly faint odor of sulfur that lingered like death. It was odious, and pervasive, and never seemed to dissipate.

It was home.

Friday Fictioneers – #7

I finally got back to this haha. My last one was in February? Wow. I really should fix that.

(I actually was going to write one last week but the picture didn’t inspire me. Also, I found a new band to listen to while writing – Kanute. Too bad they only have two albums so far.)

Now, without further ado, I bring this week’s entry:

Photo Prompt:

ted-struts-in-the-rain
Copyright Ted Strutz.

 

Traffic

Ben drives. The rain clings to the windshield like glue. He doesn’t weave through traffic like he thought he would, after the hospital’s call. What would that accomplish? One accident is enough.

He thinks of Cameron’s face and then stops, because the images from the crash is ghastly. Instead he thinks of Cam’s birthday, two weeks ago, and the sound of his laughter. Of the way he spun drunkenly on the lawn. Of the sloppy kisses he threw Ben’s way.

Ben drives like any other morning. His vision is getting blurry; he curses, softly, and tries to blink it away.

Friday Fictioneers – #6

I gotta be honest, this week’s picture just made me feel disturbed and nauseated. So the resulting ficlet is more of a same feel than matching visually. Cheers.

Photo Prompt:

broken-face-liz
Copyright Liz Young.

 

City Walk

The stink of the gutter wafted to her nose. Kara gagged, turned and faced the bench. No one would mess with her in broad daylight. She’d have to scram in a few hours, but no need to think about it now.

Her stomach hurt as usual but she knew the restaurant across the street always snubbed the law and left unspoiled food in the garbage. It was from acts like these that she still kept her faith. One day she’d get off the streets and be ordinary again. Invisible, but safe.

She closed her eyes. No dreams came; not today.

Friday Fictioneers – #5

A bit late to the party, but at least it’s still Friday!

Photo Prompt:

dale-rogerson2
Copyright Dale Rogerson.

Today, Tomorrow

Lightning strikes, just beyond the corridor. The house shakes with the smell of sulfur. Water pours down the rainspouts, a curtain of crystal, dividing the entrance in two.

Yoon sits, prim and proper, in her golden veil. Her face is carefully blank. It will be another half-day before the wedding party arrives, and she has to leave her ancestral home for a foreign moon. She has met the groom once, at least. He seems polite enough. She counts herself lucky.

Yoon waits, patient, serene. As if the next hour will never come, and she will always be of her own.

Friday Fictioneers – #4

First of the new year!

Photo Prompt:

ceayr3

Copyright C.E. Ayer

Stowaways

“Yitzak, wait up!”

Roman ran through the empty containers, wary of patrolling guards. It was almost time. “Yitzak!” he shouted, watching his friend’s silhouette diminish in the distance.

They were supposed to leave together. Mama Jones was away and the orphanage, for once, was free from her punish stick. (That was Yitzak’s name for it; Roman would rather forget it existed.) “We’re never gonna get adopted,” Yitzak had said. “Might as well go.”

So they slipped out and now were just a short run from a freight train. Roman paused, caught his breath, and mustered the strength to catch up.

Friday Fictioneers – #3

And I’m back! NaNoWriMo kept me busy the past few weeks, but now it’s back on!

Photo Prompt:

campsite-jwfCopyright Jan Wayne Fields.

 

Father and Son 

“Daddy, where’re you goin’?”

At first Luke thought Jamie meant him right now with an ax and a stump of wood. But Jamie was looking at his face, and Luke realized he meant what they’d discussed earlier, back at the house.

“Just upstate. Not far. You’ll still be with me every month.”

“But I like you here.”

“I know, son, but Mommy and I think this’s best for everybody. Hey, you’ll get to see Uncle Lenny a lot more.”

“Ooh! I can play with all of his cats?”

“Of course! Now come on, Daddy’s gotta make a fire for dinner.”