PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala
Harry comes in around nine. The regular crowd has been there since eight. Been that way since ’96. Taking his seat at the piano he turns and surveys the crowd. He knows they all have to be back in their coffins by sunrise.
There’s Sara dressed in her finest white gauze and her head topped by a red bandana. Over in the corner is Old John still trying to pick up Sadie. She told him to drop dead ten hears ago. And he did!
The keys on the piano have turned to decayed wood. The sound doesn’t have to carry far.
This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.
PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr
I park my motorcycle outside Maria’s small apartment. I thought to myself: you really think she will forgive you?
I had run away. Commitment was not in my vocabulary. I need time to think I told her. “I think you are making a huge mistake,” she had shouted at my departing trail of stones my bike kicked up.
Ten lonely months on the road had convinced me she was right. Time to suck it in and make amends.
Looking up at her widow I see the shadow of a man in a bath robe looking down at me.
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
On the day Fritz was released from jail for the last time, staff dropped him off at a Metro stop in suburban Chicago. He had forty three dollars in his pocket, money he had earned in prison, and a one day bus pass. He had nowhere to stay.
Convicted on a voluntary charge of manslaughter he had served twenty three years behind bars for killing his own brother in a family dispute over money.
As he looked up on the window at the familiar brownstone building he wondered. They say a mother’s love is never ending.
This post is submitted to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge where we are tasked to write a short story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture prompt below. For other short stories from much more talented authors just click HERE.
PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala
The man that Clark has come to kill is called Jeremy. He is mesmerized by the small fire he sees. He can see Jeremy in his sleeping bag. Now he is close enough to hear the slight breathing patterns of his prey. He thinks about the money Jeremy’s wife has paid him to have him killed. The half in his pocket and the remained to be collected once she has proof of his death. His breath is hot and while behind his ribs his heart crashes about. He reaches for his knife. Suddenly the sleeping form turns and fires.
This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers. The goal is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less.
My story follows the picture prompt. Other stories found here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Renee Heath
The elders had spoken. Chief Ahtunowhiho had personally summoned him.
He walked toward the tepee in his formal black death attire. The family, formally dressed and solemn, met him at the entrance. As he pushed open the tent flap the smell hit him: old blood, feces, infection. Communication with the spirits of the death was his profession.
In his purse he carried red dye to paint the eyes, a yuca leaf to wash the body, some hawk feathers to tie around the head and some sage to smudge the face.
“Are you the Gatherer?” the boy asked.
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are challenged to write a complete story (beginning, middle, and end) in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture below. Other stories may be found by clicking here.
PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal
The sweet smell of her perfume still lingers in the room. It was her room. The room she escaped the hectic life she lived. It was not a crowed room. It was clean and sunny. Here she would keep a few of her most precious possessions. The sea shells collected from their favorite beach. A small art project she had started after a recent trip to Japan.
He still remembers the first time he saw her. An introduction at the place they worked. A feeling that she was the one. The first and only time he felt that emotion.
This post submitted to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Object is to write a story based on the photo prompt in 100 words or less with a beginning, middle and end.
My story follows the photo. For other stories click HERE.
PHOTO PROMPT © Russell Gayer
It was her birthday present.
“Just for you honey bun,” Jack had proudly proclaimed. “They don’t come any classier than this baby. Mercedes S-Class Coupe, yes sir. Nothing but the best for my gal.”
After a bitter divorce fight the car was hers. Now on her own she headed out west to clear her mind. She never had completely understood all the gauges and dials on the car. The road sign indicated the nearest town was forty five miles away. She glanced at the instruments on the dashboard. One in particular caught her attention. “Range. 6 Miles.”