Caught – Friday Fictioneers

It’s a summer rerun. I loved this prompt back in October 2012 when I wrote this story, and I still love it today. My story…I’m not so sure about. I thought about rewriting the ending, maybe something with more punch, more drama. But after recent events, I had a change of heart. Maybe it’s okay if you have to use your imagination at the end.

As always, thanks so much to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for leading the group and to Jan Morrill for the photo.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Marler Morrill

(100 words)


The white walls caught the light, overpowering  my judgment. I surrendered and receded into the alley. My bare feet cracked with the sand and grit of the pebbles, the heat almost intolerable. Barely distinguishable from the others, I knew this alley wasn’t the right one. Its walls were too high and the blue door wasn’t there before. I felt light-headed.

A few steps into the shade and I saw him, standing on the balcony watching me. Waiting for me. He knew I’d be here.

I crooked my head to see a man walking behind me. My opportunity had suddenly vanished.


For more 100-word stories, visit the Fictioneers linkup.


Cottage in the Woods – Friday Fictioneers

As near as I can tell, this prompt was my very first Friday Fictioneers story, four years ago! It’s hard to believe. I couldn’t help but run my story this week…although I made a few changes…because guess what else? June 1st also marks my 4-year Anniversary with WordPress! This is a double celebration of sorts!

Thanks to all my blogging friends who have stuck with me all this time. Truly, I appreciate your support and for taking time to read and comment.

A big thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting the Fictioneers. She really is my Blog Fairy Godmother. Cheers! This week’s prompt was provided by Piya Singh.

Thanks to Piya Singh for this week’s photo prompt.
Thanks to Piya Singh for this week’s photo prompt.

Enrique and his wife, Sadie, had walked for hours in overgrown hills and meandered off course. While lumbering through granite rocks and muddy sludge, traces of honeysuckle lit the way to a new path, clear of vegetation and soft under their weary feet.

The cottage appeared before them in sun-kissed light with a delicate trickle of water coaxing them closer. They dropped their packs and splashed their faces with cool liquid and drank.

They could rest tonight. Inside a candle burned and a small, featherbed awaited them. Sadie sighed. The door slammed shut, locking them in. The candle extinguished.


My original story as first published is here.

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Dishwater Man – Friday Fictioneers

Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, where writers gather to write a 100-word story prompted by a photo, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Thanks to Rochelle for leading the group and for this week’s photo.

Whenever I wash dishes, my mind wanders a bit. Secretly, I like it. Sorry, I’m a bit late this week. I hope you’ll still read my story.

All are welcome to participate. Here are instructions.

PHOTO PROMPT- © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Genre: Fantasy (100 words)

Dish Water Man

Vanessa’s daily dishwashing borders on disturbing joy, a synthesis of oblivion and compulsion. She washes every dish, dirty or clean. When she turns the faucet on, sunlight breaks through the dust and a handsome man strolls towards her, holding yellow daffodils as if he had just picked them fresh for her. She feels the warmth of his smile radiating through the glass.

With the water off, the man vanishes in mid-step. A stroll on the grounds reveals no evidence of his presence, no footprint, scent, nor sound.

Except today.

Knock, knock.

She keeps the water running and walks to the door.


For more stories from the Friday Fictioneers, click here.

Buried – Friday Fictioneers

Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, where writers attempt to write a 100-word story based on a photo prompt. Many thanks to the talented author and artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting our group each week. Also a big thank you to Connie Gayer, aka Mrs. Russell, for contributing the photo this week.

I had some difficulty coming up with a story for this prompt. I remembered a story I heard on NPR about people who dig up dinosaur bones for profit. It made its way into my story this week. It just goes to show you that you never know what will end up in a story.

If you’d like to participate, please visit the Friday Fictioneers page.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Connie Gayer …(Mrs. Russell)
PHOTO PROMPT – © Connie Gayer …(Mrs. Russell)

Genre: Mystery/Suspense (100 words)


“Who’s tearing up our land like a bunch of feral hogs?” He had dark slits for eyes that cut like knives.

“I let him in, Pop. We won’t have to sell,” Jessup said, gripping the newspaper. “They dino hunters. We get ten percent of any bones they sell. We’ll be millionaires.”

His father pinned him to the floor in a choke hold. “No one digs up our land.”

But they unearthed dinosaur bones. And human ones, too. Jessup finally understood why the only dead relative on the mantel was Aunt Nora.

Hidden in plain sight, but not for long.


For more stories based on this prompt, visit this Linkup.

Before Social Media – Friday Fictioneers

I finally got my act together and put together a story for Friday Fictioneers. I love this prompt, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who also the lovely hostess of Friday Fictioneers. It also happens to be Rochelle’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Rochelle! I hope you’re enjoying yourself and relaxing. Rochelle’s book Please Say Kaddish For Me was recently published. It’s getting great reviews. Check it out!

The challenge is to write a 100-word story based on a photo. Why not give it a try? All are welcome.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

(100 words)

Lana loves to put on a show. Ivy and Alex put on shows for each other. William, a student, hides behind drawn blinds. Octavia, lost in her own apartment, is on a strict pill diet. Lloyd, the overachiever, wakes before dawn with his stocks and treadmill. Sheamus, this guy never leaves his apartment, never sleeps. He’s always watching; across, below, inside. Conveniently across from his vantage point, a reflective window shines light on their misery.

It’s the perfect mix of joie de vivre and desperation. With penthouse views, Lloyd sips his brandy, watching the watched. Misery is calling his name.


For more stories from the Fictioneers, click here.


Rendezvous – Friday Fictioneers

Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, a weekly writer’s link-up, hosted by the lovely and gracious Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Writers around the globe compose a 100-word story based on a photo. This week’s photo was provided by Sandra Crook. Thank you, Sandra. It looks such a lovely spot, but in my story today, a place of intrigue. A little serious, a little silly, using the props of the photo.

If you would like participate, instructions are here. All are welcome!

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook

Genre: Suspense (100 words)


Martin flattened against the walls. Outside his peripheral vision, a couple walked as one, heads together, a laugh between them; an isolated man dragged his pack on the cobblestones. Someone always watched; he caught a shadow in the dormer at 12:00.

A whistling man approached and bumped hands with him, revealing the  symbol: a flame, encircled and crossed with swords, tattooed on his wrist. He passed a bag into Martin’s hand,  jumped on his bicycle and turned a corner.

Inside the bag was a donut. He recalled the message: sugar of the gods. He smiled, mounted the available bicycle and followed him.


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Memory Overboard – Friday Fictioneers – 11/29/13

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers. The holiday schedule has thrown me off this week.

Happy Anniversary to our wonderful hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who is celebrating 42 years of marriage. Congratulations, Rochelle! Thank you to Ted Strutz for the photo. Someday, I hope to ride this ferry.

Click here for more stories from the Fictioneers.

Genre: Suspense (98 words)

Copyright – Ted Strutz

Memory Overboard

The glassy water promised calm. Sitting at a booth on the water’s edge, Malcolm considered swimming away. Among the bustling ferry commuters, he wouldn’t be noticed.

He found the man simply known as “The Captain,” with a thick, grey beard and salty, sea-seasoned skin.

“You’re a young kid.”

“Thirteen,” Malcolm nodded.

“Because it can’t be undone. I can try to pull one memory…understand there may be nothing left.”

Malcolm tossed him the money. The Captain shook his head. He held Malcolm’s hands and a heat surged between them.

Malcolm awoke to stillness, his identity stripped, his destination unknown.