FF | Plotting

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are allowed to use the photo in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations, although I do often read Rochelle’s post before I write mine since it is right under the photo of the week. This week’s story is 102-words long.

january-snowfall-nighttime

PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

  Plotting

Malorie watched the snow fall in despair. If she ran away tonight it would be easy to follow her. She would leave her duffel bag hidden and try again in a few days.

Her plan was to live at the homeless shelter on 40th street until she finished school. Snooty Gloria would never dare to step foot inside that place. Dumb Todd told her he would search all of the buses if she ever ran away, so Malorie decided not to leave the city, but to hide in plain sight. Her aunt and uncle could have the money, but not her.

FF | Return to the Sea

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo prompt posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are allowed to use the photo (taken by another writer) in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations. This week’s story is 100-words exactly.

 

wooden chair in the water

Photo Prompt by Ted Strutz

  Return to the Sea

 

Grandma might be crazy, but if she wanted to sit with her feet in the water, she would. She had been inconsolable since Grandpa Eric died. Her red hair had turned white.

Alayna supported her Grandma until they got to the chair. Alayna thought she would sit in the ocean for a few minutes and then they would go back. But instead, Grandma sat there until the tide came in.

Alayna urged, “Grandma, it’s getting deep. Let’s head back.”

“Yes. I’m heading back.”

Grandma Ariel’s legs became a tail. Then she rolled out of the chair, and she swam off.

FF | Avoiding Intergalactic Incidences

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo prompt posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. It is not a closed group; you can join in! We are allowed to use the photo (taken by another writer) in our post and are encouraged to leave each other comments. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations. This week’s story is 100-words long.

Several people use the hashtag #FridayFictioneers when they tweet a link to one of their Friday Fictioneer stories on Twitter. You should too!

friday fictioneers photo prompt,writing prompt,

PHOTO PROMPT © Al Forbes

  Avoiding Intergalactic Incidences.

“What were you thinking? What were you doing?” asked the bewildered police officer.

Serge was unsure of how to answer. How do you tell a cop that you saw a flying saucer and not get arrested for drunkenness or sent off to the loony bin?

“I’m sorry, officer.”

“You’re sorry? You’d better be sorry! What if you’d hit another car?”

Serge rubbed his face with his hand. What if he had hit that flying thing? That might have caused an intergalactic incident.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll try to pay more attention from now on.” Next time he’d get a picture.

FF | Tickets to Anguish

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo prompt posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. It is not a closed group; you can join in! We are allowed to use the photo (taken by another writer) in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations. This week’s story is 99-words long.

Also, I have been using the hashtag #FridayFictioneers when I tweet a link to one of my Friday Fictioneer stories on Twitter. There are others using that hashtag too. If you have Twitter you should do the same on Fridays, maybe we could get the hashtag trending.

rain,glowing display,lights,sidewalk in the rain,rain in the city,

PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

 

  Tickets to Anguish

Joey stood outside, rain pouring down his back. What a fool he had been. He had trusted her to stay faithful once they were married.

“Ya gotta put a ring on it!” she had teased. “In today’s world, you can’t expect me to ignore other guys until you prove that you only want me.”

So Joey worked double shifts and saved to buy a ring. After a quick wedding he put her name on everything he owned.

Six months later she bought movie tickets and forgot to tell him. When he arrived she was walking inside with another man.

FF | The Last Resort

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. It is not a closed group, you can join in! We are allowed to use the photo in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations, although I do often read Rochelle’s post before I write mine since it is right under the photo of the week. This week’s story is 108 words. I almost left it at 119, but decided to at least try to cut it down.

medley of things,a collection,

PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Fuller

The Last Resort

Suzette stood in front of the witch’s shelf. The witch was stirring a soup pot. She had told Suzette to pick an item that tugged at her heart. When Suzette dropped it into the pot, a spell would cast over Richard and he would love her forever.

There were many interesting things but the coral caught Suzette’s eye. She turned to the Witch, who was not much older than she. The witch nodded and Suzette dropped the coral in.

“Dat boy is mine.” snarled the witch.

Suddenly Suzette was floating in the water. She swished her fins in frustration. Now she would never get a kiss from Richard.

FF | Dark Nights

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week the photo is hers! Drop by her blog to give her some props. We are allowed to use the photo in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations, although I do often read Rochelle’s post before I write mine since it is right under the photo of the week. My story is exactly 100 words long this week.

hurrican lamps,lit lamps,glass lamps,oil lamps,when the electricity goes out,

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Dark Nights

The lantern was lit. Jill lingered looking at the flame, remembering the first time she had lit a lantern. Bill had been so useless he couldn’t strike a match but Jill was blinded by love. She was 18, just out of the house, and had a man who told her she was beautiful.

Two months into her pregnancy when morning sickness hit and Bill wouldn’t work to support her, the blinders came off with his ring. Luckily the man down the street had his same brown eyes, brown hair, and gullibility. He had no idea that the child wasn’t his.

FF | Realization in the Basement

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are allowed to use the photo in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I always appreciate anyone who takes the time to leave me a comment. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations. I know that I haven’t posted much lately, but I am trying to get back into the swing of things. More likes encourage me to post! This story is 105 words long.

unfinished room,wheat grinders,grain grinders,basement,

PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma

  Realization in the Basement

Staci stared at the half finished basement realizing what she had done.
When they were 18, she had an abortion.
“We can’t travel the world with a baby.”

She had taken a job at a fast food place a year later.
“Dad needs my help. We’ll leave for Europe when the business is doing better.”

