PHOTO PROMPT © Karen Rawson
He gazed at the delicate line of her neck, tracing with his eyes along her collar-bone.
“Josh, are you listening?” Carrie cocked her head to one side, blue eyes sparkling, blonde hair flowing with the breeze.
“Huh? What were you saying?” He slipped his hand into his pocket.
“So you always come here?” she looked at the bubbling creek, and bare trees.
“It’s better in the spring.” He tried not to think of the other women.
She shivered. “It’s cold.”
He drew a blade from his pocket. Only the trees heard her screams, but they would never tell.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Karen Rawson for this week’s prompt which inspired me to write my thriller-date-gone-horribly-wrong flash fiction.
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Viggo awoke to the aroma of spiced tea. Smiling sleepily, he reached across the bed towards her but his hand fell on worn sheets.
He bolted upright. The boat lulled gently in the tide.
A single cup of tea sat on the counter by the sink. And a packet of his favourite cigarettes.
Lighting one he blew grey smoke around his tiny cabin. He loosed a slow sad chuckle. She was saying goodbye in the best way she knew how. Tempest, his beautiful gypsy woman of never-ending horizons was gone.
He sipped his tea. Cold from waiting too long.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by leader Rochelle. The challenge is to 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.
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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 POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy
White doves cooed and shuffled about in their cages. Restless. The sun was out, a windless day yet Penelope’s mind was fogged over. Thick with anxiety. She glanced sideways at the rows of silk clad guests, smiling expectantly. The minister’s voice cut through the mind-fog, “Penelope?”
The groom’s frown betrayed his embarrassment.
“Penelope?” The minister nudged, “Do you take Jasper to be your lawful wedded husband?”
She could feel her mother’s eyes boring into her from the front row, urging her to finish it. She thought of the futility of marrying only in your social class.
And said, “I do.”
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. The challenge is to write a full story in 100 words or less.
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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
Janna had often thought of Uzair over the years and the memories always offered her some joy through the sadness. The memory she favoured the most was not their wedding day, or the day they bought their first home.
It was when they were both much younger, their first real interaction after fleeting glances. He had presented her with a marigold plucked from the gardens.
So when the package arrived on her doorstep, sheltering a single marigold, she went numb. Then an impossible realisation pierced through the confusion, radiating through her in an instant, her heart pounding. He was alive.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle, where the challenge is to write an entire story in 100 words or less.
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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
Few people peppered the diner. Candy preferred it this way. Quiet and intimate. She slid into a booth by the window, checked her watch.
They met here everyday at eleven. It was her secret.
Across the street she watched him leave his office. Her breath caught in her throat as he entered the diner. She loved the grey suit he wore today. Complemented his eyes. Deep blue. At the counter she knew he was ordering a cappuccino. Take away. His eyes roamed the diner not really settling on anything. Or anyone.
They met everyday at eleven. It was her secret.
***At the risk of being a stalker, Candy pursues her love interest from a quiet corner of an old diner. Written for Friday Ficitoneers hosted by the lovely Rochelle. Check out her blog where you may see more of her writing and books. Thank you to Roger Bultot for the this week’s photo prompt.
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