The Spin Doctor (Friday Fictioneers)

The Spin Doctor (Friday Fictioneers)

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PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

He’s definitely slipped a cog this time, her assistant whispered. I don’t see how you can spin this one.

Sarah worked on her bitch face. It was the only piece of arsenal she had to fend off the questions the press corps was sure to conjure up. The Big Man had made implausible statements in the past, but this one was beyond reason.

As she walked to the podium, an outcry of questions filled the small room.

This morning the President tweeted that….

Sarah silently questioned her career choice, but quickly pushed the thoughts away.

It was show time.

This week’s photo reminded me of cognitive thinking.  Just before I saw the photo, I read a  news report that President Trump reportedly blamed Attorney General Jeff Sessions for Republican Roy Moore’s loss in Alabama earlier this month because his departure from the Senate to lead the Justice Department necessitated the race.  I mean no disrespect to anyone’s political views but when your muse talks, you listen

Trump partly blames Sessions for Republican loss in Alabama

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Ted Strutz for this week’s prompt.

Christmas Story

Christmas Story

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Photo Prompt: Al Forbes (A Mixed Bag)

His grandchildren gathered in front of the fire, cups of hot chocolate warming their tiny hands. Granddad sat in his leather chair, the flames from the fireplace flickering in his pale blue eyes. It was Christmas Eve, time for a story.

“When I was a young boy,” Granddad began, “snow was a rare event. But one Christmas morning, I woke to snow covering the ground behind my father’s shop. I had never seen snow before and begged to go outside. But my mother told me to wait. My father stood at the window, watching with trepidation.

A BOOM shook the house.

Just snow thunder, my father said. Nothing to worry about.

But the sound grew louder, closer. It came from the hill behind the alley.

My mother whispered to father. Will the fence keep it out? I never knew my mother to be afraid. She lured me from the window with the promise of a cookie.

Time stood still, sucking the oxygen from the room. Then magically it passed. I ran to the window, afraid the snow had melted. What I saw intrigued me: large footprints coming down the hill, headed toward town.

The fence had not kept it out.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Al Forbes (A Mixed Bag) for providing this week’s challenging photo.

Widow’s Reclamation (Friday Fictioneers)

Widow’s Reclamation (Friday Fictioneers)

Knit Caps
PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

Through the black widow’s veil, Margaret studied the mountain of knit caps piled on the table. They were her late husband’s pride and joy, keepsakes from years of vacations spent on the ski slopes of Vail. With every adventure, he added a new cap to the overflowing collection. Margaret preferred warmer climates, but as a dutiful wife she bent to her husbands wishes, choosing to huddle by the fire with a good book.

The doorbell broke her thoughts. A perky blond greeted her.

“Is this the house with the knit caps for sale?” she inquired.

Margaret could almost feel the salt air.

 

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Björn Rudberg for this week’s prompt.  My word count this week went over just a bit – 103.

Unit N26 (Friday Fictioneers)

Unit N26 (Friday Fictioneers)

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

 

Jimmy bought the storage unit at auction, sight unseen. A risky move on his part but Jimmy was a gambler. This time, he hit the jackpot. The unit overflowed with priceless antiques and Jimmy could almost smell the money.

In the back, a strange glowing object caught Jimmy’s attention. Must be a lamp, he thought. Until he remembered: there was no electricity in the unit. His reached out his hand. The orb felt cold.

The manager found Jimmy the next day. Dead, just like the last guy. Unit N26 was cursed, but third times a charm, so the manager hoped.

 

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Sandra Crook for this week’s prompt.

 

 

Winter Wonderland (Friday Fictioneers)

Winter Wonderland (Friday Fictioneers)

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

The twins hurried into the kitchen; cheeks red from the frigid wind outside.

“How’d they do?” Grandmother asked. She tossed a small log into the fireplace, delighting the children as sparks flew up the chimney.

“They still think it is a winter wonderland,” said Grandfather. Pausing, he added, “The ice on the tree limbs seemed thinner today.” It had been 30 days since the ice storm began. “A good sign.”

Grandmother forced a smile. “Hot chocolate, anyone?” She placed a meager spoon of mix into mugs filled with water from the kettle. Not much left, she thought. When will it end?

 

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Dale Rogerson for this week’s prompt.

Hurt people (Sunday Photo Fiction)

Hurt people (Sunday Photo Fiction)

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Photo prompt courtesy of Al Forbes

Nothing has changed, thought Bridgett. A place froze in time.

It was Sunday, off-season. Most of the residents of the small coastal village were in church, praying for their souls. Bridgett’s soul was no longer up for grabs. She had made peace long ago.

Bridgett considered her predicament as she walked along the boardwalk, past empty boutiques, and bistros. The cancer had spread, giving her little time to set things right. It was now or never.

“Hurt people hurt people,” her therapist told her. “You must stop the cycle of hurt to heal.”

That was why she was here.

A few blocks later, Bridgett saw Douglas. Shockingly, he looked older. Smaller. Weaker. Not the monster she remembered. With him was a young boy, a son, maybe? Douglas tossed a ball to the boy. The normalcy twisted her mind, but only for a second. Back then, he seemed normal. Even the police, her imaginary protectors, could not see the horror she endured at his hands.

Hurt people hurt people, she reminded herself. But not for long. Her hand reached into her handbag. She felt the cold steel of the gun and smiled as she walked toward his house.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Al Forbes (A Mixed Bag) for providing this week’s challenging photo.

Word count 197