Tag: Flash Fiction

Times Change

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

That night in the summer of 1963 was especially hot in Detroit. That didn’t matter for a thirteen year old boy. My dad had purchased tickets in the center field bleachers for two dollars each. Tonight was going to be magic. It was the Tigers vs. the New York Yankees. Al Kaline, Rocky Cocovito, and Norm Cash for the Tigers against Whitey Ford, Stan Williams and Yogi Berra for the Yankees.

I sat there for the entire nine innings with my baseball glove on ready for what I was sure to be a home run ball.

Pedro’s

PHOTO PROMPT © Carole Erdman-Grant

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

For the last 35 miles there had been 73 (he counted them) signs advertising Pedro’s restaurant. The kids in back read aloud every one. Actually it became a shouting contest between them.

“Your Always A wiener at Pedro’s.”

“You Never Sausage a place.”

“Pedro’s Weather Report: Chile Today, Hot Tamale.”

And the most appropriate one: “Keep Yelling Kids They’ll Stop.”

He knew they were in trouble when they crested the slow climb of I-95 into South Carolina. Looking to his right he saw what once was Pedro’s.

As they passed by the last sign said: “Back Up Amigo, You Missed It.”

Hardscrabble

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

He retired from the military financially broke. Some thought his drinking was the cause of his poverty. Some thought it was because he was taken advantage of by his friends. Writing his autobiography was the only way to support his family. He wrote outdoors in his distinctive script with his woolen scull cap to keep him warm. Neighbors and enslaved laborers helped him build this ugly log cabin. Julia did her best to decorate the place. Despite all their efforts the little house looked so unattractive that they called it hardscrabble.

The Organized Man

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 using the picture prompt below.

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

Always a desire to get ahead. That’s why he joined this company. Always looking to be promoted to the next level. Entry level position, mid level, senior management that was his career path. And he was on a fast track to become a C level executive. His key to success: “Be Organized.”

As he prepared for his staff meeting he went through his checklist:

  1. Bacon…check
  2. Eggs…check
  3. Tomato Juice…check
  4. Cheese…check
  5. Oatmeal…check
  6. Silverware…check
  7. Laptop up and running…check
  8. Speaker Phone On…check

Julie, the first on the ZOOM call, said to Mr. Organized Man, “Hey Boss, you conducting the meeting in your underwear.?

Early Spring

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where the challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words of less using the picture prompt below.

Photo Prompt Credit ==== Roger Bullet

Spring came early that year. He had not planned on early warm temperatures. Climate change was spoiling his plan. The snowplow had covered the black plastic sealed shoe less body in over six feet of snow three days ago.

His internet searches gave him an estimate of two weeks before the under staffed snow removal teams would clear enough for the body to be visible to anyone passing by. Plenty of time to escape.

The snowplow driver had one more street to plow before his shift was over when he heard someone shout, “Raise the damn plow.”

A Brackish Death

Photo Credit === Danny James

Their relationship fell apart after three months in the wilderness. She missed the city life. He loved nature and hated the hustle and bustle of the city. The final fight was nasty. More violent than he expected. She put up quite a fight. When she left the city she told her friends she would never return. She was correct.

The brackish waters off the Kenai Fjords in remote Alaska provided the perfect place to dispose of her body.

He watched the final bubbles from her last breaths disappear beneath the water. Her replacement would be difficult to find. But not impossible. He had work to begin his search.

RDP Monday….Brackish.

Last One Standing

This post is written for Friday Fictioneer’s. 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 © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

He avoided most of the other anniversaries. After ten years things started aging. The heroes of high school footfall games returned from wars damaged both physically and mentally. Their minds numbed by what they had witnessed. The destruction of an entire country happened before their glazed eyes. For the vulnerable, and there were many, their sanity ended there. 

Scanning the gymnasium he could recognize one or two. They had started to crumble. Some were  bent over, a shell of their former self. Others folded into their wheelchairs. His former heroes lay like Roman ruins.  

Wasted Time

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 © Brenda Cox

A little girl in a pink pinafore dress.

Her parents dreamed of nothing less.

Years spent in fruitless quest.

It was all worth while they said when pressed.

Time zipped by at record speed.

No, she was a special breed.

She never considered any wedding vows.

She said her lines, she took her bows.

A star was to be her fate.

Now she lives behind a rusted gate.

Hardscramble

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 © Lisa Fox

I remember watching my grandfather squatting in front of the black and white television in his bid overalls ranting at all the political candidates .

Together with his brothers they dug a basement and then moved his home over it. My Uncle Luther ran his tractor into the basement wall.

I followed behind him and his tractor picking up rocks so the field could be planted next season. He couldn’t afford the cost of burying of any family member. I heard stories of family members being buried under those rocks.

I’m still superstitious about homes build with rocks.

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