This post is written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are challenged to write a complete story (beginning, middle, and end) in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture below. Other stories may be found by clicking here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal
The sweet smell of her perfume still lingers in the room. It was her room. The room she escaped the hectic life she lived. It was not a crowed room. It was clean and sunny. Here she would keep a few of her most precious possessions. The sea shells collected from their favorite beach. A small art project she had started after a recent trip to Japan.
He still remembers the first time he saw her. An introduction at the place they worked. A feeling that she was the one. The first and only time he felt that emotion.
This post submitted to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Object is to write a story based on the photo prompt in 100 words or less with a beginning, middle and end.
My story follows the photo. For other stories click HERE.
PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer
It was her birthday present.
“Just for you honey bun,” Jack had proudly proclaimed. “They don’t come any classier than this baby. Mercedes S-Class Coupe, yes sir. Nothing but the best for my gal.”
After a bitter divorce fight the car was hers. Now on her own she headed out west to clear her mind. She never had completely understood all the gauges and dials on the car. The road sign indicated the nearest town was forty five miles away. She glanced at the instruments on the dashboard. One in particular caught her attention. “Range. 6 Miles.”
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, tasked us to write a complete story (Beginning, Middle, and End) based on the photo prompt provided in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture prompt. Other stories can be found by clicking here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie
“Are you hungry mister,” my wife asks as she rolls down the car window.
“John David Thomas” the figure in the old faded Army fatigues with crutches across his body slurs. “Yes Miss I am.”
“Here’s some food we have left over from dinner at Harry’s”, Carole says.
“Are you homeless,” my wife asks.
“I live down by the cemetery with my old mother and my goat,” he mumbles.
As we leave he continues “You have an extra three dollars you can spare. Liquor store is just down there. Hey! What’s in this bag anyway.
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers
Copyright – Adam Ickes
I was always running. Running away from what I could not explain. When relationships became too encumbering I vanished. Careers were suddenly torpedoed from an unknown fear. My family gave up on me. Always starting over. Nothing ever lasted. No future, just memories.
A memory I banished from my time with her surfaces: We stood on her front step after our first kiss, and she waited for me to respond. I wanted to tell her how I felt.
This time will be different I say to myself.
“This time take off your shoes and stay a while,” she said.
Photo Credit —–Douglas M. MacIlroy
Every Wednesday he sat here and pondered the image on his computer screen. He was not alone in this obsession. People from all over the world made an appearance here.
They all worshipped this divinity. The ONE that provided their inspiration was in session in HER domain.
Their stories were different. Faced with the same problem they came to difference interpretations. Was it a craftsman at his work station? A recluse with plans to take over the world? Why the tattered globe? What were those pliers used for?
PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn M. Miller
“It was your father’s only way to feed us. Coal was king in this part of Kentucky. We didn’t care about no black lung disease. Lord knows we never heard the words “climate change” and won’t make no difference if we did.”
“When he entered that mine shaft he had no idea it would be his last day on earth. Not only his last day but the last day for 37 other miners.”
“But I tell you one thing boy about your father. I knows you had differences with him but he would be proud that you became an environmental engineer.”
For some other stories click here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Nick Allen
His grandfather was called the “King” of the sport.
He spent his youth racing cars in western North Carolina. He was expected to win. And he did; becoming the youngest driver to win the National Championship.
Everyone kept telling him he should retire. He was getting too old and his reflexes were slowing down. He wanted one more win. He would win the championship if he won this last race.
On the last lap over his headset he heard his crew chief say “Watch out for oil in turn four.” They were the last words he would ever hear.