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Time to Move Out
It’s time for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle. The idea is to write approximately 100 words in response to a photo prompt. And 100 words is not a lot, let me tell you 🙂
This week’s photo is of a staircase in an old building, and was supplied by Rochelle herself! You can read all the stories submitted for this week’s prompt by clicking on the little blue froggy.
Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Harold wheezed, out of breath, as he reached his apartment block. A sharp sound – crack! crack! emanated from a nearby alley as he unlocked the front door.
“Damn gangbangers!” he muttered as he stepped over the semi-conscious junkie in the doorway and went inside. Fifty years ago this had been a nice, quiet neighbourhood.
As he approached the stairs he heard a scream and a body crashed down, bouncing off the grill lining the stairwell. Harold took a quick look. That pusher from next door.
He pulled out his phone and called his daughter.
“Honey, is that room still going spare?”
Storybook Corner – Pulse
Here is my submission for February’s Storybook Corner. This is a 300-500 word photo prompt hosted by talented fiction writer Adam Ickes. Here’s the cool logo.
Why not give this a go yourselves – you still have a couple of hours left for February! The word limit gives a little more scope than many of the photo prompts out there. You can read all the submissions by clicking on the little blue froggy below.
Everything Changes
Hello and welcome to my Friday Fictioneers entry, which is hosted as always by Rochelle and this week features a photo by Friday Fictioneerer Adam Ickes.
I wrote this story on Thursday, but only now have time to post it! To read the other entries for this week, click on the little blue froggy.
Copyright Adam Ickes
Shelley summoned her courage and approached the little wooden bridge. The new varnish gleamed – one could never tell that it had been damaged.
Edging forward she looked into the gulley, a run-off for melting winter snow. A tear stung her eye as she cast her mind back to last week when everything was all right, everything was normal. The buzzing of the little dirt bike, the laughter of her brother, his excitement as he tore onto the bridge.
A tiny miscalculation. That was all it took to change everything.
Forever.
She placed the flowers next to the bridge and walked away.
His Favourite Place
It’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted as always by the talented Rochelle. This week’s picture comes courtesy of Danny Bowman – my (roughly) 100 word story follows.
Have a look at all the other great entries here, and why not give it a go yourself?
Copyright Danny Bowman
Andriy mopped the sweat from his brow as he looked out over the stunning landscape.
What rugged beauty, he thought. Much like my native Ukraine.
He had emigrated to this land years ago, quickly finding work in a job he was eminently suited to. It was these moments of solitude however, surrounded by such incredible views, that he lived for.
Bracing himself, he dragged his burden to the edge of the cliff and pushed it over. For a moment he wondered what the poor sod had done to deserve such a brutal end, but then shrugged and settled down to enjoy the view.
More Haste…
I have completed my house move! Well, I have yet to re-assemble my bed, and I can barely move for boxes, but still… I missed last week’s Friday Fictioneers but I now have my internet connected. Fibre at last! Call me Mr Speedy.
So without further ado, here is my submission, written to a photo submitted by Fictioneerer Sandra Crook. As always, Rochelle is hosting the whole shebang, so be sure to check out her website, and you can also read the other submissions here.
Copyright Sandra Crook
I don’t believe it. Another tractor! Can’t these farmers move their straw in the middle of the night or something? What’s he doing? Fifteen miles per hour? Ridiculous. What about my dinner?
Ah, I think I can slip past… no! That was close. Damn cars coming at me. Maybe in a minute, I think there’s a straight bit. Here we go… oops. Dammit! More traffic. I can’t believe this. Pull over, moron! I’ve had enough of this. I’m going past. There’s never anything on this stretch. Foot down, yes! No! NO!
Jim Preston. Loving husband. Father of three.
Idiot.
Dead.
Highly Strung
It’s Friday Fictioneers time! And I’m actually posting on a Friday for a change.
For those of you new to Friday Fictioneers, our wonderful host Rochelle posts a picture and the rest of us write a (roughly) 100 word story, poem or whatever about it. This week’s photo was donated by fellow Fictioneerer Janet Webb. Thanks, Janet!
To read all the other stories, click here.
I have to admit my story is 107 words. I already cut a load out and I honestly can’t see how to cut out another 7 words without compromising the story. Sorry 😦 .
Copyright Janet Webb
Detective Turnbull looked around the gallery. He couldn’t decide if the sprays of blood adorning the art were an improvement. He shook his head.
