“Revised Edition Pending” -Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by wonderful writer, Rochelle, on her website, Addicted to Purple.  Each week, she provides us with a photo prompt and her own story, and we have 100 words to respond with out take.  Anyone is welcome to participate–just give credit to the provider of the photo prompt (provided this week by Roger Bultot), write your own story, and click on the blue frog below to read others’ work and add a link to your own.

inside-the-diner

Image copyright Roger Bultot

Revised Edition Pending

(100 words)

There he goes again, telling my story, and telling it wrong:

How he saved a woman from a brutal murder.

Not quite.

I found out where she was.  When I broke into his basement, she escaped.  He killed me, claiming self-defense, that I’d come after them both.

I was a quiet man, with few friends.  People believed his version.

I’m not so quiet now, though.  I make a hell of a lot of noise in his diner and his house.  I’m still learning the ways of this misty world, but I’ll tell the story my own way before the end.

“Possession” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by wonderful writer, Rochelle, on her website, Addicted to Purple.  Each week, she provides us with a photo prompt and her own story, and we have 100 words to respond with out take.  Anyone is welcome to participate–just give credit to the provider of the photo prompt (provided this week by J. Hardy Carroll–thank you!), write your own story, and click on the blue frog below to read others’ work and add a link to your own.

I’ve been lax with participating and with my blog in general, but today was a good day to write here!  I am still writing, at least.  I’ve just been hoarding my time for other projects, but I do feel that nagging twinge that comes with neglecting the blog, and, as ever, I am telling myself to do better!  : )

gateway-jhardy

Photo Copyright J. Hardy Carroll

Possession

(100 words)

It’s hard to hear Evelyn say we’d always been welcome when they’d always had the iron fence.

I remember the day I’d climbed a tree and dropped down.  I explored all those secret spaces.  I imagined wearing a gown.  A prince would propose, but I’d say no, I couldn’t leave my garden or my fish pond; I’d send him back beyond the gate—but I was the one ejected.  As I left, Evelyn watched in triumph.

Now, the town mourns Evelyn’s father.  She wants our love, but how can we love when we can’t even reach them with arms outstretched?