Archive for the ‘Friday Fictioneers’ Category
THE CHALLENGE:
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)
Copyright -Randy Mazie
He remembered the building well. He received a telephone call within a few minutes of checking into his hotel from an anonymous caller telling him to get back where he came from if he didn’t “want to be carried out in a wooden box”.
He told the workers he would organize a “sit down” strike against their powerful employer. Sit-down strikers did just that, electing their own “Mayor” and other civic officials and maintaining the plant throughout the strike.
No trespassing meant death to those inside.
100 Exactly
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Friday Fictioneers (FF) is a challenge open to writers all over the world: write a 100 word story using the week’s unique photo as inspiration. This week’s picture is supplied by Ted Strutz.
More hows, whens and whats of FF can be found here at Rochelle’s site.
The return voyage was void of passengers except for the ferryman Charon. He had collected sixty danake, or one for every soul of the deceased, for the journey across the river Styx. Each coin carefully placed on the mouth of the dead person.
Charon could not accommodate everyone. His red flashing eyes would determine who boarded his boat and those who would be left behind to wander the shores for one hundred years.
Charon felt his power while holding his pole in his right hand and using his left hand to receive the deceased. “Another day another sixty danake, he thought!”
NaBloPoMo #28
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Thanks to Rochelle and her weekly Friday Fictioneers challenge!
THE CHALLENGE:
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end.
Photo Copyright Sean Fallon
I remember our first date. How could I forget? It was MY first date. You were a minister’s daughter. My mom was pleased. I picked you up to attend a concert. You slid in right beside me. You placed your hand inside my legs. Remember bench seats? Thirty years married when I started to wear pink. Now I can hardly remember. The memory fails each day. Now it’s one day at a time. The kids keep telling me:
common love you shared
a sad song by Patsy Cline
i fall to pieces
NaBloPoMo #21
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Photo by Douglas M. Macllroy
In response to “Friday Fictioneers Challenge.”
“What’s all the commotion about Charlie.”
“It’s an audition for a seafood commercial. They took our glamour shots this morning. I was one of four to be called back a few minutes ago to speak our lines. They narrowed that field down to three. And I am one of the three.”
“Looks like you have some colorful competition.”
“Oh, hoiti toi, there are just a bunch of Koi. Wait, here comes the producer. I hope I’m the winner.”
“Sorry, Charlie. We are looking for someone who has good taste, not taste good.”
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Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields again for her Friday Fictioneers challenge.
The lady, judging from her appearance and quirks, has extreme mental health issues, but she plays the game of life, non-the-less. She walks to and from somewhere dragging that shopping cart, but is also occasionally seen trundling a piece of luggage to and fro. She sports bright red earmuffs when it’s not even cold outside. To talk to her, she seems normal enough, but her appearance and that shopping card set her apart. I wonder what is so important to her that she takes it with her on a daily basis.
She always refused to leave that cart behind for any reason.
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Thanks for the encouragement of Friday Fictioneers.
The police said “that it looked similar to cocaine and they probably thought they’d hit the big time.” Nathan stood in front of the TV cameras and pleaded with the burglars: “please return the cremated remains of my sister. She died three years ago.”
The next morning the bullet-riddled corpse of a drug dealer named Hoochie Pevens was found on the beach. The cardboard box was there too; about half of Gertrude’s ashes remained. and there was this note. It said: “Hooche sold us the bogus blow, so we wasted Hoochie. Sorry we snorted your sister. No hard feelings. Have a nice day.”
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It’s time for Friday Fictioneers.
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)
He didn’t know why his grandmother like this picture. But she told him her interpretation many times.
“Behind the yellow door you can hear poets and prose writers reading their books. The blue door contains old memories which never die. Some do escape through the opening. And the red door is protection from the angel of death.”
This is where nothing ever happens but winter always comes”.
Night Grandma!
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