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Friday Fictioneers

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 🙂

 Vegan Vengeance

“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.

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Friday Fictioneers

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.

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three line tales

Once more I’m following Sonya’s lead into the three line universe. Check out the directions HERE if you want to play with us. And find the rest of the tales on WordPress, using the tag “three line tales.”

Carla smiled indulgently as she heard the baby coo at the birds out the window.

The sky outside the plane window stretched endlessly, speckled with birds wheeling, a perfect  pale blue limning the wing edge.

Carla glanced out again to see what the baby was giggling at, sucking her breath in horror as she saw  tendrils reaching and wrapping themselves around the plane wing.

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FFfAW

This is actually last week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. I started it last week, but the story just didn’t come together as I wanted til now. And I am a firm believer of better late than never 🙂 Of course, I want to thank Priceless Joy for putting the prompt out there to inspire our creativity and Sunayana for providing the photo.

 

“Angels.”

“What?” Krista asked.

“Angels! I saw angels last night.”

Krista sighed inwardly. Martha was always sure she had seen something.

“Angels?” she asked her oldest friend again.

“Out there on the marsh,” Martha said excitedly. “I was walking Jackie, and he started barking and growling, you know, so I was looking around and then I saw them.”

Krista looked out where Martha was gesturing. Wisps of fog rose, but she saw no angels. Stupid dog, she thought. Always excited about something.

“Look,” Martha whispered.

Krista looked again, watching, dumbfounded, as the wisps coalesced into a white mass. It looked like land, rising out of the bog, white edges swirling. Water sluiced off as it rose, and Krista saw forms, flying above. White and filmy, she knew why Martha called them angels. But they weren’t, she understood that immediately.

“Martha, we need to go,” Krista whispered urgently.

Martha looked at her in astonishment. “Why, what do you mean?”

Krista started tugging on Martha’s arm, staring at the objects dancing in the sky. Suddenly they turned,  arrowing straight at the two women huddled together.

 

 

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FFfAW

Tis Friday, and again we follow Priceless Joy’s lead with Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. She gives us the photo, and 150 (roughly) words to play with. And, as always, make sure you read all the other wonderful stories–including Joy’s–HERE

 

“Drugs,” Marianne said sagely. “Sure enough, it will be drugs.”

“Mmmph.” John said as he walked besides his fellow deputy. He was still in the room, remembering the sounds as she labored to breathe, horrid quick little gasps. And the paramedic’s helpless voice as she asked what to do with the brain matter on the sheet. Her face was the same, but deeply twisted in pain.

“Everyone knows her family went from ‘shine to meth. Some rival, probably,” Marianne continued. “I’m sure she deserved it.”

John thought of Daisy May,  a ray of sunshine, her amber hair floating as she toddled through town. He thought of how she loved everyone she met. She had worked hard to separate from her family “business.” When she earned enough to buy that old truck, everyone laughed. But she restored, painted and shined, then put her name on it.

“No one deserves that,” he said shortly.

 

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Friday Fictioneers

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.

 

 

 

 

 

@RogerBultot

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 🙂

 

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Friday Fictioneers

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.

 The Egg

“It be an egg!”

“Eh?”

“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.”

 

 

 

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FFfAW

Finally, I made time to get on board with Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers again! I will try to do better in the following weeks. Once more we all follow Priceless Joy as she puts out a prompt with a wonderful story. Check all the other great stories from this prompt HERE. Thanks to Louise for the lovely photo this week.

 167 words

 

Ally raced up the hill, Chris pounding behind her. He stumbled, and Ally looked to make sure he kept to his feet. He did,  so she surged forward again,  air straining through her lungs.

Shouts followed them over the crest of the hill as they headed down towards the river.The skidoos better be there, she thought grimly, or this was all pointless.

Chris stopped, gasping as he gesticulated towards the water. Ally looked to see two little skidoo nestled against the shore. Grabbing Chris’s hand, she pulled him on. The shouts became louder as figures were outlined on the top of the hill.

Jumping on, she turned the key and held on as the little machine jumped out from under her. She swept out onto the water before realizing that Chris’s machine didn’t start.

Looking back, she saw him swarmed by the figures of their pursuers. Hesitating, she finally turned and raced across the river towards the brightly lit carnival.  Everyone at school would be so jealous.

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FFfAW

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers! Again I am following Priceless Joy’s lead as she puts forth a prompt and gives us 150 to 175 words to tell our story. Make sure you read her story, as well as all the other wonderful interpretations of the photo, HERE. Thanks to Barb CT for the photo this week 🙂

 175

“Papa, tell us another,” Leah requested, burying her toes in the warm sand.

“Yes, Papa, another!”

Leon glanced around at the expectant faces surrounding him. Happy, healthy grandchildren, something he hadn’t been sure he would ever have.

The sound of the waves wash over him, taking him down with them. Men crammed into small spaces, deep under the sea. Cranky as time went on and they had no news of how the war was going. Rumors crept around the dark corners of the cramped sub. Fights broke out as dirty, sweaty sailors argued over which countries had been bombed….and who survived.

Leon gazed out at the ocean, brought back to present as a small hand touched his leg. Looking down, he met Leah’s concerned eyes. He knew he’d had these spells occasionally; he had not known any of the children  noticed. Engulfing her soft hand with his large, callused  one gently, he let the memories sink back  in his bones. A bristling spine of pier posts caught his eye.

“There was a whale,” he began.

 

 

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Friday Fictioneers

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.

 100 words

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….

 

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