This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a short story, 100 words or less, with a beginning, middle and end using the picture prompt provided. My story follows that picture prompt below.
Living far from her parents was rough enough in normal times. And this definitely was not close to normal. She regretted now, more than ever before, leaving home. Leaving them so depended on others.
He did not even get the opportunity to see his latest grandchild. Even her mother was not able to be at his bedside when he died. Only the nurse. A nurse who nothing about the wonderful person that lay before her suffering his last suffocating painful breaths.
She received the dreaded last night at 3 a.m.
“Send me something to remember him,” she asked the nurse.
This story is written for Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less using the picture prompt below. My story follows the picture prompt.
His mind wandered in and out of the real world. His twenty eight years working on Amtrak trains occupied his decaying mind at the moment. He had a nightmare that would not go away.
He had to throw a switch.
The switch that would allow his train to enter the siding and allow the Amtrak California Zephyr to pass on the main line on its way to its final destination in Emeryville. He didn’t realize how much the heavy snow would slow him down.
The headline in the San Francisco Examiner read: “Brakeman only survivor in Amtrak train disaster.”
The big event was in full swing and everyone was having a wonderful time. Stories were being shared. Friends they had know for the last fifty years and longer were there to help celebrate their fifty years of marriage.
They had their ups and downs but what couple doesn’t who stays together that long. In fact their marriage has lasted longer than their children’s marriages.
“What’s the secret to a long marriage”, asked his best friend David. “Those famous three words.?”
He smiled to himself. “They have changed a little but the thought is still the same.”
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture prompt below.
The weather was dreary. She felt the helpfulness flow over her. Her brother and father were in another line just a few feet away. She quickly glanced over. Their heads were bowed as they marched toward the gray concrete building. It would be the last time she saw them.
Her line slugged forward. No words were spoken. It had only been two hours since she was booted from the train. The train that was so crowded that when they opened the door some prisoners were expelled involuntary.
Years later she would tell a spellbound audience, “We got the water.”
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.The challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture prompt below.
Living in Seoul was an eye opening experience. “You will make new and interesting friends” her father said. But it was hard for a ten year old girl who was extremely shy. She missed her friends from San Antonio.
Learning a new language proved to be difficult. Her new friends wanted to learn her language too. She found a solution for both problems by giving videotaped English lessons for the Korean school system.
Looking back she realized this was the start of her broadcasting career.
“One minute to air, Nora”, boomed a voice in the background.
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle, and end in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture prompt below.
It is their finished product. It gleams with excitement. Roger had tuned his guitar an hour earlier. John’s trumpet and French horn were waiting. The drums were taking a rest before Keith pounded them into submission. Dave had his piano ready to take directions from his flying fingers.
Now the seats are all empty. The last of the folding chairs are in place. This is the quiet before the storm. The lights will come up to welcome another show. Be it Detroit or Chicago who knows.
Having been some time in preparation a good time is guaranteed for all.
Someone was knocking at the front door. He rose like a zombie to answer the summons. His feet moved without any direction from him. Until recently Carole would handle any interruptions from their quiet life. Until today.
Her fever had approached dangerous levels two days ago. Then came the lost of her taste buds. That was a devastating blow to her ego. She basked in the comments of her guests after one of her fantastic dinners.
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.The challenge is to write a short story in 100 words or less with a beginning, middle and end using the picture prompt below.
Looking outside it looks festive, but I can’t really tell from where I stand.
There are twelve of us waiting in line all wearing our white pajamas, hands cuffed in front, to receive our meds from the doctor who is behind a glass partition. He puts two pills inside a small dixie cup. The green one is the magic one. He makes sure you swallow. I have learned to hide the green one under my tongue. I take it before going to bed. It helps me keep what is left of my sanity.
This post is written forFriday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle, and end using 100 words of less using the picture prompt below.
He knew he was taking a chance. He needed the money to support his habit.
It was an elite private high school. His parents paid an ungodly amount to send him there. They provided the best of everything. They purchased him a $45,000-dollar Mustang for his sixteenth birthday. He knew how to play the game with them.
The backpack provided the perfect vehicle to transport his drugs. Everyone had a backpack. He made sure his did not draw attention. Plain black but lots of zippered pockets for his inventory.
He heard a whisper behind his back. It wasn’t a customer.
He lived in his white van. A van he purchased when times were good. His shuttered little sea food restaurant last year was a tourist hot spot. Usually this time of year is when he made almost all of his money. The empty strip-mall behind him was a constant reminder of the virus lurking all around him. The virus that killed his hopes for living.
Yesterday his van stopped running. Even if he could get it repaired, which he could not afford, where would he go. The coming winter would be hard on his seventy-four-year-old body.