Friday Fictioneers — I Fall to Pieces

Thanks to Rochelle and her weekly Friday Fictioneers challenge!

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end.

Copyright - Sean Fallon

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

Sorry Charlie!

Copyright - C. Hase
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.”

Friday Fiction: Shopping Cart Schizohrinia

copyright -Janet Webb

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.

Low Tide

Thanks for the encouragement of Friday Fictioneers.

seagulls-wicklund

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.”

Three Doors: Poets, Memories, and Death

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.)

threedoorsHe 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!

Martha – Friday Fictioneers

“Martha?” Again, no reply.

He knew he had the correct shop. It was where she purchased her wedding dress many years ago. He had returned from the war with shrapnel in his leg. She said the damaged leg didn’t bother her and so they were married. ¬†She was lovely on that day. Her face radiated with a glow so intense he was afraid to touch her. And almost every anniversary they would have tea at the little place across the street.

It had been a few years since they had celebrated an anniversary. He could not remember the last time.

“Martha?”