Ok, so I know I missed Friday. But I wanted to join the roundup led by Rochelle! I have been missing in action for weeks.
So here is my entry for the Friday Fictioneers, the story group she leads with a photo prompt and 100 words (more or less, I went a bit more this time). Make sure to check out all the other marvelous stories HERE. Thanks to Sarah Potter for our great photo this week 🙂
“Wow,” Greg said, sliding his finger along a blood-red, velvety flower. “What a greenhouse!”
“Thanks, ” Silla said. “I make my own special fertilizer. Wanna see?”
She led the way into the back of the greenhouse, wandering past long tables of flowers and vegetables before stopping.
“What’s this?” asked Greg uneasily, staring at the slick metal slab with straps. He turned to Silla, eyes widening as he saw the mallet; before collapsing on the table.
Silla smiled as she tucked the cattle rancher in, tugging the straps quite tight before starting the IV. She nodded at her plants as Greg’s blood slid into her mixer, already filled with bone meal from the last cowboy.
“There,” Silla said in satisfaction, “now instead of him killing animals, he’ll be helping you guys grow.
Friday Fictioneers rides again! Our photo prompt comes from Dale Rogerson this week as we all follow Rochelle on a mad romp through the fictional alleys of our minds. Make sure to check out all the other stories to see where they ended up here.
100 words–on the nose this week!
“Hey, Vino Noble,” Nick said conversationally. “Mind if I have a glass?”
Without waiting, he snagged a glass and poured.
“Yes, my grandfather used to drink this. Came from the same part of the old country he did. Good man, my grandfather. Passed the family business down to me. Dad passed away young, guess Gramps pinned all his hopes on me.”
Sighing, Nick put down his glass. Picking up his gun, he tightened the silencer before pointing it across the table.
“It’s just business, you know,” he told the frightened man. Nick took the bottle with him as he left.
Friday Fictioneers again! Once more we pick up our pens and follow Rochelle as she gives us a photo to start and 100 words to play with. Make sure to check out all the rest of the storytellers HERE. And thanks to Roger Bultot for the photo this week.
Banion gripped the windowsill, waiting for the parade vanguard to appear. Waiting for HIM. That ignominious buffoon, that, that,
“Politician,” Banion spit out.
What right had he to close the museum? Simply to make a parking lot so HE didn’t have to walk. Saying the museum was past its time? It was art. Timeless. And Banion often let in the homeless to get warm, to gather, to be uplifted by the art.
He appeared, bald head shining as he waved. Banion gripped the smooth cherry stock, imaging tomorrow’s headlines:
Mayor silenced by Vigilante
Grinning, Bannion aimed the gun, fired.
100 words 🙂
Well, folks, it’s Friday. The entire world is sighing with relief. And dozens of us rise once more to the challenge thrown out by Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers. Read all the stories, 100 words (more or less), HERE. I went with less this week, 95, which is fair since I so often go over. Thanks so much to Dale Robinson for the unique photo this week.
“It be an egg!”
“Nowat,” George said.
“Yeah!” Harold insisted. “Wait til you see.”
“Neh,” Gearge said again. “They wouldna build an egg.”
“Mebbe they didn’t build it,” Harold said meaningfully, waggling his eyebrows. He leaned forward, conspiratorial. “Mebbe it come from,” he jerked his head up, “there, you know.”
“Hmmph,” was the derisive answer, with a stream of tobacco juice.
“Ya never know,” Harold folded his arms and sat back. Both men chewed reflectively.
“Ya know,” George said finally, “I alwees said me daughter in law was from outer space.”
Tis the end of the week, and time for Friday Fictioneers again. This week’s intriguing photo prompt is thanks to Claire Fuller. As always, we strive to remain within 100 words while painting a picture based on, well, the picture. And, of course, thanks to Rochelle for running our ragtag group 🙂 Make sure to read all the other wonderful stories HERE, including Rochelle’s and Claire’s.
Craig held the stone lovingly, cleaning it with the cloth until it gleamed, mica particles catching the light. He placed it carefully on a shelf, selecting the bottom corner, a small square the perfect size.
Stepping back, Craig surveyed his treasures. Each held a memory, and only one space was left. A large box, it would take some thought to find the perfect item. Frowning, Craig leaned forward. The shell had blood on it. He’d thought he’d gotten it all. That one had been a mess.
