Tag Archives: #FridayFictioneers

#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: Nothin’ fancy

sewingmachine_sandracrook
© Sandra Crook

#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

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


Don’t know why they called it a Singer, ‘cause it sho’ wouldn’t sing for me. I jumbled up more outfits ‘n I care t’ remember. My fingers still got callouses from jammin’ ’em under the needle or tryin’ to pry out them balls of thread from a messy seam.

Ma could make it sing though. When we was little, she done beautiful clothes at the factory.

Worked long hours, she did, ‘n’ always come home tired. Never had much time for me and Jemmy, but we always had food on the table and, of course, decent clothes. Nothin’ fancy mind you.

~~~

#FF: Something happened

© Vijaya Sundaram
© Vijaya Sundaram

#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

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

I hope everyone had a great summer!


I’ve always hated fireworks.
Josef knew that, but he insisted I go with him.
“Come here. Hold my hand.”
The first explosion. I flinched.
The second explosion. I cringed and crushed his hand.
The third explosion. I jumped and ran from the oohing and aahing crowd.
Josef followed, yelling for me to come back. “It’s only fireworks.” He yelled after me.
If he only knew. If anyone only knew.
Thirty-three years and I can’t get that sound out of my head. The sight of blood. The screams.
The nightmares still haunt me regularly.
Maybe someday I’ll tell him.
Tell someone.
~~~

#FF: That spring thing

grey-day-with-pigeons-roger-bultot
© Roger Bultot

100-word Flash Fiction
#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

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


Everywhere I go there they are. They’ve been following me for days. Why? I have no special colors, and I’m rather shy. I can build a pretty mean nest though and I do sing beautifully.

I admit, they are certainly attractive with their bright colors and kinda funny with all their flaunting and feather fluffing.

Ah, I get it. I’m the only female here.

So, who to choose. This little dude right next to me is pretty hot. Why is he facing that way when the rest of us are all facing this way?

I’ll choose him. I like different.

***

#FF: I don’t even have the dress yet

mary-shipman1
© Mary Shipman

100-word Flash Fiction
#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

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


Since she was ten, Marissa talked about dressing in Victorian style on her wedding day. “If you’re going to do a period wedding, you’ll have to be authentic,” Mother always said.

Today, in the most exclusive vintage shop Mother could find, they shopped for the costume.

“How much is that?” Marissa excitedly asked the owner pointing to a lovely chemise.

“Three hundred twenty five dollars.”

“And that gorgeous corset?”

“Twelve hundred fifty.”

“I’m thin, I don’t need the corset. The petticoat?”

“Eighteen hundred.”

“Oh.”

Fifteen minutes later, they met Dad at the car. Mom smiled and whispered, “Crisis averted.”

***

#FF: Rust never sleeps

100-word Flash Fiction
#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

ted-t_sm
© Ted Strutz

This week’s 100-word story is inspired by this photograph provided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. What popped into my mind when I said the word “rust” to myself was “Rust Never Sleeps” by Neil Young, so I had to go with it.


“This is art? No, this is weird.” Annika grumbled.

“Yes and no. I rather like it.”

“You do? I don’t understand. It’s crap if you ask me. No pun intended.”

“Ha ha. It’s a metaphor on life.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. You know. Amidst aging and decay we can still find beauty. We have to keep growing and blooming. Everything constantly changes.”

“But flowers in a toilet? Come on!”

“It expresses what the artist was thinking. We shouldn’t judge. He wants us to think about it.”

Silence.

Finally Blaine exclaimed, “And, if we can’t find beauty, we have to plant it?”

“Precisely!”

***

#FF: Out of the shadows

emmylgant
© Emmy L. Gant

100-word Flash Fiction
#FridayFictioneers (#FF)

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


“Hey Juice. Come ’ere and take a gander at this.”

“What?”

“Looks like leg bones.”

“Femurs, I’d say.”

“What, you a doctor now?”

“No, I just know a leg bone when I see one. Saw an X-ray of my dog once.”

“Oh.”

From deep in the shadows of the buildings came rustling and scratching.

“What was that?” Juice whispered.

Zeke shivered and grabbed Juice’s arm. “Dunno. Let’s get out of here.”

Juice grabbed the bag as they backed away from the evening darkness creeping across the asphalt.

“Somethings in there.”

“Nah. You’re hearing things.”

“Shit! No I’m not. RUN!”

***