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.

A Guy, his mom, and his goat.

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, tasked us to write a complete story (Beginning, Middle, and End) based on the photo prompt provided in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture prompt. Other stories can be found by clicking here.

goats_and_graves_3_randy_mazie
PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie

“Are you hungry mister,” my wife asks as she rolls down the car window.

“John David Thomas” the figure in the old faded Army fatigues with crutches across his body slurs. “Yes Miss I am.”

“Here’s some food we have left over from dinner at Harry’s”, Carole says.

“Bless you.”

“Are you homeless,” my wife asks.

“I live down by the cemetery with my old mother and my goat,” he mumbles.

As we leave he continues “You have an extra three dollars you can spare. Liquor store is just down there. Hey! What’s in this bag anyway.

(99 words)

 

 

 

 

The Caravan

This post submitted to Friday Fictioneers.

under-bridge

“The illegals live there, officer.” The homeless man motioned ahead.

Here on the southwest edge of the city it was quite dirty and the area under the bridge oozed with feces and muddy water mixed with trash. The people were huddled together in a sprawling mass that covered the entire area shaded by the overhead bridge.

“Stinks like hell,” the border agent said.

“Just the beginning  from what I hear. They say many more of their kind are on there way. Fleeing from gang violence and poverty. Can’t say that I blame them. Welcome to my world Amigos.”