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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.
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.
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.
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.
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!”
I seem to be hit or miss with Friday Fictioneers, but here’s my next entry! I will probably be even more absent next month as July is another session of Camp NaNo and I very much need to start work on the cozy mystery series I keep threatening to write. Photo copyright – Mary Shipman
Starting Fresh
Cheryl worried about wiping away the remains of her childhood, destroying memories as sure as she was taking down the wall in the room. The home had been in the family for generations, each one adding to it without making major changes. Now she was breaking down walls, adding in modern amenities, throwing out old wallpaper and carpet. As much as she wanted to pass that down to the next generations, she couldn’t. For the sake of meeting damned standards of a neighborhood that built around her in the last twenty years, she had to gut everything and start fresh.
The anguish was palpable, almost a physical presence. The fear, pain, and death of so many in such a concentrated area left an emotional scar on the land. And for what?
The fence marked the line, the hard-fought prize of too many battles. Neither side held the prize for long. Neither was ever willing to concede. But both sides, believing theirs to be the right cause, fought brothers, uncles, and fathers.
She’d come hoping to heal the scar, to put brothers, uncles, and fathers to rest at last. But the pain was too much, the souls lost too many.
I know it’s been a long while since I posted ANYTHING here. Let’s just say life got very busy almost immediately after starting Friday Fictioneers. I will be joining in again soon. Between moving (again), finishing a semester of college, and trying my hand at Camp NaNo (also again) I’ve had very little time for any of my blogs. Two-thirds of that is over by May 3rd. And for the first time in the six years since I signed up, I actually won NaNo. I plan to do the camp again in July with a higher word goal and the main one in November. For now, all I have to deal with is my crappy day job and a new home study course from the National Genealogical Society, so blogging should be more frequent until the fall semester. I forget how much I enjoy blogging until I have no time to do it.
photo by David Bowman
Gaia’s Wounds
It was the perfect spot, the one she’d seen in her dreams. The crater had every element needed for the spell. Saving the GPS coordinates, she sent the information to the group. Her sister witches would soon meet Sakura with supplies.
Everything must be set up and ready for the ritual before noon. Other groups around the globe were preparing for the same ritual to be performed at the same moment. It was the only way to begin to repair the human damage done to the environment. To fail meant certain death for all. Success only a short-termed solution.
photo copyright by Sandra Crook
I haven’t had a chance to read anyone else’s story before posting mine. Hopefully this idea hasn’t been done too many times. 🙂
Buried
So many things I could’ve done.
“Don’t drive so close,” from my wife next to me.
“You really shouldn’t try to text and drive,” said my mother in the back.
“Is that bale moving? Hey, Dad, maybe we should take a different road.”
I hate back seat drivers. Always so much smarter than the person actually driving. But I sure showed them.
“Any idea how long it’ll take to move it all? It’s getting hard to breath.”
“Dad, my head hurts. I think I need to throw up.”
“Honey, are you even listening? Dave? Dave!”
No more worries for me.
Luna's Writing Journal 