Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are encouraged to write something creative in 100 words or less using the photo below as inspiration. This is my 100-word story.
Uncle Bobby had this irrational fear of spiders. Well, it was irrational to his family; for him it was very real.
So when the new amusement park ride Spiders From Mars opened, Uncle Bobby wouldnβt go near it.
Everyone tried convincing him the ride wasnβt jinxed or dangerous but he wasnβt buying it. All their urging and encouragement fell on deaf ears. Uncle Bobby watched from the shadows as his nieces and nephews went for a spin.
That night the ride malfunctioned; several family members were killed, unceremoniously hurled out of the park.
Guess Uncle Bobby’s fear wasn’t so irrational. π·οΈ
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we’re given a photo and asked to let it inspire us to create something magical in 100 words or less. This is my 100-word inspired creation.
βUngrateful β¦ bastard β¦ son-of-a-bitch β¦ always telling me what to do β¦ when to do it β¦ waiting on him like a motherless child β¦ picking up after him β¦ cooking three meals a day β¦ seven days a week β¦ cleaning β¦ cleaning β¦ cleaning β¦ and whatβs my reward β¦ an unwelcome fuck at 3 AM β¦ pig β¦ I β¦ have β¦ had β¦ enough!β
Carlaβs thoughts raced through her head like a locomotive engulfed in flames.
βYou gonna cook that pizza or beat it to death?β he snarled.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are asked to write something creative in 100 words or less using the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
He walks on the beach with his dog, just as he always does. They have a routine. He tosses the ball, the dog brings it back. Itβs all very natural and civilized.
Except for this night.
When the dog returns, he has a purse hanging from his mouth. He drops the purse and runs back to where he found it.
Looking in the purse, he sees a cell phone. Hers. The last call dialed was to him. He chases the dog; there’s a body sprawled on the rocks near the water.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are challenged to write something creative in 100 words or less using the photo below. This is my story in 100 words.
They walk five miles to work every other day, softly conversing in Italian. They unlock the side door and go directly to the closet. Dragging out their supplies, they stop talking and address their task.
Kerchiefs holding back their hair, hands protected by rubber gloves, they uncap their jars of Murphyβs Oil Soap and add a small amount to their buckets of water. It doesnβt take much of the lemon-scented solution to polish every pew.
These are the church ladies. They labor silently for three hours. When done, they leave the church in darkness except for the luminous bell tower.
Written for Weekly Writing Prompt #363 where we are asked to write something in exactly 42 words, incorporating the word “cabinet”. This is my story in 42 words.
When the landlord came calling for the rent, she pleaded for more time.
He refused and viciously slapped her across the face.
She fell against the cabinet and a rage grew in her like never before.
Locking eyes across the room, Jaclyn and Mark gave each other the signal. A discreet nod toward the door meant it was time to bail on the noisy frat party. Clutching each otherβs hands, the teens bounded down the stairs and ran across the yard until they reached the thick grove of tall maple trees.
Fiercely kissing, they fell to the ground, groping and tearing at their clothes.
βMark, my hair is stuck in some sticky glopβ Jaclyn protested, then screamed as she spied the enormous web suspended over them.
Too late, Mark felt the agonizing sting of giant toxic pincers.
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #361; we are asked to get creative in exactly 57 words and include the word “classic”. This is my response.
βOh, baby, you gotta see her! Sheβs a real beauty! What curves, what style! And the color is perfect β¦. itβs called Marina Blue and the paint job is amazing! Brand new dash, broad grille, quad headlights and a tail sporting a fan-shaped alcove on both side panels. Iβm telling you, honey β¦. this oneβs a classic!β
Authorβs Note: Thatβs what my husband sounded like when he called to tell me about his ‘new’ vintage car …. a 1958 Chevy Bel Air. That was back in 1969 and he was still my boyfriend at the time. He was crazy about that car and took such good care of it. After about 8 months, someone stole it right off his driveway; that was one of a handful of times Iβve seen my husband cry.
βGee, the house sure is quiet. I wonder where everybodyβs gone. Bobbyβs been a little distant lately and that makes me sad. I mean, weβve been best buds ever since he was a little guy. We did everything together and he wouldnβt go anywhere without me. And he gave the best hugs at night. Shh! Here he comes now! Bobby! I just knew you wouldnβt leave without me. What’re we doing today?β
βIβm watching TV with Becky …. alone.β
βGosh, Bobby. You’re my bestie. Whoβs this Becky chick?”
