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.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. My story starts after the photo. For other stories click on the blue frog at the end of this post. Enjoy!
PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Georgia Koch
Her folks were against their marriage from the beginning. It will never work out they said! Never in a million years.
Opposites attract she replied. Love will conquer all and all those arguments. He, for his part, felt the same. A life together with unlimited freedom and possibilities.
The kids made it difficult. Staying at home was not what she had envisioned. The dreams of trips to Paris and Rome were but vague memories.
When he did leave they offered her advice.
That ship has sailed she replied.
hurt feelings surround
love never gives up her dead
survival the game
In response to Ermilia’s Picture It & Write Challenge.
I work in the Bulyanluhu Gold Mine here in Zanzibar. I should be more specific. I work UNDERGROUND in this dark and damp place. Most of my day is spent dreaming about the world 500 feet above me. This time of year I never see the sun.
Beautiful Lake Victoria is but a few miles away. I dream of it also. I dream of many things. Sports, my favorite rum drink, and of course girls.
Every night, and it is dark when I finish work, I stop by “Paje” my favorite bar. There my fantasies begin. Hajira is her name. She knows me, but not by name. She calls me the “dark one.”
Tonight I bring her a present. It is know by our town people as “the lipstick” fruit. She takes the fruit as she dances in front of me. She turns and struts away and throws the fruit to another customer. Such is my life.