They stared drowsily at each other, warming their hands on steaming cups of coffee.
Maddie smiled. “Did you see the sun this morning?”
“No. I missed it. Was it amazing?” John winked at his wife, chuckling. Everything was ‘amazing’ to Maddie. He loved that about her.
“You know what I mean…”
John knew. It was their first morning in Canada. Expats now. Two of the lucky ones who made it out before the military closed the borders. He noticed a tear rolling down Maddie’s cheek.
“You alright baby?”
“I’m fine, John. We’re gonna be okay. The sun rises here too.”
100 Words for Friday Fictioneers. Photo above by © Dale Rogerson
Photo Prompt by Liz Young
“Guys, c’mon. Let me out!” Roger begged.
“I say we leave him here all night,” said Joe. “That’ll teach him for ruining the party by scaring everyone with that Main Street Slasher story.”
“Yeah, stupid story. Leave him.” Doug agreed, “See ya later!”
Day drifted into night.
“I was just trying to warn everyone.” Roger lamented. “No one should be out after dark. They’ll see that I was telling the truth when the news reports another murder. They’ll see.”
“See what?” a raspy voice cackled from behind. “Would you like me to set you free?”
96 words for Friday Fictioneers Photo Prompted Flash Fiction Challenge, thanks to Rochelle Wizoff-Fields. Photo above by Liz Young.
“Stupid fools!” Brad thought, when total strangers approached, glanced at his prosthesis, and commented with a smile and a nod, “thank you for your service…”
He knew he was not who they assumed he was. Their comments, the stares, the side-glancing whispers, their misplaced approval haunted him. It made him wish that he had died in the crash; not the young mother and three small children whose car had the misfortune of being in the path of his drunken recklessness.
They didn’t know him. All they saw was his titanium leg, assuming the best…his personal hell.
96 words for Friday Fictioneers inspired by the photo above by J. Hardy Carroll.
“Dust collectors!” she lamented.
Perhaps it was time to post them on eBay or have that yard sale; sell them to the highest bidder. But she couldn’t bring herself to part with them. They were as much a part of her as her graying hair and fading voice. Those instruments helped her remember when.
Occasionally she’d strap a guitar over her tired shoulders and strike a chord or two with tender fingers that had long lost their callouses. It brought her joy, and a tinge of sadness.
“Once a minstrel, always,” she smiled, “with a few lyrics yet to write.”
100 Words for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers flash fiction challenge inspired by the photo above by Rochelle. A bit of a true story…
This photo by yours truly.
PHOTO PROMPT submitted by Courtney Wright. Photographer prefers to remain anonymous.
It would be winter soon. He’d managed to find enough pennies to buy duct tape to repair his boots. But duct tape would do little to mend the gaping holes in the toes of his socks. He’d make do. He always did.
She was on her way to the Good Will with her late father’s clothing, when the sight of him changed her plans. It was like Christmas in October as he donned his new jacket and sturdy boots, prancing around like a king. Suddenly, the sun beamed, bursting through the clouds.
“Thought you might be pleased, Dad,” she smiled.
100 words for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers Flash Fiction Challenge inspired by the photo above submitted by Courtney Wright. (Photographer prefers to remain anonymous.)