A rare alternate album cover of Heep’s “Demons and Wizards”
It was the early 1970s and the four of us scored tickets to see Uriah Heep in Allentown, PA. It was the dog days of August β¦ the kind of sun that blisters your skin in minutes β¦ and the concert was outdoors. The drive was 3 hours each way in scorching temperatures but we were going to that concert come hell or high water. Allentown became our Mecca and the road trip our personal hard rock pilgrimage. The details of that day are a little sketchy but the concert was freakinβ awesome.
In the middle of a field there stands a great big tree and at the base of the tree’s very broad trunk is a miniature door with a little knob. Beyond that miniature door is the most dizzying of spiral staircases intricately woven together with twigs and seeds, licked-clean popsicle sticks and discarded toothpicks. Each landing of the staircase leads to a cluster of tiny rooms .β¦ storage rooms, dining rooms, play rooms, sun rooms and hibernating rooms. Inside those tiny rooms are the giddiest chipmunks busy storing, dining, playing, sunning and, when the wintry snowflakes bluster about, snugly hibernating. πΏοΈ
Thereβs something very comforting about Montauk; itβs steeped in tradition, averse to change.
Case in point: the Montauk Shirt Shop which never changed its inventory β¦. and that was just fine. People popped in to get their mandatory summer vacation t-shirt …. not the latest fashion craze.
Things just weren’t the same after the familiar shop was renovated featuring a new step-up, almost exclusive section with high-end merchandise and souvenirs no one wanted. We looked around the new area once; it was overpriced and a bit too chi-chi for the sleepy fishing village.
This is the Stones with βMemory Motelβ, located on 27 East in Montauk, NY right across the street from the old diner and the t-shirt store. In my younger days I’d go to the bar at the Memory Motel and may or may not have caught a glimpse of Mick and Keith mingling very comfortably with the locals. It was a simpler time, no big deal, ya know?
Written for Quadrille Monday dVerse Poets Pub; De Jackson is asking us to create a 44-word poem using the word βFriday”. My poem is a Dectina Refrain: 1st line is 1 syllable, 2nd line is 2 syllables 3rd line is 3 syllables, and so on for 9 lines; the 10th line is comprised of the first four lines as one stand-alone sentence.
Our Friday night dinner we wait all week to sit on the couch and eat sexy pizza with cheese like hot melted love, gooey and deliciously good, and we drink tall glasses of red wine. Our Friday night dinner we wait all week
After the wake, a few of us went back to our sister-in-lawβs house. A question tap-danced in my brain: now that my husbandβs brother was dead, was his widow still our sister-in-law or will she eventually be erased from the familial slate, ties severed, connections lost?
The room which they call βthe officeβ was a confusion of books, photo albums and memorabilia piled high like Babel.
Flipping through yellowed snapshots, we spotted her, the widow, in every image β¦. halcyon days when we all spoke the language of youth and happiness β¦. and my question was answered.
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #358 ~ Superscript
Just like something out of the evening news.
Did the attractive young woman, a former nurse and mother of one toddler, actually feed her little boy bleach or was it just a dreadful accident?
How could any jury not believe the clean-faced white woman in the proper skirt and blouse as she tearfully recounted the events of that horrific morning?
But they did believe her and only the most perceptible viewer in the courtroom or the living room caught the slightest cold-blooded superscript curl of her top left lip.
Bill stood at his open closet mumbling and cursing under his breath as he pulled out one pair of pants after the other. He was in a mood that has no definition or perhaps many definitions, none of them good. He was searching for something to wear for the funeral of his twin brother, Jim, who died suddenly on April 2. Had it been anyone elseβs funeral, Bill would have just pulled out a suitable pair of pants and a dress shirt, but this was his brother and he said he needed his black suit. He couldnβt find it in the closet and he was getting angry but, of course, the errant suit was not the cause for his consternation. I walked to the closet and spotted the suit immediately. Handing it to Bill, I hugged him and kissed his cheek. As I ironed his shirt I could hear him crying softly. βWhyβd you have to go and die, Jim?β
Written forFriday Fictioneers. Greetings, friends. Some of you know, others do not. We had a death in the family last week β¦ my husbandβs twin brother passed away on Tuesday. Iβve taken some time off from writing but now I’m ready to return. You may read about our loss hereΒ if you are so inclined. Thank you for your thoughts. This is my story today.
