Afterthought – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, our very talented fairy blog mother. I thank her for her dedication and leadership of this group. Thanks also to The Reclining Gentleman for the this week’s beautiful photo, just in time for Valentine’s day.

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing group, challenged write a 100-word story based on a photo prompt. If you’re interested in joining in, here are instructions. All are welcome.

PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman
PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman

Genre: Realistic Fiction (100 words)

Afterthought

The dust never settled in Rhea’s house. Only the broken remained, intact and unpatched. The faucet still dripped its feeble presence.

The door creaked with Janie’s entrance.

“Here. It was grandpa’s favorite color.” Janie offered a bouquet of yellow daffodils, picked fresh from the neighbor’s garden.

It didn’t matter then. “Why would it matter now?”

Janie shrugged and skipped away, leaving the splayed flowers behind.

After washing a vase, Rhea posed the stems in a vase where they exceeded their expected stay.

Every time she wanted to throw them out, she sniffed the bright petals. “Maybe I never knew him.”

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For more stories from the Fictioneers, click here.

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Accompaniment – Friday Fictioneers

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers. Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting and to her husband Jan Fields for the wonderful photo.

All are welcome to join this challenge, which is to write a 100-word story based on the photo. Here are instructions. Give it a try. My story follows.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jan W. Fields

Genre: Realistic Fiction (102 words)

Accompaniment

Liza pounded the piano, the way her mother told her not to. It had been Mr. Stevenson’s cue to play.

Mr. Stevenson, a pianist for mama’s ballet class, was so good you hardly noticed him. “Like a waiter in a fine restaurant,” mama had told her. But mama had noticed because they had done the fine dining together.

Sweet music filled their small quarters like jasmine on a summer night. Liza and mama danced with roses in their hair. At night Liza heard a more percussive number, what Liza determined could only be 3/4 time.

“I miss the music,” said Liza.

“Me, too.”

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You can find more stories from the Fictioneers here at the Linkup.