Tag: #FridayFictioneers

Posted in Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers

The Good Samaritan

Posted on by R.M. Carlson
Photo Prompt @Brenda Cox

Clara stopped at a nearby gift shop to find out who owned the self-service vegetable stand down the road. The clerk said, “An old man is the owner. He struggles to make ends meet from just that income from that stand and it is the end of the season.” The wheels in Clara’s brain started to turn.

The next morning, on her morning drive, she stopped at the stand. The old man was there, singing and whistling. He said to her, “We have a wide selection today. A Good Samaritan has assured that I will make it through the winter.”

For Friday Fictioneers

Posted in Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers

Absconded

Posted on by R.M. Carlson
Photo prompt by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

See that picture on the wall of the girl with the flaming hair? She’s my sister. She was my roommate, but now she’s gone. She left without warning me that she was going to bolt.

Look at the mess she’s left in my apartment. It’s appalling that she left me with this mess without telling me. How could she do this to me? How could she just abandon me? One day she just didn’t come home. I waited, but all I got was that terrible phone call. I can visit her, but I don’t like to go to the cemetery.

For Friday Fictioneers, May 22, 2022

Posted in Flash Fiction

The Old Home Place

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

I look in the old hand-held mirror that I’ve stuck up on the wall. I glance quickly behind me, wondering if my mother is behind me and it’s her image that I see.

I come to the old homeplace sometimes. I can feel the ghosts here so no wonder I think my mother has crept up on me. I sneak in the back door so no one will see me.

My childhood is here. I can hear it. My parents are talking softly in the kitchen. I sit down in the old rocking chair and wish for days gone by.

Photo credit @TedStultz

Posted in Flash Fiction

The Savior

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

They would stand in the rain as long as necessary. They followed him, wherever he went. The rallies, they found them addictive. They touched something inside of them. Something they hadn’t known was there until they heard him speak. He said the same things every time he spoke and he enraged them, but they felt they needed to be enraged. Why didn’t the entire country realize that? Realize how much sense he made?

He was the Savior. He was going to help them out of their difficult lives. Never mind those who doubted him. They didn’t hear what they heard.

Thanks to Rochelle! Photo Prompt @ Na’ama Yehuda

Posted in Fiction

The Abstraction

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The old man had entered the contest for wood sculpting six months ago. Now, at the deadline, it was finished. As the crowd walked by and viewed his creation, they remarked that he should not have carved a living tree. His vision wouldn’t have worked on a dead one.

As more people viewed it, he wondered if the world had forgotten abstract art. Did everything have to be realism? He got angrier by the minute at their criticisms and tried to explain abstraction.

He got angry and threw his ax in the middle of the tree.

He won the award.

 

Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and Friday Fictioneers!

 

Posted in Fiction

My Beauty

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It was Saturday. He’d asked her to go to town with him. They worked so hard on the farm. She walked over to the mirror and gasped. Her white hair, long and stringy. Her skin, leathery and red. She began to work her magic.

He couldn’t believe what he saw. All the men in town would be jealous. Her beautiful hair peeking out from under a tiny hat. Her glowing skin. She wore a navy blue suit that matched her flashing eyes.

He offered her his arm and said, “My beauty?” She smiled.

93 words

 

Thanks to Rochelle and Friday Fictioneers for the wonderful prompt and to Nathan Sowers for the photo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction

The Writer

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”You can tell I left here in a hurry last night,” she thought to herself as she attempted to clean up the mess on her desk.

“At least I took my laptop out of the filth,” she thought as she wondered why she had put a liquor bottle on her desk. She must have really been desperate.

She was on the third draft of her third novel. It had been a late night. The door swung open and there stood her agent.

”I have news,” he cried. “Your second novel has just been accepted by the publisher.”

She fainted.

 

 

99 words

Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff for the prompt and Yvette Prior for the photo!

 

 

Posted in Fiction

The Prisoner

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She doesn’t want them watching her. She has secrets. Secrets that could spell the end of her. She’s tried everything to insure her privacy.  She has instructed her crew to plant the tall grass. Maybe this will deter them and their prying eyes.

They want to destroy her. They are jealous of her. All the people buzzing around her door. All wanting a piece of her. She won’t have it any longer. The tall grass will make her home look uninhabited, run down.

Why does she have to go to these lengths? She knows who the prisoner will be – herself.

 

Thanks to Rochelle and Friday Fictioneers and to Ronda del Boccia for the photo prompt.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized

Determination

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While the old man watched the sun rise over the city, he heard the old woman stir. He quickly left his sunrise and went to her. She was still sleeping. She was ill. Worse, for days, he had been able to tell she had lost hope.

They had come to this city to find the medicine she needed to survive. He was determined. He had loved her for 50 years. She was too sick to feel much at all.

He walked back to the window. It was a new day. New hope. More determination. He would prevail for his sweetheart.

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting #FridayFictioneers and Dale Rogerson for the photo

 

Posted in Fiction

The Book of Spells of Misfortune

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In a city in the North, she was the housekeeper for the handsome detective. She didn’t like him much. She was snowbound at his house overnight. He was gone on an assignment. She was bored that night and looked for something to read. She found a book with crumpled pages called The Book of Spells of Misfortune. Curious, she opened it.

She found a spell she would like to cast on him but she didn’t believe in that stuff. She started chanting it for fun. She heard something and there he stood. He had turned into a pillar of ice.

100 words

Photo Credit Dale Rogerson