Friday Fictioneers — On Strike

This post was written for the Friday Fictioneers based on the prompt below.

Copyright -Claire Fuller

Copyright -Claire Fuller

“Your father is in there Tony. They are on strike against the company. The local diner across the street is providing their meals free of charge. And they have elected their own mayor and police to maintain order. Any person who breaks the rules will be given a trial and punishments ranging  from washing dishes to being expelled from the plant. Just like a little city. Look, see the man with the busy eyebrows? He’s the company’s leader. He’s meeting with your father now.”

up against the man

down for right now but not out

brighter tomorrow

Word count 99

Friday Fictioneers — Carla Is Sold

 

Copyright - Björn Rudberg

Copyright – Björn Rudberg

Dementrio viewed the men as they approached his little shack. Both were wearing  bandoliers. He knew the time had come. “Bring Carla to me,” he calmly directed his wife.

As the two bandits approached, his son Fausto clutched his ragged pant legs and asked his father, “Why Carla father?” Dementrio could not tell his son theirs crops of bananas and sugarcane had failed to produce any money this year. “The men bring money so we may survive. For that we give them your little sister. Her life will be better. You are lucky Fausto as they only want girls.”

These 98 words constitute my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Friday Fictioneers — Time For Bed

Our fearless Friday Fictioneers fantastic female big cheese Rochelle has furnished us this weeks challenge.

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end using the picture below. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)

Copyright - Erin Leary

Copyright – Erin Leary

I draw my power from this earth. Running water draws it away. Sunset up, sunrise down. I live in a land of dripping midnight waters and soft grey web. I am a pedestrian who walks this path looking for unsuspecting virgins in the night. Demons and Spirits are my precursors so they say. I believe I have no name, just this white hand, a set of yellow teeth and a cold heart. I’m a thing in a box and with daylight I must return to heal my wounds from last night. Little drops of red liquor upon my sleeping lips.

Friday Fictioneers: Would You Like To Fly?

Copyright-Dawn Q. Landau

I know I am crazy. Ask the doctor’s. But I hear a voice from the top of the stairs:

“I am your conscience. The door to your darkest fear. I am the spirit. The answer you hope to find.”

I have many dark fears. Which one I ask myself.

“Would you like to fly?”

That flying fear! Ok, got that. I’ve always had that. What else?

“If you would like to climb, you will find the stairway leads to you.”

But what if I don’t want to climb you? Will  all my fears be gone?

“Would you like to fly?”

Friday Fictioneers: Trouble

Once again it’s time for Friday Fictioneers thanks to our good friend Rochelle.

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.)

Tree Climbing Poppy

His name was Trouble and he lived up to his name. My father bought him from a neighbor for $25. Dad said I was 50% owner. I owned the back half. The half you have to clean up after. Trouble liked to run. He would run and then look back to see if you were following. Trouble would get so excited in the house when we played with him he would pee on the floor. Trouble even ran a squirrel up a tree one time. Trouble went blind at age fifteen. My dad took him to the field out back and shot him.

Friday Fictioneers — Planned Attack Failure

These words are my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.

Copyright - Douglas M MacIlroy

Copyright – Douglas M MacIlroy

They spent the previous day planting two bombs in the iconic Tower. They knew a successful strike on the tower would be a French 9/11 and could cost thousands of lives.

After the bombs were secured to the structure both Henri and Anatole spent the cold night hiding behind the larger beams. Both men joined the first of the 32,000 daily visitors as they exited. The remote control detonation device was hidden under a park bench some 4 blocks from the Tower. As they entered the park  un agent de police asked, “Messieurs, are you looking for this little box?”

friday-fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers time! This week’s photo comes courtesy of Adam Ickes. Every week Rochelle posts a picture and nearly 100 writers put their own spin on it. Head over, read some great writers, and join in the fun.

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 - Adam Ickes

you said let’s go someplace quite

a place together; just us

somewhere you could be my knight

you knew i wouldn’t make a fuss

the lake was warm you said

we shed our cloths to bear our souls

somehow this filled me with dread

i suddenly needed to escape this water hole

my fear was real after you revealed

terrible things i didn’t want to here

certain things you wanted i couldn’t yield

you graced me with your rotten sneer

that led to an angry walk

looking back I said

don’t forget your boots are on the dock