Fading

Photo copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Fading

The photo changed for the last time when Geraldine died. Years ago, it was full of smiling faces lined up on the veranda the day of our big family reunion, the one time we were all together. First we lost Grandpa. I knew the picture was different when his image vanished from it. Then went Uncle Charles. One by one, the family disappeared, the photo more lonely and bare. I’m all that’s left of the group. The only part of the image left now is the family homestead. What will happen to the picture once I, the photographer, am gone?

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Here’s a VERY late submission to Friday Fictioneers.

Destined to…

Photo copyright – Melanie Greenwood

This week’s story started out in my mind as something more melancholy or ethereal. As is usual for me, it didn’t actually come out the way I planned. I never know where my muse will go until she’s already left me behind. :) Hope you like my take on the photo for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I’m still not sure how I feel about it. Ah, well. There’s always next week.

Destined to…

It seemed like a fun way to spend the day, to lose myself in the beauty of nature. I turned my face to the warmth of the sun, stiff breeze at my back, and entered the maze. I felt an energy the moment I crossed the threshold. No sounds penetrated the green walls. The energy tugged, a faint voice directed me to the center, to the answer to all my questions. As I entered the heart of the maze, the voice said, “Your gift in this life is–”

Awoken from the dream by my stupid cat, now I’ll never know.

Charlie

Photo copyright Ted Strutz

Time for another Friday Fictioneers! I’m not sure what I think of this one but I’ll share it anyway.

Charlie

“Are you sure it didn’t start at one of the power outlets?” Ted pointed at an unplugged switch plate.

“We checked them. No scorching, no residue,” Kurt sighed. “They’re clean. Well, relatively clean.”

“The fire had to start somewhere. And don’t say it was spontaneous human combustion.”

“Of course not. There’s no such thing,” Kurt huffed. “The fire didn’t spread across the body. It consumed everything at once. What could cause that?”

“Hell if I know. You’re the expert.”

Kurt didn’t voice his thoughts. Five strange fires. Victims all child molesters. He knew pyrokinesis sounded crazier than spontaneous combustion.

The Fictioneer gang’s all here!

Lady of Shalott

       Photo copyright – Georgia Koch

Sorry so late to the Friday Fictioneers game this week. A new semester and two new classes had me scrambling on this one. I’m still not all that happy with this piece but I was determined to come up with something. I need to push through the harder ones and not only try ones that immediately spark an idea. I didn’t put the official inLinkz code at the bottom. It seems to be giving me some trouble. Most of my links from older stories have broken or vanished altogether, so I’m using a traditional text link until I can figure out the problem.

The Lady of Shalott

Much like Anne Shirley as she floated down the river reciting the Lady of Shalott, I was minding my own business. Not at all in need of a rescue. Mother nature had other ideas. A sudden deluge washed my tiny Yaris into a ditch before I could react, quickly rising nearly to the windows. I crawled out the window and onto the car as the water continued to rise. I was never happier than that moment to see the Ford F-350 pull up close. “Hop in the back,” he said. Damn. He was the last person I wanted to see.

Here’s all the other fine work for the week

2014 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 360 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Above Reproach

Photo Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

I couldn’t seem get a solid handle on a story for last week’s Friday Fictioneers. Several possibilities popped into mind immediately this week. I look forward to reading the myriad of interpretations.

Above Reproach

It was his fault. He posted articles online. He joined the movement. He was the one to speak out against the corrupt government, bought and paid for by the major corporations.

Nigel assumed he was untouchable, that his family’s status would shield him. He never considered the consequences to his family. Away for a weekend of protests, Nigel returned to find an empty home. While he played crusader for strangers, the mayor’s personal army came for his mother and sisters. Cold dinner waited in the kitchen to be served. Nigel waited at the window, hoping against hope for their return.

