The water’s edge – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time to write another piece for Friday Fictioneers!  Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who hosts this venture.  Each week Rochelle chooses a photo prompt to inspire writers to produce a 100 word piece of flash fiction.  Do use the link to her blog if you are interested in joining the group.  It’s a great way to get involved in writing!

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PHOTO PROMPT © Carla Bicomong

The water’s edge

I gazed across the water and saw the home we once knew.  The front door beckoned and I ran with you through the house and into the garden.

There stood the tree whose great arms stretched out to protect us as we played and, beyond it, the river bank and the weather-beaten fence post where once you carved your name.

I leaned over to look in the water for the fish we used to catch.  I saw a face.  Time-worn and grey-haired.

I gasped and stood up.  I saw lights floating gently away.

For me, a light had gone out.

 

 

 

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Everything changes – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time to write another piece for Friday Fictioneers!  Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who hosts this venture.  Each week Rochelle chooses a photo prompt to inspire writers to produce a 100 word piece of flash fiction.  Do use the link to her blog if you are interested in joining the group.  It’s a great way to get involved in writing!

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Everything changes

The lights flickered and went out as the train slid to a halt.

“Now what?” he thought irritably and pulled out his phone.  “No signal,” he muttered.

There were similar rumblings of discontent all around.

The train driver appeared.  “We’ve lost all power.  Radio’s not working, phone’s dead.  No contact with anyone to find out what’s going on!””

AJ looked through the window.  The sun was sinking in an ominously discoloured sky.

A sense of foreboding washed over him.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

Like all the houses, theirs had suffered a total power failure.  Genevieve groaned.  What could be happening?  And where was AJ?

 

 

When passion burns brighter than fear – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time to write another piece for Friday Fictioneers!  Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who hosts this venture.  Each week Rochelle chooses a photo prompt to inspire writers to produce a 100 word piece of flash fiction.  Do use the link to her blog if you are interested in joining the group.  It’s a great way to get involved in writing!

The title for my story this week was inspired by the writing of Mark Anthony, author and poet.  “And one day she discovered that she was fierce and strong and full of fire and that not even she could hold herself back because her passion burned brighter than her fears.”

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PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

When passion burns brighter than fear

The drunken man in a bright pink hat brought the city centre to a standstill.  He walked around the artificial leg, gesturing at it with his crutches and lunging at the crowd of laughing boys.

His behaviour towards them became increasingly aggressive.  “Come on,” he shouted. “Show me what you’re made of!”

Freya had heard enough.

Marching across to the drunk she remonstrated with him.

“Your behaviour is a disgrace.  What kind of example is this for young people?  Stop it at once!”

When he looked into her eyes, the fury left him.  Picking up the limb, he shuffled away.

 

 

 

Once upon a time – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time to write another piece for Friday Fictioneers!  Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who hosts this venture.  Each week Rochelle chooses a photo prompt to inspire writers to produce a 100 word piece of flash fiction.  Do use the link to her blog if you are interested in joining the group.  It’s a great way to get involved in writing!

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Once upon a time

The bowl was a special object in his childhood and beyond.

 It was an elegant design and made of the finest crystal.  It had pride of place on his mother’s sideboard.  He loved to cradle it on his lap and trace the patterns with his fingers.  His mother let him do this and trusted him to handle it with care.

 She had such faith in him and he never let it drop.  Not until the day of her funeral when, as he reached for it, his trembling hands lost their grip and the bowl, like his heart, broke into pieces.

 

Worn out – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time to write another piece for Friday Fictioneers!  Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who hosts this venture.  Each week Rochelle chooses a photo prompt to inspire writers to produce a 100 word piece of flash fiction.  Do use the link to her blog if you are interested in joining the group.  It’s a great way to get involved in writing!

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© Photographer prefers to remain anonymous.

Worn out

A solitary figure stood alone at the top of the tall cliff, measuring the views with sadness in his eyes.  With a shrug, he took the path away from the restless surf and through the long miles of woodland.  He trudged through the night under the critical gaze of the silent moon and slept in the shadows of the unwelcoming hedges.  He seemed not to know where the road would lead him but pursued his course with resigned indifference.

 I came across the boots.  Abandoned.

I wondered where they had been and whether there was a purpose in the journey.

 

 

Ninety Days – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time to write another piece for Friday Fictioneers!  Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who hosts this venture.  Each week Rochelle chooses a photo prompt to inspire writers to produce a written piece of no more than 100 words.  Do use the link to her blog if you are interested in joining the group.  It’s a great way to get involved in writing!

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PHOTO PROMPT ©Jill Wisoff

Ninety Days

My mother’s face was transformed by a sudden smile.  I looked at her in surprise then took her in my arms and held her close.

 After a while, I laid her gently back upon the pillow and stood up to look out of the window.  The city was brightly lit.  In this room, a light had just gone out.

I moved back to sit at the bedside and took my mother’s hand in mine.  I had clasped it tightly as we walked together along the pathway towards the end of her life.  A gentle walk that took just ninety days. 

 

 

 

 

A letter to my love – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time to write another piece for Friday Fictioneers!  Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who hosts this venture.  Each week Rochelle chooses a photo prompt to inspire writers to produce a 100 word piece of flash fiction.  Do use the link to her blog if you are interested in joining the group.  It’s a great way to get involved in writing!

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

A letter to my love

My coffee went cold, as you revealed the plans you’d been making, and a chill crept into my heart.  You spoke about work and your ambitions, other countries and a different lifestyle.  It all sounded glamorous and exciting but there was something missing.

 At last, you mentioned me.  I wonder, was it relief or dismay that you felt when you heard my reply?

 I looked down from the café and watched you heading for the exit.  I half-expected one of your cheery waves; for you to turn and blow me a kiss.  But you didn’t look back.

 Neither will I.