Plan B

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

He had everything figured out to the smallest detail. Her bag was packed and stood by the doorway. Gas tank was full. He had made three practice drives to the hospital. The drive was anywhere from six to nine minutes depending on traffic. This would be a piece of cake. All she had to to was tell him it was time.

The expected time arrived . But as they rounded the curve they saw the stalled tractor.

“Plan B. Get out of the car and come over to my side and get ready to deliver your new baby boy,” she cried.

John Browdie

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.

PHOTO PROMPT -Brenda Cox

It was just like him to be late. They were to meet here and then ride to the museum. He saw him on the bench out front.

“I thought you were riding your bike here,” said Harold.

“Had a little accident,” said Browdie. “Need to buy a new one.”

“Do you know how far the museum is from here?”

“No I do not,” said Browdie; “but is of no great consequence to me, for I attend walking.”

“Perhaps you should buy a off road bike this time.”

That’s My Bike

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

PHOTO PROMPT© Lisa Fox

His prognosis had been a devastating blow. The concussions Ben had received during the bombing had left him without any memory. The doctors had tried just about every treatment to recover even a tiny portion of his life before the war. So far nothing had worked.

His brother had an idea. He did a goggle search and found it. Working with the museum curator they wheeled the piece of art to his bedside.

Ben’s eyes suddenly went wide. “That’s my bike!” Ben yelled.

Hardscrabble

PHOTO PROMPT© Jennifer Pendergast

Winds whipped across the frozen pond. The worst of the winter was yet to come. The journey they had all agreed to had been more difficult then they ever thought possible. Their meager food supply would only last them a few more weeks. Eric wondered if they should turn back. The group decided to stay where they were. Over the next few days nine of the original thirteen either froze or starved to death. Eric looked over his shoulder at Trevek and wondered who was stronger. The ice cracked under his snowshoes as he approached his prey.

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words of less.

See How Her Garden Grows

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. My story follows the picture prompt below.

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

“Sorry for your loss.” He hates that statement. They don’t understand the world he now faces without her. She was always the one that was there for you when you needed her. Where were you when she needed you in her last months? She was always growing, expanding her energies for all the things she held close to her heart. He garden was her escape. A place to escape her crazy world.

She left specific instructions of how she wanted to be remembered. Fine to think she can go on being socially useful even after she’s dead. Making plants grow.

A Refrigerator in a Tree

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Brenda Cox

It was late afternoon Monday June 8, 1953. As we drive to my grandmother’s I remember seeing a refrigerator in a tree. For an seven year old that didn’t make sense. Her street of old two story homes was now what looked like a messy lumber yard.

There were a few people, some walking, some sitting on the ground, with a daze look in their eyes, rummaging among their damaged possessions looking like the walking dead. The amazing thing was that there was total silence. There was no wind. It was a time when the world stood STILL.

Flint, Michigan

 

Welcome to Florida

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

Enjoy your retirement. Those were his thoughts driving to his new “number one rated” over 55 community. After twenty-eight years working in a big city he looked forward to a little peace and comfort.

Turning on the car radio he heard the announcer matter of fact deliver the “breaking news” (wasn’t everything nowadays breaking news?)…”a gunman opened fire on students and staff at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, killing 17 people and injuring 17 others.” Looking up he noticed the highway sign said “Welcome to Florida”.

Another War Lost

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Miles Rost

We were in the heart of a long abandoned area of the park. The greenness of the area hid the desperation of the inhabitants below. Come nightfall the squatters would come back from their days journey in hell. Dirty backpacks, trash bags containing refundable containers, broken grocery carts filled with their worldly possessions. The daily migration never ended. Each day a few crazed zombies added to the population. The poorest of the poor lived right here, underneath the walking path. Some people who had lost their self-respect called this place home.

For some this was another war that they had lost.

Behind the Red Door

This post is in response 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 © Roger Bultot

I met Sara at the last meeting. I liked her sad story. She is homeless and sleeps on the grassy area under the highway overpass. We mumble “thanks for sharing” and let our minds wander back to our own pathetic world.

When my turn comes I rattle on about my recent good fortune. Faces turn as I describe my new digs. Suddenly Sara shouts that she is tired of sleeping on the streets and asks if I need a roommate. I give her my address.

“How can I find you?” she asks.

“Behind the red door. Number 6,” I reply.

Something to Remember

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a short story, 100 words or less, with a beginning, middle and end using the picture prompt provided. My story follows that picture prompt below.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Living far from her parents was rough enough in normal times. And this definitely was not close to normal. She regretted now, more than ever before, leaving home. Leaving them so depended on others.

He did not even get the opportunity to see his latest grandchild. Even her mother was not able to be at his bedside when he died. Only the nurse. A nurse who nothing about the wonderful person that lay before her suffering his last suffocating painful breaths.

She received the dreaded last night at 3 a.m.

“Send me something to remember him,” she asked the nurse.