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.
Photo Credit … Danny James
We walked this beach many times. As little girls we promised to be best friends forever. Then came careers, husbands and children of our own. The walks became less frequent. We compared notes on our life’s progress until the pain from the pancreatic cancer became unbearable. Your daughter’s words still haunt me today. “You better come quick. Mom’s dying.”
Photo Credit === Crispina Kemp
Wooden Planks Lead On
Beyond Green Trees Forever
My Soul Awaits Me
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 Sunday Photo Fiction. The challenge is to write a story using 200 words or less based on the picture prompt.
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.
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 week’s photo prompt is provided by Akshata Ram.
The sound of distant thunder could be heard on the deserted powdery playground.
Snow prints littered the scene.
In the early light of day everything was deadly silent. Deadly was indeed the proper word to describe what happened. Deadly because the technology of that world went spinning out of control and now nothing remains.
One could imagine the fun the children had running without a childly care of what tomorrow would bring. The parents sitting on park benches watching with parental pride the little ones who one day would rule the world.
But that was yesterday. That world does not exist.
Footprints are all that remain of that world.
After all, it was just an experiment.
The next one we create will be a better place to inhabit. Let’s rethink that evolution thing again.
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.”
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.
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.
“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.