All posts by Caerlynn Nash

Author.

#FF: A dog’s life

1502901343035-3fe33f29498d1b1f-3fdae246fddc9c2a.jpg
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

FridayFictioneers (#FF)

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


I hate this shower, Duke thought.

I’m clean. I played for three hours in the lake.

Why are they torturing me this way?

How would they like this foamy white stuff all over them? It’s inhumane.

And that smell. It smells like those little purple flowers in the garden. I can’t stand being near those flowers.

Finally, they’re finished. Three wet towels. Heh. Heh. Bet if I shake hard, they’ll let me out of this jail cell.

“Ahh. Duke. Do you have to do that every time?”

Yep, now open that door. I have a lake to conquer.

~~~

#FF: The star still burns

janet-webb-french-still-life
© Janet Webb

FridayFictioneers (#FF)

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


I’m the figure on the stone. Naked and exposed, or sleeping my days away.

She takes me from this room only to see Dr. Cullen. She says I’m too frail. She says I must stay here. She says it’s for my own good. She says she doesn’t have time to take me to the garden.

She doesn’t understand. My brain works, but this damned body won’t cooperate with it anymore.

Yesterday, she brought me the jar of fairy lights. She said I could pretend they were stars or fireflies.

I pray for the dark.


~~~YinYang.png~~~

#FF: Saving Grace

crook3
© Sandra Crook

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


Brother Ambrose softly hefted the bag of newly ground rye over his shoulder muttering yet another prayer.

Everyone was at Matins, so he was safe. This would make many loaves of bread for the orphan children in the village.

In the seven years he’d been at the monastery, he’d stolen countless bushels of food. If the abbot, discovered his theft he’d be punished for a year, he was sure; but, aye, it would be worth it to see the foundlings eat.

His only justification was that somewhere out there one of those foundling children might be his own.

***

#FF: No pie like it

FridayFictioneers (#FF)

diner-roger-bultot
© Roger Bultot

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


“The first and best apple pie I ever ate was in this diner.”
“Really? I thought Grandma’s was your favorite.”
“It was.”
I scowled in confusion.
“My dear, Lily got her first job here when she was only sixteen. I came every day. She made the apple pies herself from her mother’s recipe.”
“You married her for her pie,” I laughed.
I pretended not to see his eyes mist up.
Grandpa had us, but I knew he was lonely these days. He still comes to the diner every day.
Memories, I suppose.
But now he orders only coconut cream pie.

~~~

#FF: Celebrate

FridayFictioneers (#FF)

horses-in-snow
© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


“Look at you.” Sara stamped her feet and closed the door behind her, shutting out the icy winter wind. “You look cozy. Nice fire, and what a gorgeous view.”
“Thanks. I love watching the horses. Oh look, there’s deer too. Have some tea and a slice of cake. Here’s a blanket. Curl up here in the other chair beside me.”
“Wow. You’re going all out here. Love all the candles, and those socks. You’re Grandma made those for you, didn’t she?”
“Yes, a few years ago.”
“You’ve certainly created an atmosphere, haven’t you? I love it.”
“Yep. I’m celebrating hygge*.”


* Hygge (pronounced hoo-gah). I hope you all take time to celebrate hygge this holiday season. Best wishes to you all and may luck shine on you in 2017.
http://www.visitdenmark.com/denmark/art-danish-hygge http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-34345791
http://hyggehouse.com/hygge

~~~

#FF: Bygones

from-amy-reese
© Amy Reese

FridayFictioneers (#FF)

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

BEWARE: This week’s story is rather grim. Not my usual style but, hey, nice to try something different.


A dark pool of congealed crimson spread from the under the cold steel door.

“No!” Sara screamed.

The security guard struggled to gain his footing as he skidded around the corner, gun held in position.

“In there!”

The guard stared at the glistening mass on the floor as he grappled at the keys jangling from his waist.

The door slammed open with a sickening thud.

Harry lie face down. Dianne slumped in the corner, a gaping hole in her left temple, the gun still held tight.

Sara slumped to the floor. So much for she and Harry moving on.

~~~

#FF: A dish served… frozen

 

from-roger
© Roger Bultot

FridayFictioneers (#FF)

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

 

The chandelier’s crystals gleamed like chunks of ice casting their reflections across the ballroom. Miss Strandforth glided down the spiral staircase, looking like a sweet confection at the county fair.

Her frosty blue eyes gleamed as she sought out Randall Cranston across the room. Her smile could melt the polar icecap.

Little do they know the wintry blood that runs in her veins. She’s a girl who gets what she wants. And she wants the same things I do.

Cecilia’s hands folded into tight fists around her canes, remembering the day Clementine Strandforth pushed her down these cold marble stairs.

~~~