Posts Tagged ‘friday fictioneers’

phone-booth-jhc

Dirty tile and cold walls surrounded her as she dialed the number, black phone pressed to her ear. She ignored the dirt and ash, just like she ignored the foul stench that hovered in every room like a vulture.

The phone clicked and her heart leapt.

“Who is this?”

“John,” she whispered. “I–”

“I told you not to call.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late for that.”

The line went dead. She stood there, cradling the phone, unable to step away.

Outside the tiny prison window, the world spread out, so close but so far beyond her reach.


Word Count: 97

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

vw-in-israel-wmq

Emergency services buzzed around the car like flies around carrion. Police officers with notebooks out shouted at road safety workers, arguing about the importance of preserving the scene versus reopening the motorway.

In the end, the police conceded and the car was hauled away. There was no evidence to be gathered, nothing but the testimony of the other drivers and the distant, poorly angled CCTV video.

They handed the footage off to experts. They even showed it to a magician. The conclusion was unanimous.

In the middle of the motorway, the driver of the car had vanished from his seat.


Word Count: 100

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

janet-webb-french-still-life

Deep in the dark, dwarfs fashioned gifts for a mighty king: a candle that burnt with a light only the holder could see and a jar that held the wind.

The gifts were put in the king’s daughter’s room to gather dust.

His daughter grew. So did his enemies.

There came a day when the gates were torn asunder and the halls were red with blood and fire. Fearful, the daughter leapt to the window and opened the jar.

The wind lifted her to safety.

She ran through the night, guided by a light no other eyes could see.


Word Count: 99

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

dale-rogerson4

Brooke’s feet pounded the pavement as she raced under the shadowy sea of dark clouds.

Behind her, the people danced, a whirling storm of limbs around the death-like figure who grew larger with each passing instant. The sway of the dance was like a storm.

Brooke drew a silver shard from her pocket.

Holding it high, she reflected the light of the Moon into the heart of the dance. The figure hissed, the light shining straight through it.

The dance ended.

The dancers drifted away as if in a haze, unaware of the shadow that had passed over them.


Word Count: 99

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

sp-overgrown-summer-house

He pushed open the door to the old shed, now overrun with crawling vines, bursting through every gap in the thin white walls. The desk was engulfed in a swarm of green.

Apart from the wear, it was just as he’d left it. Nobody had found it: not his family, not the police, not some wandering hikers. His sanctum remained secret.

The vines rising up like snakes around him. He stroked them and smiled, looking at the pulsing, writhing mass in the shed corner, surrounded by old bones.

“We begin again,” he whispered. “And this time, they won’t stop us.”


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!

charred-toys

At midnight, she rummaged through the dumpster with long, pale, mud-stained fingers. All around her, other shadowy people were doing the same, their saucer-wide eyes watching for a sign of the Abovefolk.

She chanced upon two bears and a doll, neglected and forgotten. Taking them in her arms, she carried them Beneath, where all the forgotten things go.

Down in the deep, amongst mud and stone, along the twisting halls of Underneath, the children of the Underfolk play. Sometimes they laugh so loudly that you can hear them above, the faintest whisper of a giggle hanging in the quiet air.


Word Count: 100

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

j-hardy-rubble

Ash piled high over racked concrete, splintering rafters, rotting furniture. As far as Jared Thomas looked, there was nothing but grey.

“Look upon what you have wrought,” the woman said, her face hidden behind shining steel. “This is your legacy.”

Jared bent down to see a photograph of a girl and her mother, trodden underfoot and coated in dust. He wondered if there was anyone left.

“I never wanted this,” he said.

“You did not care before you beheld it with your own eyes.”

“I can change,” Jared said. “Please. Take me back. I can change!”

The woman said nothing.


Word Count: 100

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