Category: short story

All roads lead home.

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

This is home.

Where my beginning started. Where I hope to sail past the veil to the end.

This is home.

Where red soil cakes my skin, like shed skin ready to fall off but unwilling to be cast aside.

This is home.

Memories and scars interlock like pavement tiles leading to the far reaches of my mind.

This is home.

The roof hangs low, a shield from intruding rays and nosey wind.

This is home.

A shadow I longed to escape, a hug I longed to embrace ardently.

This is home. The threshold to my beginning and my end.

 

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Also written in memory of my step-brother who sadly died 20/4/23.

Though we were no longer close, his death is a reminded that life is fragile.

A reminder that no one else will fight for your life as you would.

A reminder that many are the dreams we rise with, sadly some will go back to sleep with one single blow.

It is well.

All roads lead home.

Rocky prospects

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Mrs Avery was dying. This was a certainty.

For Malcom, her death meant a solid cash flow into his investments.

For Angelica, she would finally take her rightful place as matriarch. The benefits were endless.

Servants served with baited breath, fretfully anticipating dismissal.

Franco read through his proposal adapting it for a new sponsor. He acknowledged Mrs Avery’s support for the new children’s shelter as a lost opportunity.

David sat inconsolable by her bed, silent tears drenching their linked hands.

Mrs Avery was dying. A cornerstone smashing some to smidgens, building others up.

Her will, the ultimate decider.

PHOTO PROMPT © Amanda Forestwood Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Footloose and fancy free

Sing me a song, oh fair maiden.

Play me a tune, ye drunken rascal.

A ballad of viperous tides and disquieting mermaids.

Sing me a song, ye scurvy ridden merchants,

Lusty for fortune, plagued by misery.

With a ratty blanket for comfort, and folded boxes for a cushion, he caterwauled day and night by Brewer’s arch.

To the left a bowl was held, his vault for every drop of kindness spared wisely or otherwise. And in his right a cup secured fast, his greatest treasure close to his heart. Dreaded by his quivering liver and ochre coloured tooth. PHOTO PROMPT © Amanda Forestwood Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

The stage is set.

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

“On that stage, everything is a gamble.”

“Any risk is allowed, all subterfuge embraced.”

“Every man must play his part … whether sad or happy… great or small.”

“It matters not the hand you’re dealt nor your zeal.”

“Calling, all players to the stage.”

So, the trials began.

Each wanting the most dynamic role. To hold all the chips in their favour.

To soar above the stage.

Deeply everyone knew who would play what role.

Still, they gambled, pretended valiantly.

Thus, death only registered when Sebastian did not rise to leave the stage.

The pound of flesh was long overdue.

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Face me, I face you.

Living to jaw to jaw with one’s neighbour wasn’t ideal.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin

They were worse fates than that; this Amina knew.

And running a business opposite another enterprise which was a doppelgänger to yours was certainly one. A test of ones resilience in a failing economy.

Knowing that they most likely pulled similar numbers of customers each day was no relief.

Neither was the lack of preference amongst customers for either place.

All they wanted was sustenance to see them through hours of labour at the mining site.

Daily Amina grew stifled.

Her mind, an incubating chamber of perturbed  ambition.

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Sheathed emissaries.

Masquerade balls were pleasurable.

Anyone could indulge without fear of consequence.

So why exactly was he here at God knows what hour, preparing to shoot or get shot at.

How had this happened?

Simon tried so hard to recall last nights event but his memory seemed set against such backward glances.

He heard the counting, he took the steps.

He turned, he fired.

Pain shoot through his mind, breaking the memory bank.

 He had a kissed her rose-tinged lips, the only part of her delicate constituent not hidden by her white but sharp edged eagle costume.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Wrung dry.

He knew he shouldn’t tinker with the plumbing, fixing some and loosening some.

Was there another way to see her.

“I might engage another for our plumbing. This is the third call in two months.”

“Hmmm ….”

Setting the teacup down he continued, “There must be tradesmen who prohibit employees from indulging in lofty dreams above their station.”

Drakes’ spine stiffened.

There was no doubt what he had to do. He won’t cost Mr Harrison a reliable albeit pompous customer.

His heart warm as a fired-up engine, will learn to cool again.

Abject poverty was no friend of blossoming love.

PHOTO PROMPT © Miles Rost

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

Time and chance.

It tumbled down, one leaf after the other. Halted, tilted and cajoled by branches to a precarious precipice. Nonetheless, descend it did, to nestle between embedded roots grappling for air. A single mark the only visible sign of its travail. But almost invisible to the human eye. Under the falling leaves it stayed for days. How it escaped the diverse claws of foraging predators, no one would ever know. Alas, escape it did by a hair’s breadth. Incubated by the soil and leaves, it knew no different. Sitting silently; a phoenix set to rise with wings spread like armada sails. PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

New post code.

“Did he not promise to fix the mine.”

“Right sir! Indeed he did”

“And was it not him who fixed the roads”

“True the roads were a mess before him.”

“A more faithful friend you will yet find than the distinguished tax master.”

“Many do concur”.

“Yes, indeed, many. A fair, just lover when your purse strings are secured”

“But the most fearsome enemy, when those strings are loose and your coffers empty.”

Shame hung like a boulder on my shoulders, watching the exodus from a family home.

It was always the same everytime, a reminder of my own heritage.

PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

One more mile

His pulse was racing, the city was awakneing.

Jogging past the park gates his pace quickened.

The day was going to be a good one.

Well, minus the debate with Anne

She thought he was doing too much. Perhaps it was time to cut down his running miles and tennis matches.

The sharp twinge in the middle of his back was sudden. He missed a few steps, his breath caught in his throat.

He needed to rest for a minute, not because Ann thought so. He found the bench.

And he was not found until lunch time. He died of an aneurysm.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Thank you Rochelle for hosting the writing event Friday fictiooneers. The rule is to write a 100 word piece in response to the provided picture. Please click the link to visit Rochelle’s blog. It will be worth your while. And click this link to read other stories and write ups.

I struggled to write this story. And truthfullly i should be asleep as I have a very long day ahead of me tomorrow. Pray that I find restful slumber tonight.