Archive for the ‘Friday Fictioneers’ Category

I’m cheating and submitting two stories this week because, after today, I’m taking time away from our merry band. I will miss you all and will certainly visit every now and again. Once I have a handle on the revision of my novel, I’ll return ~ with bells on. Lish

things happen down at the water’s edge
petey’s place is always hoppin’ and jumpin’
delia’s boathouse sells beers schnapps tequila on ice
that light through the trees shows where toots and jango deal everything from cocaine to meth
great place to hang if you’re wantin to meet a girl or ten
take money girls like money
yeah yeah it’s quiet now that’s cause it’s past two in the a.m.
but after four the lunatics come out and sing
loud too
sometimes they wear bells sometimes crazy hats and big pants
gotta go to the light
visit toots and jango

 

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Today’s photo was provided by Liz Young. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for always posting thought-provoking prompts.

people are always watch, watch, watching me,
following, whispering, shouting
inside my head, behind my back, talk, talk, talk
i feel tied up in knots, trapped in a cage,
nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,
scared, happy,
no, sad, giddy
where are my mates, my mom, daughters
didn’t i have a son once
he is dead, was never born, did he have a twin
hell, can’t remember
i think i ate yesterday or last week
donuts, chips, an apple found in the trash
fought a squirrel for it, a raven

“Come with us, son. Time to go back inside.”

99-words

 

Today’s picture prompt was provided by J. Hardy Carroll and posted by our fearless leader, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, a master cat herder. Thanks to you both.

Before the war, football, cars, and pretty girls were the only things James thought about. He was the life of parties that never ended before 3 a.m. Girls called him. Everyone in town started wearing pink and blue shirts because that’s what he wore.

Superstar.

After the war, people glanced at his prosthetic and moved their eyes to a spot above his shoulder, acted like they couldn’t quite place who he was and walked away. He felt invisible.

Tonight James had a surprise for them. Hefting his baton, he strutted out on the field in a short-skirted, perfectly pink majorette uniform.

 

100-words

 

Today’s picture prompt was provided by our Fairy Blog Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. I imagine this room is in her home and people gather ’round on couches and chairs, wine in hand, to listen to music and laugh.

Gracie nestled across his chest.
The little-girl-heat on a swampy night was stifling.
Thompson didn’t mind. He loved the child from her black curls down to her shell-pink toenails.

A breeze lifted the smell of fish spawn and hyacinths.
Home.
The music of wind chimes, bullfrogs and coyotes vied with piano music from Gator’s Bar all lit up across the Teche.
Glasses clinked.
A woman laughed.
That was the troublesome part.

Sighing, Thompson stepped into the bateau, baby in one arm, suitcase in the other, and
the vision of a tight red dress and stiletto heels dancing around in his head.

 

The Threat

Posted: June 20, 2018 in Friday Fictioneers
Tags: , , ,

My Dearest Sonya,
I leave tonight. Father drinks too much. Mother constantly cries. My brothers fight in a war that makes no sense. But you know all this. I can’t say where I’m going and haven’t much money but join me, I beg you. Since it is impossible for us to be seen together, I’ll come to the market at noon. Wear a yellow dress if the answer is yes, blue if the answer is no.
Your Raul

Sonya reads a second letter, feels the threat. Slowly she slips into her black dress to signal Raul’s father that his son intends to flee.

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Today’s thought-provoking photo was provided by Jean L Hays. Thanks, Rochelle, for posting it for the Friday Fictioneers to mull over and create a 100-word story.

Time was Angie felt like a pretty bird.
Time was Lester was kind. Gentle.
He’d give her small gifts. River rocks. A sand dollar.
One morning he brought home a clutch of robin eggs
bluer than his eyes.
She made him put them back.

Now Angie feels as if she’s
cooped up with a tiger.
Lester’s gone all crazy. Mean.
He steals things or rips them apart.
Hair combs. Stockings. Earrings.
Anything that makes her feel feminine and soft.

Angie knows it’s her fault
and doesn’t complain.
She let Lester’s daddy hit the boy
too many times.

 

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Susana stands stiffly, watching people run to the water’s edge, and return.
Each picks up a stone or bottle fragments polished by wave-driven sand.
Some discover Japanese glass floats in blue or green.
Others find pearls tucked inside broken half-shells. And squeal.
They have no idea they are stealing when they slip her treasures inside their backpacks.
Still, their ignorance makes her angry.
She conjures wind that whips sand, and rocks and driftwood into an angry funnel
that dances down the beach and swallows them whole.
Susana smiles in the silence and slowly bends to collect what is left behind.

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