Friday fictioneers – Condensation

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Photograph © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

When she saw him opening his mouth, she pressed her nose to the window and stared at the ponies pulling at their hay in the field.

‘Father’s dead.’

‘Oh.’ The ponies were clouded with snow but their tails dripped and their warm bodies steamed.

‘Haven’t you anything else to say?’ His hand tugged at her arm as if he hoped to shake it out of her.

‘Good?’

She regretted the question mark even before the little word had turned to condensation on the glass.

*

If you’d like to write your own 100 word story inspired by the picture, click here, or here to read other people’s.

 

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Friday fictioneers – After the hunt

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

Perdy had triumphed on the hunt. She sat outside her tent, arms around the corkscrew horns of an enormous kudu bull. Its blood-clotted nose rested in her lap.

‘What a trophy,’ someone said.

Perdy smirked and looked across at Violet.

‘Jolly well done, darling,’ Violet said. ‘Do you have the right wall for it? Back home?’

‘Home?’

‘You’ve not moved in with me, have you!’

Perdy’s mouth twitched in a sort-of smile.

Violet took the smile and turned it into her own. Her fingers caught at mine. ‘Goodness, if everyone who came to one of my parties moved in, there’d be no room for me.’

*

If you’d like to write your own 100 word story inspired by the picture, click here, or here to read other people’s.

Friday fictioneers – Over the chain

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PHOTO PROMPT © CEayr

‘Step over it,’ he said, when his daughter hesitated before the chain. ‘No-one must know we’re here.’

‘But Mama-’

Her mother, leaning over her swollen belly like it was the bed she’d been longing for, said, ‘I’ll manage. Do as he says.’

The door gave way with a shove and, with another, gentler this time, the girl was inside the grey space, her nose wrinkling against some smell she couldn’t identify.
‘Bats,’ Mama said, over the chain and already on her knees in a pile of ancient straw that squeaked and rustled. ‘Pull the door closed.’ Her voice came in pants. ‘It’s almost time.’

*

If you’d like to write your own 100 word story inspired by the picture, click here, or  here to read other people’s.

Friday fictioneers – Off route

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Image © Jean L. Hays

‘Has she been through here? Yesterday? In a station wagon?’ Nina flipped open her wallet and pointed at the photo of the white-haired lady. ‘She’s got Alzheimers. She shouldn’t be driving. But-’

The mechanic bent over and squinted. ‘No, but I’ve seen this dame.’ He tapped a finger, its nail rimmed with black grease, over another photo. ‘The car, too. Couldn’t forget a car like that. Yesterday, like you said.’

Nina stepped back. In the snapshot, the same woman, forty years younger, her hair still red, leaned against a Model T Ford parked under an acacia tree somewhere very far from Route 66.

*

If you’d like to write your own 100 word story inspired by the picture, click here, or here to read other people’s.

Friday Fictioneers – Sea beliefs

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Image © Claire Fuller

 

When I was seven, we found a mermaid. Right there on the beach, forgotten by the tide, tiny and curled up asleep inside a cockle shell. We couldn’t wake her, though we tried.

She came home with us and lived on a shelf in our bedroom, with the shells and sponges, the driftwood and sea beans. We didn’t tell anyone what she was. She was ours.

Yesterday, my daughter showed me a mermaid she’d found on the beach.

‘Look after her,’ I said and then, too quietly for anyone except the mermaid to hear, ‘while you still believe in her.’

*

If you’d like to write your own 100 word story inspired by the picture, click here, or here to read other people’s.

Friday Fictioneers – And so the darkness

Inspired by my friend, Claire, I’ve decided to have a go at the Friday Fictioneers. This is a long-running project, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction, complete with beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or fewer, following a photo prompt. This week’s photo is supplied by Rochelle.

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Image © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

‘We have light!’ She set the hurricane lamps on the table, one either side of the tiny shopping trolley the children had filled with bottles of sugar sprinkles and cinnamon (‘See, we won’t starve,’ they’d said). ‘I found them in the attic. They were Violet’s, I suppose.’

He shrugged and ran his finger over the glass of the nearer one, liking the burn. ‘Guess so.’

‘Lucky she never threw anything away.’

His finger was too hot. He counted to five and pulled it away. ‘No. You’re wrong there. She did. She threw people away all the time.’