She worked while he vacationed.
“It’s just Canada; it’s just a fishing trip. We’ll save money and start traveling next Fall.”

Then this.
“We’ll build a house now, so we have one to come back to.”

She had waited patiently for seven years and had not even left the state.

FF Story | The Kind Baker

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers who write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are allowed to use the photo in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I always appreciate anyone who takes the time to leave a comment on any of my posts. I write my story before I read any of the other writers’ creations. This week’s story started out at 134 words and I shrunk it to 100 words.

river out a window,antiques,rushing water,riverbank,

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The Kind Baker

“Make sure to stand far enough back that no blood splatters on you.”

John had Billy opened the window. It was stuffy inside of the office.

“I’m not an idiot John, I’ve shot people before.”

“I want that bakery. It has a prime location.”

“The baker gets his flour on Tuesday nights. I will get it done then.”

The little boy tiptoed under the window. He headed uphill toward the Police Station. He knew who the Chief was because he always made him move his sleeping spot. He knew the baker because he always gave the street kid free bread.

FF Story Stolen Jewel

Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers that write 100-word stories after being inspired by a photo posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. We are allowed to use the photo in our post and encouraged to leave each other comments. I always appreciate anyone who takes the time to leave a comment on any of my posts.

jet,airplane,air travel,

PHOTO PROMPT © Melanie Greenwood

 

  Stolen Jewel

He held one hand out to her. The other hand held the heavy briefcase.

“Come on, Alexis. You know that you don’t belong here.”

She stood still looking at his hand.

This wasn’t a small town, but it wasn’t big. There were no operas, no ballets. But she was safe here, near her family. If she got on the plane they’d be leaving the country. She might have to learn another language.

Her mother once laughed at her, telling Alexis she barely spoke English and should master it before learning another.

Alexis grabbed his hand and walked onto the plane.

My actual 1st Friday Fictioneers Story

rose moss, yellow rose in black and white, single flower in black and white

So if you are subscribed to my blog you know that I have written some short stories, but was too scared to share them. This is the first 100-word story that I ever wrote for Friday Fictioneers. I did not share it because I chickened out. I believe I wrote it on August 30, 2014. Here is the post that inspired it. What do you think?  Would you like to see more 100-word stories?

Remember – the photo below is what inspires the story – it is not mine.

 

grapevine2bgoo1

photo credit: Madison Woods

 

Thy Name Is…
 She wished she knew its name.
That would bring her some comfort. If she could give a name to what had taken her best friend, she would feel better. She was sure this was the thing because she could see that her dog Molly had chewed on it. Slobber still foamed from Molly’s mouth.
She wondered if it would hurt her if she got any on her. Molly deserved a proper burial. She carefully put her hands under Molly’s back, lifted her, and carried her toward the shade tree in the backyard.

Friday Fictioneers: I’ve joined.

Since I have decided to join Friday Fictioneers for realsies, I thought that I would show you the stories that I tried out (look for a new story that hasn’t been shared tomorrow!). Which is to say, I tested myself to see if I could write a 100-word story that was complete and interesting, this is what I came up with.

The time frame for entering these stories into the links with the other bloggers is passed, but I can still share them. Comments are encouraged! Go HERE to see the inspiring post for this story.

hill,erosion,beach,cliff,

photo credit: Sandra Crook

The Hill

The run-off looked like a giant brown snake slithering down the hill. It looked like the hill was alive. As if the cliff itself was a wave about to crash down on the beach.

But the cliff was not alive. It was stone cold. It was dead and unmoving like she felt. If she had any energy left, she would have climbed to the top of the cliff and jumped off, stopping her heart once and for all. Her heart wasn’t totally dead; she still cared that people would cry if she died. So she sat still, like the cliff.

 

Thinking of Joining a Writing Challenge Because Appearently I’m a Masochist

I have gotten to the point where I feel I am not terrible at haiku, in fact, I think I’ve written a couple of good ones. So naturally, that means it’s time to embarrass myself in another genre. I am thinking about joining a weekly writing challenge. My poetry well has been dry for a while, but I am itching to write a story. I wrote some short stories last summer but could not bring myself to share them on this blog, and was advised by one person not to mix my short stories with my poetry.

I do not have it in me to run another blog, I just don’t! So, I just couldn’t find the courage to share my short stories when my focus group wasn’t wowed. To be fair short noir stories are not what my friends are used to seeing from me. They are used to short poems about flowers. So I thought, maybe if I joined a writing community where people are used to seeing all kinds of short stories… maybe I could find some support/community/understanding. This group is called Friday Fictioneers.

There is a sub-group to this group called Concrit, I definitely do not have the courage to join it, but I would like to read those stories and possibly leave them some comments. I will not leave them any criticisms seeing as how I can barely take criticism myself.

So anyway, here is an example to what I am thinking of doing every Friday from now until I get too upset/tired/scared/angry to join in anymore. Please, please, give me some feedback! They will always be stories that are 100 words long and inspired by a photo. Do you want to see another one?

top of a skyscraper,roof top, dusk,garden,wheat,secret garden,

photo credit: Roger Bultot

Secret Wheat Fields  
She always stepped lightly here. It was a sacred place. One of the last pieces of field, one of the last pieces of garden, one of the last pieces of hope.
If the First Peoples couldn’t get the wheat to flourish, they would all starve. The whole world. She thanked whatever lucky stars that hadn’t burned out, that she had been friends with a man of the First Peoples before the 2nd Dust Bowl occurred. She looked around wondering where he was, then she felt strong hands grasp her waist. No matter how quietly she moved, he was always quieter.