Tag Archives: Short Stories

Forgiveness?

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39

This post is written for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneer’s challenge. 

jhc-asylum

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.

 

A Time To Kill

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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.

bonfire-anshu

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.

 

 

 

The Gatherer

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13

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.

from-renee-heath

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.

97 words

 

 

 

 

The Death of a Gatherer

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This post is submitted to Sunday Photo Fiction. The challenge is to write a story using 200 words or less based on the picture prompt.

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Photo Credit: Joy Pixley

He had visited the Kubo-yan many times. Every visit produced excellent results. Back then Gatherers were considered to be dreams of deranged minds .

A sudden noise shattered his daydreaming. A hunting bird took flight. They rarely appeared here, preferring the dry desert where lizards were the prey that wetted their appetite. The locals considered it bad luck to see them outside of the rainy season.

He slipped into the compound without anyone noticing. He would wait here until well after dark.

Nothing could distract him now. The object of his mission lay straight ahead. A Dreamer who’s life was about to be over. The Gatherer would make it a painless death. He settled in a crouch on his hands and toes and peered at his victim. The slight smell of perfume reached his nose. She slept alone.

Too late he heard the sound of padded feet against the stone. He felt something cold and sharp strike his shoulder. He glanced down and saw his left arm on the shiny tile. His intended victim turned and smiled. The smile of the devil was the last thing he saw in this life.

The Smell of Her Perfume

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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.

bokeh-priya-bajpal

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.

99 words

 

Range….6 Miles

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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.

Russell-quarry

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.”

96 words

 

Cover My Tracks. Please.

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23

This  post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.

dale-rogerson-snow-photo

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

 

The snow was unexpected. It was not in the weather forecast. The yard was like a large whiteboard waiting for the artist. The snow presented a problem.

Sara’s husband Richard worked third shift at the factory. Normally Peter could spend the night and leave with no trace early in the next morning. The affair had been going on for some time. He had become comfortable with the arrangement. He would arrive around eleven thirty at night and leave around five in the morning. Plenty of time to enjoy the company of Sara and leave no trace behind.

Normally!