Not What He Expected

This short piece of fiction is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.

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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.”

 

A Slight Delay

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. 

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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.”

 

 

Closes at Midnight

This short story is written for Sunday Photo Fiction.

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Photo Credit: Terri Smeigh

He knew the restaurant closed at midnight. It said so on the sign on the front door. He knew that for a fact because he had spent the last two nights across the street observing that even if there were no customers the place closed promptly at midnight.

Tonight would be a busy night. There should be plenty of cash on hand. He knew they did not have a safe because he used to work there. Once he entered the place he knew he would not have much time to accomplish his mission.

He waited until tonight because he knew Karl would be closing the place.  Karl his previous manager. Karl who had fired him. Karl the prick. Karl needed to die. It was payback time. Karl would not make the next opening of the store. He hoped there would be no collateral damage.

Look out Karl he said to himself as he waited patiently in the parking lot as the sun went down. It would be worth the wait. Thoughts of how Karl would die drifted through his mind as he fell as he into a deep sleep.

Suddenly there was a knock on his car door.

The Last Lap

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

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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

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.

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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.

 

 

 

Harry

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

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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.

 

 

 

 

Bath Robe in the Window

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.

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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.

 

Forgiveness?

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

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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

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.

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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

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.

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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