Tag: Challenges

Leon’s Farm Market

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

The challenge is to write a story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less using the picture prompt below.

He spent his teenage summers working at his father’s farm market: “Leon’s Farm Market.” He worked seven days a week while his buddies enjoyed their summers just hanging around the neighborhood. He was responsible for rolling up the chain link fence that surrounded the market at 9 a.m. He was giving exactly $40 (one ten-dollar bill, three five-dollar bills and fifteen one-dollar bills) to open the old crank style National cash register.

He knew his first customer today. Mrs. Rosenburg was always looking for anything on sale. Looking over his shoulder she said, “How much are those garlics today Danny Boy?”

Edwina Justice

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers where the challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast

The train whistled two long blasts, a short one and another long blast indicating it was approaching a highway intersection.

The engineer had experiences on shorter trips. Trips from Chicago to St. Louis carrying hogs, cattle, and sugar beets. On these trips there were no toilets. The men didn’t care if they missed the pot. This engineer had to sometimes wait twelve hours unless there was a stop. Air conditioning was an open window.

Along these trips she got to know hobos and some other “unauthorized passengers.” Often these homeless were surprised to see a black woman as an engineer.

 

Edwina Justus

train

RDP Homeless

 

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

Pigeon Heaven

Alastair’s Photo Fiction

pigeon“Come on guys, it’s time to go. He had a good life until he hit that window” said Vinnie.

“We were the best of pals, weren’t we”, said Joey.

“Hey, I wrote an Eulogy for him” chimed Bobby. “It goes like this:”

“When newborn on his fledgling wings,
A pigeon dreamt of lofty things,
But elders warned of what’s in store,
“You’re just a pigeon. Nothing more.”

“Perhaps,” he thought, “I’ll be a swallow,
So swiftly flying none could follow,
Or maybe with great eagles soar!”
He was a pigeon. Nothing more.

“Or a poet! Scholar! Mathematician!
Saint, philosopher, great magician!
Like ravens, I’ll quote, ‘Nevermore!'”
Alas, a pigeon. Nothing more.

He dreamed of being other birds,
But in the end ’twas naught but words.
‘Twas just a pigeon–nothing more–
Who’d never heard of glass before”.

“I have something to inscribe on his tombstone” said Vinny.

“Accept the fact that some days you’re the pigeon and some days you’re the statue”.