PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
“You’re just like your father”, remarked Robert lazily.
Marcus raised an eyebrow, “He’s your father too.” Then picked up the whiskey canister, “And no I am not.”
“I have the good fortune of having fallen very far from the tree.”
“Oh shut up!”
“See that’s just what Father says to me.”
“For the last time, I am not going on some reckless, un-planned, crazy-as-shit adventure of yours to the Galapagos islands!”
“Comfort zones. Careless mediocrity. Whiskey… like father, like son.”
Marcus held the whiskey canister above his glass. Cautiously sat it back on the table. “When do we leave?”
Something about the house and the setting sun made me think of family and adventures. And I so much wanted to experiment with humour and dialogue today. Hope you enjoy this!
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Challenge is to write a full story in 100 words or less.
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PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young
The human body is capable of amazing things. Contortion is one. Bending with extreme flexibility. Just like Jimmy was now, crumpled into a lobster trap. Except that John had to break Jimmy’s legs at the knees to get it to fit. His face was blank and slack. Nothing left of the shock that twisted his features looking down the barrel of John’s gun. Six bullets fired into his chest.
Now, pushing the trap off the boat into the water, John felt nothing of the cold shock that seeped into him when he found out Jimmy had betrayed him.
Brought back an old character from one of last year’s flash fiction, John the Baptist. Organised crime boss and ruthless with his enemies.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by author Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Click the icon to read more flash fiction by other amazing writers. It is amazing to see the different stories and genre’s that an image can prompt. I’ll be impressed if this image courtesy of Liz Young inspires any romance stories!
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Her dress was a cornflour blue, the same colour as her eyes. The latest fashion in a princess line style, puffed sleeves and lace trim. Now half of it was covered in grime from the cramped dungeon she woke up in after the ball. Nine days ago. Once a day a meal was shoved through a flap in the door. Then the music would play. Was it Mozart or Bach? Drifting down to her dungeon, through the floors and the walls from somewhere above where her captor waited. If only she knew what they were waiting for.
What an inspiring picture of musical instruments for this week’s prompt, courtesy of Rochelle. Took me to a dark place in 19th century England it seems. Admittedly not my best. But hope you enjoyed it anyway.
Written for Friday Fictioneers led by author Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less.
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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
The first time their eyes met a deafening rip tore through her head
Mistaking it for her broken heart’s pieces cracking once again
She turned her gaze away, not wanting to shatter what took so long to mend
But something in his hazel eyes called to her through past lies
She dared another sideways glance a strange rising courage at the end
Pushed her into the unknown, where hopes renew and dreams begin
The second time their eyes met she did not flinch when the ripping sounded
A hazel gaze pierced through flimsy veils wrapping tight around the wounded
I read Erin Hanson’s poetry recently and was just so ultra inspired that I simply had to attempt my own. Last time I was inspired to pen rhythmic verse was in high school. So forgive me if it’s not perfect. The 100 word limit was quite challenging this time!
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by novelist and artist, Rochelle. The challenge is to write a full story in 100 words or less.
Click here to read more flash fiction from other great writers.
Here is one of Erin’s poems. She is a talented young woman in her early twenties, touching hearts and moving souls since her teens with her magical prose.
PHOTO PROMPT © Danny Bowman
“Why can’t I go to my old school?” I sobbed.
“Because we live here now, Mitch, and your old school is hundreds of miles away.” Dad replied.
Dad promised that I would love the new city, the new house and my new school. I didn’t trust the promises adults made. I used to believe everything they said. You’re my little boy, Mitch. I’ll always be right here with you. That’s what mom used to tell me. Then she left and I never saw her again.
Dad calls her a nasty cyst. Whatever that is. I just miss her.
**nasty cyst = narcissist (Of course, Mitch doesn’t know what a narcissist is and hears something different 🙂 )
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle, where the challenge is to write a complete story in 100 words or less.
I had trouble accessing the link last week (don’t know why) and so if you haven’t yet read my FF post from last week, you may read it here: Ransom.