It wasnβt in the evening when a calm tide rolls out, nor in the early morning as the glorious sun rises but rather in the middle of the day, just after noon when he crossed the bridge and left us stunned and lost. One minute he was with us β¦. happy, strong and alive. The next he was gone, in an instant, in the blink of an eye, he crossed the bridge and slipped away. We had no time to prepare, no time to say βGoodbye and fare thee well, brotherβ. He was just gone, peacefully and silently across the bridge.
Our gracious host Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers is encouraging us to get creative in 100 words or less using this photo as our inspiration. This is my story.
In the 7th grade, ballroom dance class was a rite of passage β a Friday night event that lasted six months, culminating in a semiformal dinner-dance. The boys wore ties and jackets, the girls in party dresses and white gloves. It was not mandatory but if you didnβt sign up, you were snubbed. It was the highlight of the year β¦. not for the 12-year-old students but rather for their moms.
My son balked but signed up.
βYouβll never regret knowing how to danceβ, I told him.
Since then, Iβve seen him dance on two occasions β his wedding and his brotherβs.
Our delightful host Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers has offered this challenge: to write creatively in 100 words or less in response to this photo. Here is my story in 100 words.
Each morning they would incline their respective hospital beds, draw back their curtains an inch and raise binoculars to their eyes. They would wave, smile radiantly and lift a hand-written note which read βWanna blow this joint?β
A different note followed at noon and 9PM. And theyβd laugh!
They found each other by accident, two teenage girls occupying apartments diagonally across Park Avenue. Each was bedridden with the ubiquitous daily flow of boring people in and out of their rooms β¦. parents, nurses, doctors.
It was indescribably joyful to have a secret friend.
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt is challenging us to get creative with the word “adventure” in exactly 76 words. This is my response to that word challenge.
Bill and his blackfish
You ever have that feeling you get when you meet someone for the first time …. and you know?
Thatβs what happened to me when I first met Bill β¦. almost 56 years ago to the day. It was our first date, the dreaded blind date, but we had chemistry and we still do.
Our lovely host, Rochelle, at Friday Fictioneers has offered up this photo prompt to inspire us to write creatively using 100 words or less. This is my 100-word story from days in Montauk.
βSurf rods are the heaviest and longest rods you can get. They’re designed to cast very far distances and pull in heavier fish from breaking waves. Depending on which bait you’re using β worms, squid, bunker β youβll need to choose the right rig.β
Bill quietly explained to our pre-school boys, blissfully ignoring the fact that the rods were four times taller than them.
βThis is a science, boys. You have to be patient and psyche out the fish.β The kiddos were gleefully lost in their mini boxes of Frosted Flakes.
Bill was content; this was cherished father/son time. Pivotal first steps.
A Dectina Refrain and a short poem for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt. Word requirement is 65, prompt word is “tap”.
Tap tapping on my door. Who can it be? Itβs too dark to see but the noise just wonβt stop. I get up from the sofa and tippy toe to the front door; peek through the window but no oneβs there. Tap tapping on my door. Who can it be?
Noise from outside. Itβs too dark to see. No place to hide. Stop watching me!
The gracious Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers is challenging us to write something creative in 100 words or less to go with this photo. This is my response to that challenge.
Iβve been married so long, Betsy Ross was my maid of honor!
Our first house was an impressive five-bedroom Colonial with loads of property. Fifty-two years ago it cost $68,000; today that money can buy a car.
The house was white with navy blue trim and a red door. As an excited new homeowner and proud American, I planted red and white impatiens and coral red begonias in all the window boxes.
There was no white picket fence but we did have a proper flagpole and hoisted Old Glory every morning …. much to the chagrin of my communist next-door neighbor.
Our gracious host Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers has another intriguing photo for us to reflect on and create something clever in 100 words or less. In 100 words, this is what the photo said to me.
Gary finished heating up his Hungry Man TV dinner β¦. fried chicken with a side of mash, corn and a big honking brownie for dessert. His stomach grumbled at the aroma of that juicy breast still sizzling hot from the oven.
βMan, this is the life!β Gary thought. He plopped down onto his beloved Barca-Lounger and popped open a Mountain Dew, swigging half the bottle in three huge gulps followed by an explosive burp.
Every weekday mopping floors at the local elementary school, decorating his trailer with cool stuff from Lost and Found.
βFuckinβ A! Itβs a freakinβ βMonkβ marathon!β
The Elephant's Trunk 