The Green Pill

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.

I will get out. Be prepared.

Busted

This post is written for Friday 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.

Photo Credit ===J. Hardy.

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.  

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Little White Van

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

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.   

It’s Starting to Rain

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 using the picture prompt below.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

On that fateful morning of his thirtieth birthday, in a room bare of everything except their sleeping bags, he finally realized that they would be homeless. Their landlord had dumped everything on the street the night before. Even the child’s highchair they had bought for their expected child.

He had always though that the jobs they both had were recession proof. He had always dismissed his wife’s nagging to “save for a rainy day.”

Beside him his wife rubbed her bulging stomach. “Honey, it’s starting to rain,” she said in a sad voice that could not hide her fear.

Bangers and Mash

This post is in response the 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.

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

The movie set looked realistic. Small boutiques lined the winding narrow cobblestone streets. Mannequins replaced actual customers in the store fronts. The old blue roadster parked at the curb beneath the gas streetlights added a finishing touch to the set.

After my mother died I remember my dad taking me to dinner at Finnieston’s, a diminutive blue building on Argyle Street.  We would take the Argyle Line and get off at the Exhibition Centre railway station. He would order his Bangers and mash. It was an experience a little lad like me will never forget.

“Action,” cried the director.

Other stories can be found by clicking here.

Tiny Dancer

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers and the challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle, and end in 100 words or less using the picture prompt below.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

The winters were harsh in St. Petersburg.

“It’s because you were born early Anna. You will learn to live with imperfections. The cold will always make it hard on you. Your legs and thin ankles will never support your small body. You will learn to live a humble life.”

“Please Grandma, take me to see Sleeping Beauty at the Maryinsky. Let me see the grace of the ballerina’s, the perfect flow of their arms and legs that make them look like white swans moving through the quiet pond.”

“Anna, you will never be a ballerina.”

FineArtAmerica

Anna Pavlova

Buried Treasure

This post is submitted to 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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

My grandmother kept a meticulous record of every family member in her large white bible. Each child’s birthday was recorded in her beautiful handwriting. She lived long enough to record some of their deaths.

Near her death I was sitting beside her as she remembered each one with a special story.

I noticed one entry labeled James that had the same birth and death date. I asked my grandmother about it.

“That was your uncle Jim,” she said crying.

I never knew I had an uncle. “What happened to him,” I asked.

“Your father buried him in the backyard.”

Norma Jeane

This post is submitted to 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.

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Before she was an orphan she was just a normal little girl. She hated the orphanage. Every day was the same. She felt robbed, vulnerable, and utterly alone, even abandoned.

“Get up Norma Jeane,” Sister Mary said. “Breakfast is at 7 in the main dining room and your first class is at seven forty-five.”

 “Someday I’ll leave here and become a famous movie star. I’ll live in Hollywood in a big mansion with a famous husband. You just wait and see.”

“You have great dreams Norma Jeane but they will vanish just like a candle in the wind.”

Like a candle in the wind.

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