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.
Looking back, all the signs were there; the last-minute cancellations and unanswered phone calls. The hint of lavender on his collar after working late.
After discovering the truth, I knew I must step carefully, and choose my path wisely.
There is an old proverb, opportunity knocks only once.
The news his car swerved off a mountain road left us in shock. How could such a good driver lose control?
At his funeral, I held his mother’s hand and cried.
Inside I smirked with the realization that I chose well when I picked auto-mechanics as an elective in high school.
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.
Gilbert fell from his chair when the email arrived. The attached photo of one of North America’s rarest birds was the holy grail among ornithologists. His brother George, unskilled in the art of bird identification, did not realize the value of such a find. He must be warned.
“Whatever you do, don’t release that bird!”, Gilbert gasped in the phone.
Gilbert underestimated George’s abilities and his need to right past wrongs. A course in Photoshop taught George all he needed to know to pull off the prank. As the small bird flew into freedom, George laughed.
Friday Fictioneer’s 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 Douglas M. MacIlroy for this week’s prompt
For twenty years, the children of Mrs. Adeline McCarthy impatiently waited for their wealthy mother’s death. Finally, the crazy old woman succumbed to a lingering illness. Harold and his sister Lizzie listened as the lawyer began reading the will.
“For the record, I am reading the last will and testament of Adeline McCarthy, dated September 1, 2017.
Both children gasped in horror! A recent change must mean one or the other would receive less than expected. Some devilry must be at work.
‘…to my son, Harold. Your love of money did not go unnoticed. Therefore, I leave you $1.00. Use it wisely.”
Harold glared at Lizzie with accusing eyes. He always knew she was a conniving woman.
“…and to my daughter Lizzie. You love animals; therefore, I leave you my priceless fox stole. May you wear it proudly to your P.E.T.A. protests”
Unable to contain himself, Harold blasted. “What about the money!”
“There is no money. Everything went to charity before she died. Frankly, you both got more than you deserved.
Harold raised an imaginary glass of champagne. “Cheers Mother, may you rot in hell.”
Turning to his hysterical sister, he chuckled. “fox stole… that is priceless.”
Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. A Mixed Bag provided this week’s challenging photo.
Ray’s doctor broke the shocking news. “You have three-months to live.”
His adult children cried. His ex-wife appeared distraught. His attorney suggested bringing his will up to date. His attorney recommended getting his financial house in order.
On Sunday, his priest implored him to get right with God. Later, his golf buddy, who happened to be a mortician, inquired about a pre-paid burial plan.
“How much longer will you work?” his employer asked.
“What’s first on you bucket list?” his best friend questioned.
But the best advice came from the manager of the Food-Mart.
“Take care of any unfinished business and leave this world in peace.”
Ray knew what to do. For 10 years, his neighbor Henry’s parked car blocked Ray’s driveway. No amount of pleading changed things. Now it was time to take care of business.
The Sherman tank rolled down the street with one target in its crosshairs. With precision, Ray aimed the tank at a single vehicle and gunned the engine. His neighbor’s screams could not rival the sounds of crunching metal.
“He’s crazy,” his neighbor said. “Lock him up!”
Ray did not care. He settled his unfinished business and now could rest in peace.
Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. This week’s challenging photo was provided by A Mixed Bag