The Last Party

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a complete story, beginning, middle and end using 100 words or less using the photo prompt for inspiration. My story follows the photo below.


PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Well, I should get out of this hotel bed. What a wild party that was last night. And to think Brian said I should’t drive home. I don’t remember that beautiful light fixture up there. Hey, that’s Uncle Paul and Aunt Marion looking down at me. They weren’t  there last night. Why are they saying I look natural? What do you mean I was only 36; I’m 34.

And there’s my Mom right behind them. Why’s she crying? And she’s got her black dress one. The dress that she reserves for funerals.

Hey, who’s putting the sheets over me. Hey!

Another Tomorrow

This post is written for Sunday Photo Fiction.

I scan the beach. How do we do it? How do we bear the unbearable truth? How can we fathom someones death? Indeed how can we confront the reality of our own death?

Someday I will die and leave my wife and children behind. Or someday each of then will die and leave me alone.

How do we deal with this cruel truth?

For those with faith they have their hope. For us that don’t we have reality. No heaven or hell to worry about. And certainly no afterlife. Once your dead your dead Fred.

And still we have a hard time facing that unescapable fact. It’s something we all have in common. We all have a hard time talking about the ultimate end of our life.

So, like always, I put that thought away. I’ll think about it another day. Perhaps!

Second Cup Of Coffee? Vindictive!

Written for Lillie McFerrin Five Sentence Fiction — Vindictive.

What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist.

This week’s word: VINDICTIVE

My story follows the picture prompt. Other stories can be found by clicking on the blue frog at the end of this post.

Image result for coffee cups

Photo — Wikipedia


She will just add a few drops in his coffee every morning. It should take about a week according to her research. It will be easy enough to purchase from her lab at work. Headaches, confusion, severe diarrhea and drowsiness will be his well deserved symptoms. No more lovers for you dear husband.


Water Therapy

Written for Mondays Finish The Story. For other stories click on the little blue box at the end of this post. My story follows the picture. Enjoy!

2014-12-08 - BW Beacham

Donning her fins and snorkel, she headed out into the deep water. She had practiced for this day for over three months with her husband Gary. It was all part of her therapy. All her life she had been afraid being in the water. Her therapist had suggested, and David agreed, that she should start out slowly to gain confidence over her fear of water.

Her fear of water not only included deep water but swimming pools and bathtubs. She knew she had a serious problem when she realized she was afraid of even entering the water and sometimes even to look at a large body of water filled her with fear. Aquaphobia her therapist called it.

 She never took ocean cruises with her friends. Once, she had worked up  her nerve and gone white water rafting with Gary. That experience set her back about two years she thought.

Her hope was that if she was able to overcome this phobia her crumbling marriage had a chance of being saved. David had been a saint in getting to this point. He had promised to keep the boat nearby so if she became anxious she could return to the safety of the boat.

Her confidence was high as she turned and looked for Gary and the boat. All she saw as open water.

Sunday Photo Fiction — The Thaw

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. My story begins after the picture. For more stories from gifted writers click on the little blue froggie.

Weird shaped icicles

George tapped his cane on the table hard. This indicated to the attendant that he was finished with his breakfast.

Percy knew the drill. He wheeled George to the same window after breakfast every day. He would be back in two hours to take George back to his room for his mid morning  nap.

George was well aware it was winter by the icicles on the window frame. The thought crossed his mind that this may be the  last  winter  he would experience. “When the icicles melt away it will be time for me to pass away also,” he said out loud.

He relived the memory that brought him to his place just about every day. Since he lived alone after his wife’s death and was 86 years old the pulling  back of his living room curtains  signified he  was alright. The curtains remained closed that fateful morning. He had fallen off the toilet and hit his head on the nearby tub. He would have been on the floor for who knows how long  had he not made arrangements with his neighbor across the street.

Percy returned and turning George around  said, “Looks like them icicles beginning  to thaw Mr. George.”

George slumped in his chair mumbled, “Yes Percy they are indeed.”



Stirring the Soup

File:Famine in India - LIFE (13).jpg

From Wikimedia Commons

Awkwardly stirring the soup, she pretended she could not hear them arguing in the next room.

The monsoon rains had failed in central India that year. Drought parched crops were all the eye could see. Failure of the crops lead to the scarcity of food. Death was all around them. Each day a neighbor, friend, or a family member perished. Without the rains they would not survive.

The well-fed Westerner was no match for her husband in their negotiations. Isha knew that her husband would do what was best for  the family.Their daughter Aiesha would leave the family.

She realized that she had stopped  stirring  the soup and it  was getting cold.

When I Awoke

When I awoke there were strangers all around me. I had waken up in a white room and a bright light shining in my eyes. In my foggy vision I could see people in gauze masks and blue plastic caps standing over me. I looked to my  right side and saw what looked like a bank of little computer screens all with  yellow lines  running  either up and down or making loops as they ran left to right across the black background. I thought there was a person beside me breathing very deep breaths and exhaling with a swoosh sound. On closer inspection this too was some type of machine.

On my left  was a tray with strange utensils that  were neither  knifes or  forks. One looked  like the tool that my father  used to pry the last piece out of a walnut. I must be at a party as there appeared to be a table set for twelve.

Suddenly a loud pinging came from the machines on my right. Now there was a flurry of activity around me. Just as suddenly as the pinging started the colorful lines of the machine became very straight. Not even the slightest little uptick. The people who were standing above me shared the strangest look. I could not hear them talking but their eyes seem to be communicating with each other.

The strangers started to slowly leave my room. Not all at once but almost on a set schedule until there were just two left. They took the sheet at the end of my bed and pulled it over my head. I always hated to sleep with anything pulled over my head.

I shouted for them to lower the sheet but they appeared not to here. They also then left the room.

It’s awful quite right now.