Posts Tagged ‘friday fictioneers’

chicagomg

“Look, mommy,” the little girl said, pointing a chubby finger at the side of the building. “A man!”

Her mother squinted, then smiled, stroking her daughter’s hair. “You’re right. There is a man.”

Across the street, people looked up at the little figure of the man climbing the massive skyscraper, dressed in black. They pulled out phones and cameras, recording what they assumed was a brilliant piece of public performance or a publicity stunt.

The man carried off a heist in broad daylight, watched by a hundred people who didn’t lift a finger to stop him.


Word Count: 98

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

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rogers-sunset

Dying light gleamed on still water. He stood in the mud by the lake’s edge, feeling it creep over his boots.

In his hand, the sword glowed red, catching the sun. Blood dripped onto his hand: his lord’s or his enemy’s, he did not know.

Bedwyr breathed and raised his hand to hurl his dying lord’s sword into the deep waters. Flashes of memory danced across his eyes, the faces of friends: Gawain, Lancelot, Galahad, Balin, Balan, Sagremor.

Bedwyr’s hand fell and he turned away from the waters. Excalibur was all that was left. He would not throw it away.


Word Count: 100

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

tree-sandra-crook

The wall was old as the land, they said, and the tree had been a sapling in the days of the Magic Wars, when witches had roamed free.

When a child, Brenna rested beneath the great branches, sagging under eternity’s weight, and imagined the things the stones had seen.

When she was a young woman, woodsmen came to fell it with gleaming axes, and she drove them off with a bow of yew.

When she died, they laid her to rest amongst ancient roots, beside the wall, and stone and wood whispered to her all the secrets they hid.


Word Count: 99

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

myna-bird

The others warned her of the cave. In the night, they heard terrible shrieking.

But she was curious, so she flew in, under the wall that rose and fell, and alighted upon a high tower.

All around were shining implements and square branches, tools of strange magic.

The wall came down and the light went off. She was trapped.

She cried out, singing the Laments of the Broken Wing.

In the dark, a shape moved. There was a click, a bright light, and a booming voice.

The wall opened and she fled.

She had seen the face of a god.


Word Count: 100

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

fridays-moon-ted-strutz

Smoke trailing from his cigarette, Mr. Ellis watched the moon rise over the sea. White light danced on rippling waters.

He was safe on his yacht. She couldn’t find him here.

In New York, in Cairo, in Hong Kong, he had seen her bright eyes and known she was there for him: one of a thousand victims of his sins.

He shook his head and went back into the cabin.

The bullet tore through him before he even saw the gleam of her bright eyes.

“My appointment with you,” she whispered, “was always to be here.”


Word Count: 96

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

red-apple-rest-jhc

Raindrops pattered against old tin as Abigail stared out her window, watching grey smoke billow over grey rooftops. An old radio crackled: cheerful propaganda interspersed with gossip and advertisements. They never mentioned the choking smog or the water that ran brown and tasted like old pennies.

Boots thundered against tin and a hooded figure clattered down in front of the window. Abigail’s eyes widened. Crouched before her, hair blowing in the wind, pistol in hand, was the Outlaw herself, the princess of thieves.

She turned, winked at Abigail, then leapt out of sight, swallowed by rain and mist.


Word Count: 98

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

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!