Posts Tagged ‘friday fictioneers’

old-shoes-cobwebs

Susan wasn’t sure how Jimmy had lost his shoes. He’d been wearing them when he went out and they hadn’t walked off by themselves, had they? But the shoes remained lost and despite her threats to make him walk to school in his socks, she bought him new ones.

Years passed. Jimmy was James now, a hundred miles away at university, too buried in textbooks and notes to call his mother. Susan was in the garden, trimming hedges that had become labyrinths of thorns.

There in the roots, beneath woven webs and grey dust, she found his shoes.

And smiled.


Word Count: 100

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

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hearty-bread

Sarah sat down at the kitchen table. Her hair hung low over her sunken eyes and the sagging bags underneath them. Her dressing gown drooped from her slumped shoulders.

Mark had given up asking how she was feeling.

She picked up a slice of bread, put it on her plate, and reached for the butter knife. Then she stopped.

“Look,” she said. “There’s a heart.”

And she smiled, her lip twisting up, her eyes gleaming.

Watching her, Mark smiled too.

He wouldn’t tell her he’d done it. He didn’t want thanks.

All he’d wanted was to see that smile again.


Word Count: 100

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

danny-boweman-1

They never expected her to survive: not with an arrow in her side, her horse dead, her water gone, and miles of bitter desert ahead.

She limped on, a trail of red specks marking her way through dust and rocks. Her throat burned and her body ached, but she pushed on.

She collapsed feet away from the gate of the high wall. Soldiers rushed her inside, giving her water and laying her on a soft bed.

“Riders,” she said. “Riders on the eastern border. A thousand men, war-ready, with bows and steel.”

Then her eyes closed and she was still.


Word Count: 100

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

smallpox-hospital-roger-bultot

In the ruins of the hall, the mad king kept his court. His tapestries were crawling ivy, his musicians cawing crows. He sat upon a throne of skull and stone, his sunken eyes glowering at his subjects: foxes and badgers and feral cats, a snarling court of white-toothed beasts.

Nobody came here, not anymore. He was sealed away with his madness, only old bones for company. Sometimes they whispered in the dark, telling him the secrets of the dead.

Each morning, he stood at the gate, watching golden light spread over the hills, never able to take that first step.


Word Count: 100

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

 

lights-of-sturgis

Stars spread out through the black sky in a twinkling band. Freema and Benny lay together on the grass. Winds stirred the sides of the tent just behind them.

“What do you see up there?” Freema asked.

Benny shrugged. “Stars. Clouds.”

“But what do you see? What shapes?”

Benny closed her eyes for a moment, then looked again. “I see an archer, her bow bent. And a princess, clothed in splendid light.”

“A ten-headed beast.” Freema added. “Standing between them.”

“And an ocean.”

“An ocean?”

Benny pointed at the space between the stars. “An ocean of endless night.”


Word Count: 98

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

closet-shower-2

Light shone out across the dark room, coming from the bathroom door.

Funny, Keeley thought, I was sure I’d turned it off.

Footsteps tapped on the tile. Humming rose up – off-key Sinatra.

Keeley tensed, every muscle becoming rigid, the hairs on her neck standing on end. She grabbed a lamp and crept towards the door, the power cable trailing behind like a tail.

With a deep breath, she turned the corner, lamp held high, heart pounding.

A man was standing there, a toothbrush in his mouth. He blinked, then sighed.

“This isn’t my house, is it?”


Word Count: 96

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

ceayr2

The elders told of how the stone arrived, trailing fire and smoke, kicking up clouds of dust as it slammed into the earth. They had understood that it must be a gift from the gods, sent from the stars like a streaking arrow.

For a thousand years, it was a place of sacrifices: gold, silver, crops, bone, and blood. It liked the blood most of all.

But then the old ways died out and the star-stone was forgotten.

Alone it lay in the woods, piled high with needles and dying leaves.

If rocks dreamt, this one dreamt of blood.


Word Count: 99

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