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.)
Margaret glanced up from a sink full of soapy dishes. Pa was in his element, surrounded by the grands and great-grands, telling stories of “how it was before tv’s and computers; when people called and you answered your phone, none of this texting and voicemail business.”
“How did you do it, Pa? Didn’t you wonder if you were missing something? I would!” Zachary blurted.
Pa chuckled, his eyes softened, remembering. “Well Zach, guess we didn’t miss anything ‘cause we didn’t know any better. We got along just fine, I think. Just look at all of you. Musta done something right.”
100 Words for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers flash fiction Challenge inspired by the photo above by © Fatima Fakier Deria
It all started when Mamie Mitchell found a crude map under the floor board in the parlor of her family home place. After she delivered it to the authorities, word spread. Fortune hunters descended on Black Hills hoping to find treasure buried by a notorious gang led by Bart McMaster. He had frequented the place, once a brothel owned by Mamie’s great-grandmother, Sadie. After a heist, Bart hid the map only hours before the gang was gunned down.
But Mamie knew that the treasure was long gone. Miss Sadie and her girls never needed for anything. Bart saw to that.
100 words for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers Flash Fiction Challenge prompted by the photo above by © Björn Rudberg.
“Oh no. You can’t be serious. We’re not staying here!”
“You told me you wanted an adventure on a budget, Sarah. Besides, the real adventure is out there!” Claude pointed at the tropical jungle spilling over the shoreline of the Rio Dulce.
“We’ll see about that!” Sarah huffed.
After a quick check-in to the Henry
Berrisford, Claude whisked Sarah away to the Siete Altares in the heart of Livingston’s tropical forest.
When they returned that night, Sarah easily drifted to sleep. “Claude was right,” she smiled, “I can’t wait to see what he has planned for us tomorrow!”
98 words for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers‘ flash fiction challenge based on the photo above by JS Brand.
PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
Café renovations were completed ahead of schedule, due in part, to the Mayor’s intervention. Officials had hoped restoring the mangled façade, a blaring reminder of that dreadful night, might help people forget, and bring healing to those who had been touched personally by the tragedy.
But a pristine storefront could not assuage the outrage of those who demanded truth from the corrupt government, whom they suspected was complicit in the terrorist attack.
The people commissioned a trompe l’oeil artist to restore the destruction’s visage to the building’s front, reminding the guilty that healing would be possible only when justice prevailed.
100 Words for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers Flash Fiction Challenge inspired by this photo by Sandra Crook. (Trompe-l’œil (French for “deceive the eye”) is an art technique that uses realistic imagery to create the optical illusion that the depicted objects exist in three dimensions.)
Okay…now you need to hear the story behind the story. I took a glance at the photo on my small phone screen and the story evolved. What if it wasn’t real but a trompe-l’oeil of a terrible event that happened only months earlier. So I crafted my little fictional story and posted it. And then the comments started to come in and I discovered that it is indeed “street art graffiti on the front of that building in the seaside town of Swanage in Dorset, England. I swear I had no idea, thinking it to be real remnants of a crash or explosion. Sometimes the truth is odder than fiction.