Ancestral Home

Copyright Bjorn Rudberg

As usual it’s been a while since I’ve posted. The holidays are over and I have a short break between semesters (crossing my fingers I’ll come up with the financial aid to pay for my next two classes). So what better way to start a new year? Brand new Friday Fictioneers! This year promises to be my year of writing. My first Bleach fan fiction is edited and waiting for my revision. The original story I started for NaNoWriMo is coming along nicely, though slowly. I am already making progress in my goal to write words, however many or few, every day. And I always have Friday Fictioneers to keep the ideas flowing. I think 2015 will be great. :)

The picture prompt this time is beautiful. It’s a place I’d love to see for myself. And without further ado…

Ancestral Home

Standing atop the stairs, I can feel the pull of generations. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of earth and water, of moss and bark. Wind rustles the bare branches and a stream trickles down stone.

Where now there are delicate yellow flowers and mounds of grass covering every step, ivy spreading down the walls, there was once a pristine row of stairs leading to the cellar of a modest cottage in a prosperous village. It took only one German air raid to destroy the small village, but its memory survives in the descendants, in my family.

Remember When

Yay! I finally managed to come up with a story for a prompt. It’s been a few weeks again since I participated in Friday Fictioneers.The last few prompts brought nothing to my frazzled mind. I think my current class of writing about place might be the culprit for this piece. I’ve been thinking a lot about places I’ve been and want to be.

Copyright – Melanie Greenwood

Remember When

As I take the photo I can hear the animated conversations in my head. Words like kerning, tables, and frames are interspersed with mocking color scheme choices, abuses of clip art, and the hazards of working with charcoals instead of pencils. Amidst the smells of cafeteria fries and pizza, the taste of watered down fountain drinks and Starbucks hastily acquired between classes, we bitched about how hard some teachers rode us and how easy others were, lamenting and rejoicing the fact we weren’t any of us a teacher’s pet. Fifteen years later, I still miss the camaraderie of those days.

Deadly Assumptions

Copyright – Kent Bonham

I’m back for another round of Friday Fictioneers. One picture, one story, one hundred words. It’s always funny that I manage to find time for writing when I’m in the middle of a semester, drowning in homework. Maybe it’s the one time I need the escape this allows. You’ll have to forgive the slight downer of this week’s story. It was inspired by the reports in the news about the first diagnosed case of Ebola in the US. In DALLAS! It hits too close to home here in neighboring Fort Worth and I’m a little freaked.

Deadly Assumptions

The mysterious pods showed up shortly before the Great Plague, the disease that cut the world’s population by seventy-five percent. Everyone knew the virus was deadly. Everyone assumed it wouldn’t get them. Until it did. Just like every plague in history, it was blind to race, gender, socio-economic status. It only needed human flesh to thrive.

The response was predictable. First came curiosity. Then fear. It took years to get past fear to find the gift in that strange little plant. It was almost eradicated. They eventually discovered it wasn’t cause of the virus. It was the cure.

Hide and Hide?

I wasn’t quite sure where I wanted to go with this picture. It took a little mindless retail work to get the creative juices flowing. I hope this is different than all the other wonderful writers posting to Friday Fictioneers this week. This image was also used a couple of years ago, long before I joined the addiction. It’ll be interesting to see how this stacks up to those posts as well. No pressure, right? ;) Oh, and photo copyright – Madison Woods

Okay. Without further ado and with hopes that I can keep up my flash fiction while also novel writing for CampNaNo, here it is.

 

Hide and Hide?

I was very close to losing my temper. We’d been at the exercise for almost three hours and I was no closer.

“It’s too hard. Let’s just move onto something else.”

“No, you can do this. You’re so close!”

“You said that an hour ago and I haven’t gotten any better. My blind Uncle Dave could spot me from across the street.”

“That’s not true. I could barely see facial features. One more try?”

“Okay.” I closed my eyes, harnessed energy, and visualized branches and leaves. “How’s that?”

“Umm. Maybe you’re right.”

“What? Why?”

“You have branches. And horns.”

“Damn!”