I’m a bit late to the party, but I needed to have a discussion with a rather large friend in order to get his ideas about the way things are progressing in his pod. We shared mackerel paste and tea. I’ve narrowed down his diatribe to 100-words.Thanks to Ted Strutz and Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for this week’s photo prompt – the ferry to San Juan Island, I believe.

I want nothing from you nor do I need to give you anything.
Let me be and in turn, I will avoid you.
Our kind has plowed these waters for hundreds of years, moving in groups or alone.
Your kind stalks us in boats, turns us into piles of bones and barrels of oil.
You show no mercy.
You slaughter pregnant females and babies.
Our males are scarred by your explosive harpoons.
Now is the time to enjoy our beauty, listen to our songs, learn from us.
Or just leave us alone.
Do it!
Do it now!
Before time runs out.


Today Pegman took us to Dubai. Here is my 150-word story about that opulent city.

So much water. Blue as a single droplet clinging to a spike of grass. Bluer than my mother’s favorite cotton dress. And, sometimes, testier than my father. I suppose it would be advantageous to thank you for bringing me to your city of bright lights and big money, for once you loved me. Me a skinny, black-skinned girl from Darfur where water is as precious as your golden rings and diamonds. I remember the afternoon we met. Do you? I had walked five miles to draw water from the borehole, been raped by two Janjaweed soldiers. No, I correct myself, Janjaweed beasts. You, collector of rarities, saw beyond the bruises on my face, into my heart of kindness, or so you said. Now? I am too dark. Too primitive. Too stupid. I carry your child yet you send me back. Do not worry. You might find the Nazar in time.


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The Last of Her Kind

Posted: June 14, 2017 in Friday Fictioneers
Tags: , , ,

Tonight in a town square lit by the moon, the Friday Fictioneers gather to write 100-word stories. Thanks, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and Dale Rogerson for this thought provoking photo.


The day had been too long, hours creeping by with the slow tock, tock, tock of her heart. Lizbeth owned no watch, nor could she read the shadows of the sun’s passing. Although she had promised, Mother hadn’t taken time to teach the meaning of shifting winds. And after saying, “You’ll learn to read the waters,” Father disappeared. When brother Paul kissed her, saying, “I’ll return for you,” she believed him, too. Six-year-olds trust so easily.

The day had been full of screams. Now, hidden in the shadows, Lizbeth does her best to interpret the silence crawling across the night.


Today Pegman took us on a trip to Guatemala. The pictures reminded me of my recent trip to Peru. Thanks! Pegman (a.k.a – k. rawson)

You have taken me on one wild ride.
But it’s over.
As of today, this minute,
we are no longer entangled
like bad ideas that never meshed.

You loomed over me
thinking you were smarter, funnier
more attractive, more elegant
by far.
Saying I was wrong for you
even as you clung to me
like an itchy spider web.

Together we tore up friendships
collected lovers
discarded them
never thinking of the harm we’d done.
wanting more of what we should not have.
Attracting and crushing lives.

No more. We are finished.
I am tossing you out beside
the memories
of my broken heart.
You can no longer harm me.

And, no, I will not be kind
I wish you every evil
you bestowed on me.
Every curse you delivered to others.
No need to ask, I will tell you
I do not love you


Good morning! Thanks to Sarah Potter and Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (not only for the picture but a great story line to follow) I have this little tale to tell. Thanks to one and all for reading.

The way things were going this morning, Rochelle wasn’t a bit surprised to find the windows hanging at odd angles. Sleep eluded her last night because of an ear-worm, several actually, and upon rising, she realized she’d forgotten to pay the gas bill. The bedroom was freezing. And perhaps the computer was frozen, too, because over and over a message flashed saying the InLinkz code couldn’t be found. Raking fingers through tangled hair, she scuffed downstairs in her husband’s slippers, mumbling, “Coffee” then shouting “Oy, vey!” when she saw that the plant she hadn’t watered for a month had taken over her desk.



Today Pegman transported us to Kanchanaburi, Thailand. Wouldn’t it be a fun place to visit in person?

Uncle Chai Son strung all the electrical wires in our city. Every single one. He delicately balanced a wobbly wooden ladder on the hood of his van then carefully climbed to the tippy-top in his too-big straw sandals before flinging wires this way and that until a whole neighborhood was electrified.
My cousins and I watched in awe – if we weren’t in school that is. Oh, yes Uncle Chai Son was the most amazing man we knew. When we accidentally mentioned Chai Son was a relative our classmate’s eyes grew wide. “No! You’re related to him?
Because Uncle was so amazing, government inspectors ignored the fact that the wires above the Wangthong Bungalow were a little off-center, perhaps bent? The guests had light, didn’t they? The day after the building burnt down – thank goodness only two people were slightly burned – Uncle Chai Son disappeared. Some people suggest that he, too, is now electrified.


Thanks, J Hardy Carroll, for a thought-provoking picture and thanks, Rochelle, for posting it in order to inspire the Friday Fictioneer group to hop to our computers on a Wednesday morning. After chop, chop, chopping my story weighs in at 99-words.

Anna collected fractured glass of all sizes, and shapes. Cerulean blue: perfume bottles. Crimson red: Christmas bobbles. Brown: shattered beer growlers from drunken nights. She scoured gutters beaches dumpsters to find perfect shades.

In her kitchen, Anna fit the glass corner-to-corner, side-by-side creating stained-glass pictures of forests, animals, people, so intricate they looked alive. She sold her artwork at the farmer’s market for pennies and was pleased. Her do-nothing husband was not.

After the fire, her remaining art sold at auction for hundreds. But the one her husband knew would bring the most money had gone missing.