PHOTO PROMPT © TED STRUTZ
The car window whined and knocked as Roger pressed the down button repeatedly.
“Gotta get that fixed,” he mumbled. A blast of misty air smelling of fish and diesel fuel assaulted his nostrils.
He hated the ferry. The cars and trucks sandwiched in rows, bumper to bumper like sardines triggered his claustrophobia.
On choppy days like today, the teeter-tottering of the vessel would likely curdle the yoghurt he’d had for breakfast. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lost the contents of his stomach on this trip. But this would be the last time. He just didn’t know it yet.
100 words for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers Challenge inspired by the photo above by Ted Strutz.
photo by © Dale Rogerson.
Kim learned not to become attached to things, like a favorite toy or friends. At age 12 she understood that nothing is permanent.
“Kim,” her mother whispered urgently, “get your sister up and packed. We need to move right now. Don’t dawdle!”
It was the dead of night; it was always the dead of night, when Kim, her mother and younger sister would flee, slipping into the shadows until the next time they heard that “he” was getting too close.
“It’s for the best,” Kim told her tired, grumpy self, “but I miss home, wherever, whatever that is.”
For Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneer flash fiction challenge based on this
photo by © Dale Rogerson.
photo by © Sarah Potter
I watch the ivy slipping her green tentacles between bricks, crumbling mortar. And water, brackish or raging white caps, it doesn’t matter. She slowly sucks the shore into the sea and hollows tunnels through massive boulders with a kiss.
We lay pavements, build foundations and walls, and erect iron behemoths to the sky in our attempt to mute her, to contain her. Nature always finds a way to reclaim what is hers. What has always been hers.
Like the remnants of civilizations past sandwiched between layers of limestone and ore, we too are destined to return, ashes to dust.
For Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneer Flash Fiction Challenge inspired by this photo by © Sarah Potter.
This week Rochelle gave us a rather bleak photo prompt for her Friday Fictioneers challenge. I ruminated over it for a day, fighting my first impression; one of heartache, loss and destruction because, quite frankly, I am weary of of reality this week. Every day small fragile men find new ways to trample on the things we hold dear. Today, not content to destroy just our nation, our horrible leader took steps to ravage the earth our home. So I needed a bit of hope.
PHOTO PROMPT © KARUNA
The massive brush fires expanded their reach into neighboring homes licking at their foundations before ravaging the stick frames that held them together. Fire doesn’t discriminate once it contorts into its frenzied surge, consuming furniture, clothing, family photos and other treasures.
Precious though they may once have been, they are dross, but the tempest has no power over memories that emerge in the hearts of those left behind.
Memories remain, cherished all the more by living survivors who realize while sifting through the ashes, that they, and those that they love, are the greatest treasure of all.
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
“It has potential.”
“Um, if you say so.”
“Picture this John. The kitchen goes here.” Molly tossed a shelf out of the way, sweeping her arms to display her vision. “This space is perfect for an open floor plan. Just look at those rafters! The bathroom is already plumbed. We just need new fixtures and…and…”
“Molly, you said ‘we’. You remember I’m an accountant right? I don’t know anything about…”
Molly laughed and nuzzled into him, “I know, silly. We can afford a contractor at this price. So…?
He couldn’t say no. “Well, looks like we bought a warehouse house!”
For Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers Flash Fiction challenge inspired by this photo by J. Hardy Carroll.