Pale light drips down the curtain and stirs the stale air slouching against the baseboards. A draft from the hallway drags the odor of old paint across the floor. Dust rises above threadbare cushions where empty hours pass. A window must be open somewhere. Faded injury meets fresh insult. Hope, long hidden behind closed doors, sags under the weight of another day that has only just begun.
His sideways smile was telling. She’d seen his kind before, looking for locals too far in the hole with the bank. “Storms come up quick ‘round here,” she warned him. “Hail can cut to the bone.”
“Thanks for the advice, but don’t you worry your pretty little head about me. Which way to the Blackburn farm?”
“That fancy car of yours is no match for the roads ‘round here. Better let Roy take you in the truck.”
She tossed the keys to Roy.
Hours later, Roy returned. “Here’s a twenty for your trouble, Roy.”
“It was no trouble, Miss Blackburn.”
Writers from ’round the world share stories each week that are inspired by a photo prompt submitted by Friday Fictioneer contributors and offered by the immensely talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
I’ve learned a great deal while participating in Friday Fictioneers. Your comments have always been appreciated. It is unfair that I do not have time to read more of your stories; it seems I get ’round to fewer and fewer each week. My plate is full of research and writing as I push to complete my degree. It has been great fun getting to know you. I will miss being a part of the group, but I have to say goodbye for now. I wish each of you the best, and as always, thanks for reading.
The dude in the header was camped out on my last remaining tomato plant, and as I was removing basil to make room for garlic, I spotted him snoozing in the sun. I ran inside and grabbed my camera. Luckily he was still there when I returned.
Today it is raining. Tomorrow it will be raining. Sunday too. So, planting garlic will have to wait. Until then, there’s homework. Among the many things I have learned so far this semester, it is safe to say that I am not going to become a forensic scientist. I will probably never even play one on TV, but I have learned a thing or twenty about human evolution (or lack thereof). More on that in a future post. Until then, here are 100 words of total fiction.
“A highly developed mechanical species once dominated this entire planet,” said the interstellar tour guide.
Skeptical, I asked, “How do you know?”
“We know this because remains found in shallow pools at the Swamp of Enlightenment show forms with variable height adjustment. This, of course, was a response to rising water levels during the Exxonozoic Era. A wider wheel base evolved as larger quantities of fossil fuels were consumed.”
I raised my hand. “Why didn’t the species adapt?”
“It is unknown. However, the widely accepted hypothesis is that an uncontrollable demand for power ushered in the Age of Arctic Fires.”
Jeanie interrupted, “It’s always dark at night, silly.”
“Hey, who’s telling this story, me or you, kiddo?”
Jeanie giggled. She loves this story.
“It was a stormy night. A soaking wet angel showed up out of nowhere. There we were, your mom and me, when all of a sudden a flash of light made us dizzy.”
“Then what happened?”
“We fell asleep. And when your mom woke up, there was a little bundle of joy waiting!”
“Then what happened?”
“The angel took my hand.”
“Who are you talking to?”
This week’s prompt comes from none other than the Grande Dame of storytelling herself, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. “Make every word count,” says she. And so, we do. Check out more Friday Fictioneer stories here. Thanks for reading my ghost story.
The Modern Thinkers Conference convenes, and as participants from around the globe take their seats they hear gunshots in the distance.
“What we are witnessing with these continual outbreaks of violence are organisms that are unable to adapt to their environment,” says the conference leader. “We need to get creative.”
Someone in the back speaks up. “So, what you are saying is that as technology advances, our chance of survival against threats from within our own species will require not only critical thinking but creativity.”
“Yes, exactly, creativity is vital for future survival.”
“Personalizing our workspaces, of course.”
I must confess that lately it seems there is so much talk without substance going on in the world that I am beginning to see the appeal of earbudding through life. Yes, I verbalated a noun. Yes, I created a new term for turning a noun into a verb. Verbalated. Spread it around. Okay, now that I’ve gotten my creative fix for the week, I’ve got to get my study on. Creativity abounds as Friday Fictioneers share their stories. You can check out what they are up to here. Thanks for reading.