Craig remembered that night, salt air, waves crashing, soft skin, the knife sliding in….
Friday is such a wonderful day of the week 🙂 Not only because we get another edition of Friday Fictioneers! But once more we have all followed Rochelle and her photo prompt into adventure. The idea is 100 words based on the photo below –our thanks to Roger Bultot this week. Some of us may have done a little over (raising my hand over here) by all the stories are unique. Make sure to check them out HERE!
Black Widow Webs
“What is it?”
Cherri tried to trace the intricate lines binding the lights together. Her eyes burned, she wished her hands were free to rub them.
“The Web of Stars,” Appyl replied happily. “Pyar over in Metal helped with the design, and Mac in Electrical helped with the lights. I came up with the spell.”
“You’re going to get an A,” Cherri acknowledged. “Ms. Plum will be ecstatic.”
“I know,” Apply said smugly. “And I left you to the last. I knew you’d appreciate the design. That dark spot, in the center? That’s for you. Your soul will shine the brightest.”
Cherri looked at her roommate helplessly as she approached with the ceremonial knife.
Friday Fictioneers rides again! Ok, they ride every Friday, but I have finally joined them once more 🙂 As always, a huge thanks goes to Rochelle for leading us and finding the prompts, as well to Sandra Cook this week for the photo. You can read both of their stories–and many other fabulous stories–HERE
Margie sighed, pushing away from the machine, rubbing her back. Satin spilled over the table, a wave reaching the floor. Margie gathered the fabric carefully, carrying it over to the mannequin. Arranging the dress, she went back to the table and picked up the box of beads. She got halfway to the dress before remembering to go back for her glasses.
Two hours later, her knees hurt, her eyes twitching from the fine work of beading the bodice. She sat in the chair, resting, as feet bounded up the stairs.
“Oh, Grandma,” Susie breathed,”I’m going to be the prettiest bride ever!”
Time for Friday Fictioneers express to leave the station once more, and I am on board this week! Thanks again to Rochelle, for captaining this train of rowdy writers. And to Adam Ickes, for providing the photo to inspire us all 🙂 Check out all the other fabulous stories HERE.
The walk stretched out in front of Amber, seemingly endless. At the far end, the brightly colored pavilon stood, marking a diffent phase of her life. Was she ready?Family and friends waited, staring over the wood planks at her. Was she going to trip on over those rough boards?
“Are you ready?” her dad asked, cocking his arm at her.
Amber tightened her fingers, squeezing the stems of the bouquet. Ready? No, she really, really wasn’t. Pyramids, she wanted to see pyramids. And mountains, and deserts….
“Sorry Daddy,” she whispered as the flowers bounced off the planks at her feet.
Friday Fictioneers rides again–and I get to play this week 🙂 As always, we are led by Rochelle–I do believe leading the roundup is much like the photo below! (especially as we try to keep our stories at 100 words) Thanks to Sandra for the photo this week; and be sure to check out her story and all the others HERE.
“Oh no, no,” Sandy mumbled as she looked at the open gate. And the empty pen beyond. Not a sheep in sight.
“No, oh no, no,” she chanted again as she turned south to scan the pastures. Hoping that the sheep were wandering back to the grassland her dad had brought them in from for shearing.
Sandy had fed them last night, but she hurried, needing to get to the dance. Christina wasn’t going to hog Jason again. She hadn’t checked the lock.
And now the sheep were gone.
“Ooooh, no, no no!” she moaned as she trudged back to the house.
Time for Friday Fictioneers again, the flash fiction party led by Rochelle. Our goal is to write short snippets of wonderful fiction based on a single image. To see how we did, check out all the other fabulous stories HERE. I never read any of the other stories before writing mine, so that I am not influenced. And yet this week I read Claire’s, and her idea of laundry did, as I feared, stick in my mind! But perhaps I would have thought of it anyway?
Addy walked into the cool dark of the store, the dinghy antiques reminding her of her grandmother. She had listened to so many old stories. Times when…yadda, yadda, yadda. Addy’s friends were exclaiming excitedly by the books.
She drifted towards the clothing. At least that was cool again now. Again she was reminded of her grandmother; the stories of hanging laundry, or getting ready for a party, the young beaus, ringing in her ears. A petticoat caught her eye, the rumpled lace creamy and soft. She shook it out, looking for a size. Inside was a name of the original owner: Adeline Bower.