Click here to read more flash fiction.
PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young
Shona pulled up her collar. A fine mist gathered around the group, complicit in their betrayal.
Everything about death was cold. Light leaves the eyes. Blood stops flowing, warmth dissipates. But this arm, though limp in her grasp, felt warm.
She wished she could turn back time. Just an hour. Before it all went wrong. She knew they were on the point of no return as they tossed their friend into the shallow hole in the ground, and covered her with dirt. Shona watched till the dirt piled high, then they patted it flat and covered it with dry leaves.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the awesome Rochelle where we’re challenged to write flash fiction, an entire story with beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less.
Click to read more flash fiction.
PHOTO PROMPT © Jellico’s Stationhouse
He walked right in, tiny and black. Meowing right and left he greeted my receptionist, the people waiting to see me and strolled on. Never mind appointments.
Dry leaves clung to his ragged fur. He sauntered over to my chair, sat by my feet and looked up at me. I noticed the white under his chin, and on his paws. It was there in that moment, the stray tuxedo chose me to be his owner.
That evening, I wondered what to call him. He lurched and pounced at shadows on the walls. I smiled. It suited him well: Shadow.
The first thing that struck me was the shadows of the image and went with that.
This story is based closely to how my cat adopted me 🙂 Strolling into my office, hungry and dirty. Rosie is now recovering from malnutrition and ringworm infection. I suspect she spent some time with a stray dog; she chews everything.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Thanks to Jellico Stationhouse for the intriguing image. Challenge yourself to write a story in 100 words or less. Click to see more stories here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma
I creep upward, gripping the slippery black dome. Out of view and hidden. In case some screeching human sees fit to swat me to allay their fears.
Humans. They filled up every space. There is one scratching his beard, looking intently at one of those layers of black and white they use to swat at us. Here is two more chatting to each other. One smaller limbed, more dainty than the other. Humans. Their voices and movements creating an incessant buzzing and thumping.
Smack! I twitch reflexively. The dainty human swats the bigger one. It’s face red on one side.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the awesome Rochelle. Read more flash fiction here. Or give flash fiction a try and join us!
PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young
The shimmer caught her eye. At first Naledi thought it was a bottle, dumped by the storm. She let go of Mother’s hand and leaped over a broken door to get a closer look. She squealed, her hand flew to her mouth. She peeked behind her, Mother dabbed her eyes and Father rubbed her back.
She poked the shiny red stone, the gold necklace twisting around it. The storm fairies brought it here! Naledi clutched it to her chest. She knew exactly where to hide it: in her jewellery box Father gave her on her birthday.
At this very moment Cyclone Dineo has hit Mozambique. What was first a tropical storm was upgraded to a full cyclone status in the last twenty four hours. It’s effects will be felt as far as South Africa and Botswana, where I live. Although it will have weakened and only heavy rainfall is expected in the northernmost parts such as the Okavango delta. It is quite unusual to have cyclones in Southern Africa, perhaps global warming is to blame. The last cyclone I remember personally experiencing was over a decade ago in Cape Town, but that was considered an exception rather than the norm.
This week’s flash fiction is inspired by Cyclone Dineo. Praying and hoping the destruction is minimal and no loss of life will occur in my neighbouring countries.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Why not give it a try? Read more flash fiction here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz
The cold water sent shivers up her spine, but Mariyah sloshed towards the chair. She remembered the old lady’s advice, Go to the Wishing Chair. But wish for only what your heart wants most.
She sensed a warning in her words. She had a choice to make. Go to the wizard school as her parents wanted, or write for The Jupiter Daily. Her heart swelled at the thought of the newspaper, but she reigned it in with a deep breath.
Sitting in the hard chair, she wished, “May whatever happen be for the best.”
The chair remained still. Good.
Written for my favourite flash fiction: Friday Fictioneers hosted by the awesome Rochelle.
Write an entire story in 100 words or less. Go!
If you enjoyed this, take a look at my other posts on my blog or read the first of the Scars series. Thank you!