Posts Tagged ‘friday fictioneers’

dale-rogerson-snow-photo

The streets were piled high with snow and the cold wind whistled in through the gaps in the windows. Alone by the fireplace, Emma watched the flames twist and burn over the blackening logs. These were the hardest days, the days when she almost expected him to walk in.

The doorbell rang. Emma stirred from the fireside and crossed over to the door.

On the doorstep, Maya held up a box of homemade cupcakes.

“I thought you shouldn’t be alone,” she said. “Not today.”

Together by the fireplace, they laughed and remembered.


Word Count: 92

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Dale Rogerson for providing the prompt photo!

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stumps

Day after day, the woodsmen came with axe and cart. With booming laughs and thundering strokes, they cut down trees that had grown for centuries and knew all the secret whisperings of the wind.

Their wives could feel the fury of the woods in the quiet of the night, like a storm ready to break, and they begged the woodsmen to be content and fell trees no more. The woodsmen laughed.

And one day, they did not come home from the woods. Their wives came searching, but found only the tangles of roots and branches and wild thorns.


Word Count: 98

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and providing the prompt photo!

When Geoff had found out Kenton had used his money to buy them an office, the only thing that had kept him from strangling him was his wife holding him back, but when they arrived at the location, he had to admit it didn’t look bad.

“And how much did you say it cost?”

Kenton told him, with a smug smile.

“There has to be a catch.”

“Well…”

Opening the door, Geoff looked inside. And outside.

“There’s no back wall.”

Kenton shrugged. “What do you need a back wall for, really?”

That time, there was nobody to hold Geoff back.

derelict-building-sandra-crook


Word Count: 100

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Sandra Cook for providing the prompt photo!

amusement-park-jhardy

The umbrellas bobbed up and down as the ride circled again, spinning like a top. Rain splattered the faded paint. Wind stirred old papers and fallen leaves across cracked grey cement under cracked grey skies.

“This was a beautiful place once, you know,” the man whispered as his seat lifted again. “It was a dream. A wonderful dream.”

With a creak, the ride ground to a slow halt. He hung in midair, looking down at the other rides, spread out amongst encroaching trees and wire fence.

“But dreams have to end.”

He heard a voice on the wind.

“Not always.”


Word Count: 100

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and J Hardy Carroll for providing the prompt photo!

sarahs-spider-web-potter

Nothing grew here that wasn’t supposed to. Each species of plant had been carefully selected, its seeds packaged, and meticulously planted in place under the bright, droning lights of the Botanical Lab.

But when Stackpole did his examination, he found strands of webbing.

No spiders had been selected for transport and there were certainly none on the surface outside the lab – a barren, wind-swept desert of marbled silver.

That meant a stowaway, a wrench in the delicate clockworks of their artificial ecosystem.

Stackpole should have reported it, but never did.

After all, even spiders deserved to see the stars.


Word Count: 99

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Victor and Sarah Potter for providing the photo prompt!

roger-bultot-art-exhibit

There was a world where the Spiders ruled, scuttling about their high cities on their thin, twitching legs. In the darkness of the deep mountains and in the bright light of snow-capped peaks, they wove tapestries beyond compare, strands of white silk stretching and dancing.

They wove vast webs that stretched in mighty columns, harvesting the dark flies that blotted out the midday sun. They made clicking songs of pincers and danced eight-legged dances, dances that went up and down as well as side-to-side.

But when the Men came on their smoke-spewing starships, all they saw were monsters.


Word Count: 98

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Roger Bultot for providing the prompt photo!

wheels-ted-strutz

She could hear her people’s songs in her dreams, could glimpse them in the half-moment between rain and sun, could feel their touch in the spring sunlight.

They’d left her here as a child – a puzzle piece never to fit no matter how hard it was shoved.

Now she was going to call them back.

She’d built it from lost hopes and half-remembered dreams, a machine of memory crafted from castaway and forgotten things.

But when it was made, there was still only silence. They would not come.

She lay in the grass and wept tears of starlight.


Word Count: 98

This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Ted Strutz for providing the prompt photo!