Archive for the ‘Friday Fictioneers’ Category

Photo by Sandra Crook

Souls come to me. Some blacker than the inside of midnight, others so bright they dim the light of stars.
From the beginning of time, we each stored them in the manner we saw fit.

Father kept souls in driftwood. Grandfather stored them inside tiny grains of sand.
Feathers. Leaves. Moss.
Each generation has a plan better than the last.

I chose shells, for they come in different shapes and sizes.
Small ones for babies, spiked ones for mean old men.
Sadly it ends here. There is no next generation.
I sweep up my collection and throw it into the sea.



Interrupted Plans

Posted: September 26, 2018 in Friday Fictioneers
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Our purple-clad Fairy Blog Mother kindly posted today’s photo prompt provided by Yvette Prior. This picture was a mind-boggler for me. Still, here are my 100-words.

On one side, everything is organized.
Grocery lists. Children’s schedules. Doctor’s appointments.
On the other, it feels like a hurricane whistled through and tumbled everything around.
Where are the keys? Did Roger leave me forever? I must walk the dog.
Too late. Time for dinner.
Stephanie opens the fridge, removes barbequed salmon, tartar sauce, coleslaw, and mashed potatoes.
She feels quite brilliant for having planned ahead.
When Roger comes home – yes, he’s only gone to work – the table will be set.
She startles when gentle hands turn her around.
“Come back to bed, my sweet. It’s half past midnight.”

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Wednesday-Friday has once again provided an interesting photo prompt posted by our Fairy Blog Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Here are my 100-words.

These are the bones of our people, stacked one upon another to form the perfect protective structure. Time means nothing to us. We come. We go. Live and die, yet we are always here, guarding our children and their children and on and on and on. No one tires of the process. While alive, we smile up at our ancestors. Celebrate their strengths and weaknesses. Thank them for watching over us. We know that following death we will shelter the cheerful and the lost, participate in weddings and funerals through our spirits. A never-ending circle that brings comfort and peace.


Life moves smoothly when our men are gone to sea, hunting and processing whales for five years or more.
Babies arrive during the first year. Then, finally, we’re free from that routine.
Our boys become kind and thoughtful without men chiding Only snivelers cry.
Our girls become beauties without men eyeing them with intent.
And we, the women, follow rules created among us, sans the hindrance of ego and imagined power.
A singular sadness falls on our shoulders when we first spy the whalers returning.
We retire to our homes, remove our husband’s pants and don uncomfortable corsets and dresses.



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


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.”



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.


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.