Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers

Not What He Expected

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20

This short piece of fiction is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.

ted-strutz-plane

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

The short flight had been routine. The plane the cartel provided had the latest in technology on board. With the cargo he was transporting it was required. The money he was being paid for this one trip would last him a lifetime. He planned to disappear once he had parked his plane on the dock.

As he deftly put the floatplane down on the calm lake waters a chilling fear racked his body. The dock was deserted. His coconspirators were not there.

Behind him came a loud voice: “Captain, prepare to be boarded.”

 

Making My World

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15

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. Credit the photo to Sandra Crook.

train-station-sandra-crook

I pick up the little station master and put him on the other side of the tracks. Oh, and the little person with the backpack and their child I’ll put beside the departing train. I’ll add a few more toy people on the station to make it look real.

And that castle. It looks too perfect. I’ll mash some of the towers just to make it look like a really old castle.

And if I don’t like that? I’ll destroy the whole damn thing and start over!

I just love my new train set my dad gave me.

 

Who Would Have Thought

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29

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

box-office-ted-strutz

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

“I don’t feel good about this John.”

“Paul, it’s why we came to the U.S. Remember you said we would never make it playing lunchtime dates at the Cavern. No longer are we going to have our tea and sandwiches and cigarettes on stage, sing a couple of tunes and tell a few jokes. Those days are over mate!”

“But it’s television. We’re just four lads from Liverpool here in New York. They won’t like us I’m sure. Let’s wear our dark suits to impress them. And neck ties. What’s the guys name were meeting?”

“Ed Sullivan”, replied John.

 

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A Slight Delay

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32

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. 

ben-gurion-airport-2

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Dear Ginger:

Sorry my love but I be slightly delayed for our marriage ceremonies. Weather here is dreadful. Not sure when the next flight to Detroit is but you can bet I will be on it. Thanks again for allowing me some time to get myself together. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to commit to a lifetime together.

Wait! They are announcing my flight. Wonderful news!

Heading toward the gate I hear my salvation. “Announcing the boarding of flight 656 non-stop to London will begin in five minutes.”

 

 

The Last Lap

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17

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

belton-lap-pool

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Light was fading fast outside when the terrible thing happened.

“How long was he in the water before you found him.”

“Not more than 15 minutes inspector” answered Erick. “I saw him on my last round.“

“No witnesses I assume?”

“He always swam late at night and always alone. Except last night.”

“Except last night Erick? Who was with him last night.”

“It was a lady. There were lots of laughs and horseplay. Then I heard angry shouts and then silence.”

“Erick, do you think he was having an argument with his wife.”

“Inspector, I know one thing. It wasn’t his wife.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waiting For The End

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47

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.

on-route-66-jean-l-hays

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

It was a cold March day. Patches of snow still remained from the harsh winter. That was nothing new here in the desolate southwest desert. Living conditions were hostile for plant and animal life. The lack of vegetation had exposed the the ground to extreme denudation.

Dirk had made this his home for the past three years. Existing on trash thrown from passing vehicles on the nearby highway or occasional forays four miles away at the interstate exit where the giant green dumpsters were like dining at five star restaurants for him. The end was near and he knew it.

 

 

 

Guten Morgen

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28

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers. 

cloister-roger-b

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

German class started at 8 a.m. I hated it! The old building seemed an appropriate place to learn this old European guttural language. Even the architecture suggested a dark and troubled time.

It took two years of German classes to receive my degree.  It was that or take the equivalent number of hours in mathematics. My instructor for the entire two years was Herr Blumenthal. He stood an unimpressive five foot one, always smoked a pipe, and wore had the same tweed jacket for the entire two years.

My days started with the same words “Guten Morgen Herr James!”