#FF: A dish served… frozen


© 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.



The middle

I’m not perfect
And I’m not flawed
I’m somewhere in the middle

I’m certainly not an angel
But neither am I evil
I’m somewhere in the middle

I’m not a super model
I’m not a dull plain Jane
I’m somewhere in the middle

I may not be superior
I know I’m not inferior
I’m somewhere in the middle

Call me mediocre
Call me average Joe
Call me anything you want
But I know I am me

I don’t have to be the best
I know I’m not the worst
I’m happy in the middle
It’s where I need to be
‘Cause I know I am me.