“Not your thing, detective?” asked a uniform.
“Art? Huh. So, what happened?”
“The artist went nuts. Sliced some kid to bits with a palette knife, if you can believe that.”
“Do we know why?” asked Turnbull.
“Kid grabbed a sangria from over there. Apparently it was part of the ‘piece’. Bit high strung, this artist.”
“Okay.” Turnbull turned to the gallery owner. “We’ll get this blood cleaned up.”
“Are you mad? This is live art! I can sell this room for a fortune!”
CWG Week 7 Episode 20
It’s week 7 of Kerrie’s Chain Writing Game, and this week we see Hugh escaping from an “inescapable” prison (and the noose)! Where will he go? What’s the deal with Sarah and her insanely fast car?
Catch up with the story by clicking on the little blue froggy. My third contribution is below.
We’re seriously running out of time so I’m going to reluctantly speed things up a bit.
Hugh threw a grenade at the front door of the Senator’s house as Sarah took the rifle and found a vantage point nearby. The door exploded into fragments and Hugh ran inside. Halfway to the Senator’s study a guard appeared, weapon drawn.
Silhouetted against a window, the guard’s head was no match for Sarah’s bullet as she shot him from across the road.
Hugh burst into the Senator’s study to find him throwing papers into the open fire.
“Hold it, you wife-killing bastard!” snarled Hugh.
The Senator froze.
Outside, with a screech of tyres, Evan and Jeffrey pulled up, murder in their eyes.
The Last Sunrise
Here is my contribution to Sunday Photo Fiction. You can view all the 100-200 word stories by clicking on the blue froggy, and why not have a go yourself?
Simon and Shelley sat hand in hand on the hill top, looking out at the rapidly brightening sky.
“Is it true, do you think?” asked Shelley quietly, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face.
“All contact with Australia was lost hours ago. Russia. Eastern Europe. All going quiet, one by one.”
“Maybe there’s some other explanation?”
Simon squeezed her hand. “It’s still half an hour to sunrise,” he said sombrely. “See how light the sky is already.”
Shelley nestled her head against him. He put his arm around her shoulders.
“Of all the scenarios we’ve seen in the movies – floods, global warming, alien invasion, even zombies – why did nobody mention this?” asked Shelley, sobbing.
“Maybe someone did,” replied Simon, eyes glistening with his own tears. “Maybe we didn’t see that film.” He hugged her closer.
“It’ll be one hell of a sunrise, though,” said Shelley.
Simon nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
They were still sitting, holding each other tight when the sun rose. Once the bringer of life, it had turned on its children. The most titanic solar firestorm in Earth’s history accompanied the sunrise this morning, burning the planet clean.
CWG Week 7 Episode 14
It’s week 7 of Kerrie’s Chain Writing Game, and this week we see Hugh escaping from an “inescapable” prison (and the noose)! Where will he go? What’s the deal with Sarah and her insanely fast car?
Catch up with the story by clicking on the little blue froggy. My second contribution is below.
Back on the road, Hugh and Sarah hurtled past a junction.
“Shit!” swore Sarah. “Cops.”
Hugh glanced behind and saw the ominous flashing lights, distant yet but coming closer.
“What the hell kind of souped-up car are they driving?” exclaimed Sarah. “We’re doing well over a hundred!”
In the car behind, Jeffrey grinned at Evan.
“Keep goin’, we’ve nearly got ‘em!”
Their radio hissed. “All cars, fall back, the FBI has this one.”
Jeffrey flipped off the radio and grabbed a shotgun from the back seat. Up ahead, Hugh pulled the gun from under the seat and rolled down the window.
Evil Squirrel’s Competition – Where’s My Nuts?
Evil Squirrel over at the Nest is holding a competition! We get the chance to win UD$20 worth of squirrel-themed thongs, or some such, from his squirrel shop.
Squirrel-themed thongs, I hear you ask? No, I didn’t believe it either – click here for the proof.
According to the rules of the competition, the entry can be anything we like as long as it contains a squirrel, a possum and a unicorn. Sounds like the ideal opportunity to make a childish play on the word “nuts” to me (desperately hoping as I do so that it has the same slang meaning in the rest of the English-speaking world as it does in the UK).
So here is my cute little children’s story – “Where’s My Nuts?” (Warning – not suitable for children, unless they don’t know that “nuts” is slang for “testicles” in which case it’s fine.)
Click for a random post!
Woohoo!
I totally didn't win!
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