draliman on life

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Madison Woods.

To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Madison Woods

“Hurry, they’re coming, string the barbed wire!”

(twang)

“Connect it to the generator and flip the switch!”

(crackle bzzzzzzz)

“I can see them now, freaks, horns, demons! They’ll take everything, nothing is safe, no-one is safe. Inside, quickly! Close the door, lock it. We have seconds, scant seconds! Turn out the light.”

(click)

“Behind the sofa, everyone. They mustn’t see us, they mustn’t see us… they’re here, oh God, they’re here… shhhhh…”

(clomp clomp clomp…)

“TRICK OR TREAT!”

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Kent Bonham, and you read the other stories by clicking on the blue froggy.

Copyright Kent Bonham

“I don’t understand, Michaelson. We’ve tried every glyph in this damnable book to no avail, by Gods!” snapped Trenchart in exasperation.

Michaelson regarded the book suspiciously. “Are you sure this book is the genuine article, old man? Three weeks we’ve been at this. Three damnable weeks!”

“Got it off some chappie in the market, cost a fortune. Swore it was the genuine article, what?” said Trenchart. “Same time as I purchased that colouring book I shipped home to my daughter…” He tailed off, and the intrepid explorers looked at the book in horror.

“Damn it all, Trenchart!” yelled Michaelson.

Here is my story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. The picture this week was contributed by J Hardy Carroll.

To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright J Hardy Carroll

Josie looked up at the burned out windows as she huddled in the shadow of the broken building. The other kids thought this place depressing but she liked it here. Sometimes she fancied that if she looked hard enough, she could see the ghost of her mother staring down. It made her feel safe.

Her mother had been a “resident” here at Saint Joseph’s Home for the Feeble of Mind until the Great Fire of 1972. They’d been trying to cure her of her compulsion towards arson.

Josie shook her head sadly. Guess it didn’t take.

Here’s my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. I’m a bit earlier than usual as I have a day off today! The photo was supplied by Marie Gail Stratford.

To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Marie Gail Stratford

The city looked so beautiful, so peaceful from up on the ledge. Harry watched the people, ant-like, scurrying around, busy with their own lives. He felt strangely disconnected.

He had lost the house trying to prop up his failing law firm, the last straw for his long-suffering wife. She’d left with the kids. He had nothing left.

Hearing his law partner approach, pleading with him to come back off the ledge, he shook his head sadly.

“Here’s what you do. This roof has easy access, no locked door and no safety rail. Sue the owners. Save the firm.”

He jumped.

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Ted Strutz.

To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Ted Strutz

“Jeez, mate, what the Hell is that? What a mess!”

Pedro looked the passer-by straight in the eyes. “It’s new, it’s bold, it’s modern, it’s art!”

“Yeah… it’s not though, is it? It’s crap and you’re a hack.”

“Hmm, maybe it could use a little extra something…” mused Pedro, eyes flashing angrily. “Wait right here.”

For days the artwork “Man With Head Smashed In By Sledgehammer Next To Toilet Of Flowers” took the art world by storm. That is, until the sun came out and the “beautifully detailed figure” (Modern Sculpture Magazine), the “utterly lifelike mannequin” (Art Today), started to stink.

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers. Rochelle is our host and she also provided this week’s photo!

To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Myron contemplated the dilapidated factories across the river. They used to be so busy, he mused. Back when there was money. No longer. Times were tough. With the closure of those factories, days of joy and laughter spent with his wife and son had become a hand-to-mouth existence.

Something had to give. Myron had taken action.

At least now there’s one less mouth to feed, he thought. As if on cue he saw a bundle being swept downriver.

“Samuel!” he yelled angrily. “Your mother’s floating off again. Fetch her back and this time use all your gym equipment to weigh her down!”

Here is my little story for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly 100 word flash fiction hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Emmy L. Gant.

To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Emmy L. Gant

Delvor cast his eye over the city as the sun slipped behind billowing clouds, admiring the spires and majestic buildings, testament to the achievements of Man. Despite these grand structures, the city was quiet, seemingly deserted.

Would that it were, he mused as he shifted his gaze to the shadows; inky black, far too black, unnaturally black. Delvor was Chosen. Delvor could see that which was hidden to most, the things which lived in the dark places, under beds, inside wardrobes. Things which killed the unsuspecting, the unaware, mutilating without mercy.

Girding himself, he unsheathed his obsidian dagger and advanced.

A day later than usual, here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was supplied by Al Forbes. To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.

Copyright Al Forbes

As he drove back from the motor show, Terry reflected on the good old days. He’d driven those cars for real, once. Sure, they were a little out of date even then, but common enough not to be a curiosity. Real cars for real drivers!

Ah, the wind in your hair, the flies in your eyes, the freezing winter air ripping through you. Every bump a nightmare, every junction a challenge, every corner a danger.

He adjusted the climate control, told his stereo to change tracks, switched on the heated seats and smiled. Progress isn’t all bad, he thought.

Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. Today’s photo was contributed by FF regular Sandra Crook.

You can read this week’s other stories by clicking on the blue froggy.

Copyright Sandra Crook

“Check this out! It’s really a time machine.”

“No way!”

“Yes way! See the hourglasses? What time is it now?”

“Um… big hand’s on the… um… twenty-five past three.”

“I’m going to spin the central bit, round and round and…”

“Oy! You kids! What’re you doing to ‘The Sands of Time’? Clear off!”

“Run!”

“Phew, that was close. Did it work?”

“What time is it now?”

“Um… twenty-six past three. Wow, we’ve travelled forward a whole minute!”

“Told ya! Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah! What shall we do now?”

“See that spiky thing over there? It’s really a spaceship.”

“No way!”