Harmony in Haydale – Friday Fictioneers – 02/28/14

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers. Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff Fields for graciously hosting this group  every week, and to Sandra Crook for this week’s inspirational photo.

My 100-word story follows. For other fabulous stories from the Fictioneers, click HERE.

Why not give it a try yourself? Everyone is welcome to participate.

Genre: Humor (100 words)

Copyright - Sandra Crook
Copyright – Sandra Crook

Harmony in Haydale

When farmers fled the land, their flocks followed. And so Hemsdale became Haydale,  not to be confused with “hay bale.”

Goats milled about happy and lost. Cows, paying no mind to the daily business, clogged the main arteries for hours, stopping time as they chewed hay incessantly. Chickens fluttering on tavern tabletops became tomorrow’s stew.

The pungent aroma cloaking the village became impossible to escape,  and around the clock fecal maintenance created many jobs. Villagers wagered bets over the slaughtering of one’s favorite sheep, and thus, blood detail was added to the duties.

And of course, hay. Always  more hay.


Meeting Place – Friday Fictioneers – 09/21/12

Happy Friday, fictioneers! This Friday Fictioneers is courtesy of Madison Woods. Thank you to Lora for supplying a most interesting photo for the prompt.

I really stumbled on this challenge. I had several ideas to write about…from being followed in the park to the statue, to listening to a old woman talking about a memory, to the statue taking flight, to a woman waiting for a lover (by the statue) who never showed. Seeing this statue in the darkness definitely had some bearing.

I really don’t know how I settled on this one. Anyway, it’s pretty skeleton. Enjoy and happy Friday. (No, I don’t know what’s in the vial. Maybe you have some ideas.)

Image courtesy of Lora Mitchell

Meeting Place (101/100)

“Did you deliver it?” Jude asked.

My hands were shaking. The delivery item pressed delicately against my hip bone in my jean pocket. I revealed the vial, admitting my failure.

Jude bolted from the table and seized my neck in a choke hold.  “Do you think this is some kind of game?”

“I didn’t see him. There was blood…smears. On the statue.”

“Maybe it was jelly,” Randy piped up.

“Shut up,” Jude snapped. “We need to go back.”

When we returned, it was dark and deserted. The statue emanated a translucent glow. There was no evidence of blood anywhere.