“Reading the Signs” Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by wonderful author and artist, 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), write your own story, and click on the blue frog below to read others’ work and add a link to your own.

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Image copyright J Hardy Carroll

Reading the Signs

(100 words)

Frieda and Barb moved through the debris, touching familiar broken chairs and upturned tables absently.  They had been many times to the abandoned factory, but none of those trips had been this important.  Brenna was missing.

Barb gasped at the first stained glass image.

“Brenna,” Frieda said.

They followed the pictures from left to right, seeing the little girl get scooped into a car and driven to a little house by the ocean.  They studied the car and the man driving it.  They studied the house.  They called 9-1-1 and gave an anonymous tip.  They watched the glass, and prayed.

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“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.

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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!  : )

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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?

“Reason” -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 (this week, thanks to Liz Young!), write your own story, and click on the blue frog below to read others’ work and add a link to your own.

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

Photo Prompt – Copyright Liz Young

Reason

(99 words)

“I wish you’d known her,” Paul said.  “I mean—the way she was.”

Amy sighed.  Since they started uploading personalities to robotic simulacra, everyone blamed “the process” for their loved ones’ shortcomings.

“Honey—don’t hate her.  She loves you—she always—“

“She must’ve been an alcoholic before,” Amy said.  “They say the bodies don’t crave—it’s the memories.”

“She—“

“And there’s a reason she keeps doing this.”

Paul was still cradling the familiar head.  This time, when Mom had destroyed herself, part of the face came off.

“We’ll get her fixed,” Paul said.

“We can’t,” Amy said.

“Love” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

Sorry for some of my late replies last week.  That election was a shocker.  (By the way, if you’re interested, I had a story, “The Magic,” inspired by current events recently published with Necessary Fiction–please feel free to check it out.)  And it didn’t help my writing that my little one has been teething something wicked–but still feeling lucky and happy to be home with her this year (and tutoring part-time) before going back to work full time next fall.

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 (this week, thanks to Bjorn!), write your own story, and click on the blue frog below to read others’ work and add a link to your own.

PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudeberg

Photo Prompt copyright Bjorn Rudberg

Love

(99 words)

Before Jodie was one, she shouted, shook maracas, and banged on every surface.  She bounced when music played, clapping and smiling her gummy smile.

When she was seven, she played the guitar by the pond, and the fireflies hovered around her, bobbing gently with the music.

At ten, she played a trumpet solo that filled everyone in the audience with confidence.  The principal had her play during the morning announcements, to dispense daily courage.

When she fell in love, she snuck into the church and played her cello.  Light gathered.  Momentarily, everything in her and around her was holy.

“Stolen Collection” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers.  Each week, Rochelle gives us an image and 100 words to tell a story.  She also inspires us with a story of her own.  This week’s prompt image comes from Jean L. Hays – thanks!  Click on the blue frog below to read more stories that correspond to this prompt and to add your own.

By the way, I’ve been having trouble trying to comment on Blogger or Blogspot blogs…maybe something in my privacy settings?  I will try to investigate.  I keep pressing the “publish” button, but it won’t publish; the page just refreshes with my comment still pending.

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Photo Prompt Copyright Jean L. Hays

Stolen Collection

(100 words)

“Really?”

“Come on—adventure!  Local color!” Ben said, steering Janice into the little store by the highway.

Merchandise was piled against the windows.  Ben started explaining their unorthodox honeymoon to the silent owner.

Then she saw it—an unremarkable green plaid shirt—yet her heart swung toward it even before she saw the pink heart patch she’d sewn on the elbow twenty years ago.

It was quiet.  Ben was staring at a locket, mouth open.

“How—” Janice said, holding the shirt. “My dad?”

“Things find their way here,” the owner said, sitting back.  “People, too.  What’s your memory worth?”

If you have a moment and the interest, I hope you’ll check out my story, “The Magic,” published with Necessary Fiction today.  : )

“Long Shadows” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers.  Each week, Rochelle gives us an image and 100 words to tell a story.  She also inspires us with a story of her own.  This week, she included an excerpt from her forthcoming book, As One Must, One Can.  This week’s prompt image comes from Peter Abbey – thanks!  Click on the blue frog below to read more stories that correspond to this prompt and to add your own.

Friday Fictioneers–those of you on Twitter might also like participating in the daily #VSS365 prompt from @FlashDogs!  Tweet a story inspired by the prompt and include the #VSS365 hashtag!

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Image copyright Peter Abbey

Long Shadows

(99 words)

Hannah walked Josie home using the footbridge over the river.

Hannah pointed at the graffiti.  “From the H-C Gang.  Don’t come here without me—they might get you.”

Josie stared, silent.

“See the chain-link sides?” Hannah added. “They’re to keep people from jumping.”

Josie didn’t understand, but her dreams were full of black paint and people jangling the chain link, trying to get out, to jump.

Years later, Josie stood on the bridge, pulling her sleeves down over her wrists.  She knew there probably hadn’t been an H-C Gang in their little town.  Some dangers, though, were real enough.

“Old Games” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers.  Each week, Rochelle gives us an image and 100 words to tell a story.  She also inspires us with a story of her own.  This week’s image comes from Claire Fuller.  Click on the blue frog below to read more stories that correspond to this prompt and to add your own.

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Image – Copyright Claire Fuller

Old Games

(100 words)

“We played with this for hours.”

“This?”

Emma held up the tightly-coiled metal, pulling it apart and letting the center section droop.

“Yes, a slinky,” her mother said.  “It was—Ralphie’s favorite.  He’d wait for a quiet moment, and then you’d hear it come down the stairs.  Everyone would laugh.”

Her mother wiped tears away.

Emma let the slinky trip down the stairs, fascinated that this had belonged to a dead boy, younger than her, who was her uncle.  Then, she forgot about it.

That night, when everyone was asleep, she heard the unmistakable sound.

“Hi Uncle Ralphie,” she whispered.

 

“Legacy” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers.  Each week, Rochelle gives us an image and 100 words to tell a story.  She also inspires us with a story of her own.  This week’s image comes from C.E. Ayr.  Visit his site for more “sound bite fiction,” as he terms it, and click on the blue frog below to read more stories that correspond to this prompt and to add your own.

Legacy

(99 words)

Visiting Granny Penny was always frightening.  First, you had to wait at the far end of the woman-made lake for the boat.  You had to ignore the snapping of the prehistoric alligators as you boarded.

She’d be on the dock, watching to see if you flinched disembarking from the boat.

Her house was a maze of hallways and locked rooms.   Granny herself was silent as a ghost, appearing suddenly around dark corners.

Now, she’s left the house to me.  Why, when there were other grandchildren?  I don’t know.  What will I find?  What will I do?  I don’t know.

“The Call” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers.  Each week, Rochelle gives us an image and 100 words to tell a story.  She also inspires us with a story of her own.  This week’s image comes from Sandra Crook.  Visit her site to see and hear about her wonderful work, and click on the blue frog below to read more stories that correspond to this prompt and to add your own.

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Image copyright Sandra Crook

The Call

(99 words)

Grandma’s sewing machine went to Rebecca.  From the parlor corner, for years, the machine said: your problems are nothing, you’re soft, your life lacks a meter to march to.

It was only after the children moved out and her husband left that she heard the pedal’s squeak at night—the wheel’s whirring, the needle’s plunge.  In bed, she heard it, sewing phantom clothes.

Every night, the same, until finally, Rebecca sat, foot on the pedal.

Make something, said a voice.

Rebecca felt an almost instant desperation.  She would.  She’d make, make, make, for the machine would never be satisfied.