Friday Fictioneers – Weighed and Measured

27 09 2013

Morning all. Friday once again and time for another 100 words of fiction based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle for organizing. Please visit Rochelle’s blog to find out more about the Friday Fictioneers. I don’t claim to be a writer, I do this for a bit of fun. So constructive criticism is always welcome as I’m here to learn.

(c) Rich Voza

 

Weighed and Measured

As the final episodes of my life finished flashing past my eyes, I dropped to my knees, hands clutching fruitlessly at my failing heart.

Through the pain and the tears I glimpsed three doors. White would lead me up to Heaven, blue would guide me to Purgatory, Red . . . to the other place.

My mortal life was over, I had been weighed and measured. Had I led a worthy life? A good life? Nobody is perfect, but do you need to be? We all have our faults . . . and our regrets.

Slowly, the door swung open.

P.S.  What colour is your door?





Friday Fictioneers – Carrying On

20 09 2013

Happy Friday one and all!  Time for another little gobbet of nonsense prose for all the world to scratch their head over. If you have stumbled upon this post by accident, well good for you. It’s all part of the Friday Fictioneers; 100 words of fiction (supposedly) on a Friday, inspired by a photo prompt. If you’d like to join in, visit Rochelle for the guidelines.

Copyright John Nixon

Carrying On

Albert Potter leaned wearily on his bamboo walking stick and peered in through the glass windows of Orlando Watt’s second-hand shop.

It seemed like a longer walk each year; but he had to come to say hello. And just in case . . . goodbye.

The pure white lace of the wedding dress looked as crisp and clean as it had so long ago. The staff always kept it spotless and seemed to discourage prospective buyers.

He could see her now; unblemished skin as smooth and pale as alabaster, still just as fresh as the day she was embalmed.





Friday Fictioneers – The Piano

14 06 2013

Hi everyone. Back again for another dose of Friday Fiction, 100 words based on a photo prompt. Just can’t seem to stay away for long. If you’d like to join in and share the addiction, why not have a look at Rochelle’s blog to find out all about it. Thank you to John Nixon for the wonderful photo.

Copyright John Nixon.

The Piano

A wave of silence swept over the astounded audience, broken only by the steadily decreasing footfall of heavy feet, and the slightly muffled pleas coming from the piano.  Even before it could settle, the silence was replaced by another wave; one of cheering and clapping so unrestrained as to be heard in the nearby streets.

They really hadn’t liked the clown. He was vulgar and amateurish, and quite possibly drunk. So after he invited the local celebrity linebacker up on stage to assist him, and then tried to hypnotise him into dancing like a chicken, the outcome was hardly unexpected.







Friday Fictioneers – Shadows

24 05 2013

Hi folks. Always seem to be short of time these days, so here’s a quick and dirty bit of fluff based on today’s photo prompt. Not my best, but I wanted to contribute. For those of you not familiar with the Friday Fiction group, visit Rochelle to find out more. 100 words or so of fiction based on a photo prompt. It only takes five minutes (well it did today), so why not give it a go?

(c) Danny Bowman

Shadows

As the first rays of sun warmed my back, the last dregs of energy drained from my aching limbs.

I could see them out the corner of my eye; distorted human shadows winking in and out.

When I saw the payphone a block away, my hopes resurfaced. But when I got there they were crushed so deeply that they’d never see the light of day again. As I stared mutely at the broken handset, the shadow of a raised arm swept slowly up the front of the phone. I tried to dive, but the knife was too quick.







Friday Fiction – The Art of the Deal

10 05 2013

The Friday Fictioneers are an eclectic mix of bloggers from around the world, all of whom love to entertain us with 100 words of fiction on a Friday based on a photo prompt. To find out more, visit Rochelle’s blog. Why not join in, we’re a friendly bunch. Mostly.

(c) Ted Strutz

The Art of the Deal

Leaving the blissful heat of Fifth Avenue behind, I stepped into the cool – but surprisingly bright – Icon Grill. Best described as eclectic, the decor was a wonderful mishmash of different art styles all created by young Seattle artists. Which was exactly why it was one of my better hunting grounds.

It was quiet today; maybe midday was too early for struggling artists. No matter, someone would be here soon. Someone desperate for success. Someone willing to make a deal. Sooner or later, I’ll gain another soul.







Friday Fictioneers – Homesick

2 05 2013

Woohoo! I made it, and it’s only Thursday!  Kinda makes up for last week, don’t cha think? See Rochelle’s blog if you want to know whats what. Basically, 100 words of fiction based on a photo prompt. Go!

(c) Kent Bonham

Homesick

As the suns set over New Barcelona, and weary settlers headed for home, the plastcrete building in Gaudi Square morphed into Casa Battló once more.

Staring at the famous masked balconies and the beautiful organic stonework brought on a deep pang of homesickness. I missed the old city; not to mention the San Miguel and the wonderful tapas at La Cova Fumada.

Even as I watched, the balconies started to flow back into the building once again as the heritage AI rearranged the plastcrete.

The building shrunk, squared up, and finally produced those oh so familiar delicious smells.

Thank you.







Friday Fictioneers – Claire’s Bookcase

27 04 2013

Hi all, sorry I’m late to this week’s party. But better late than never.  If you’ve arrived here by accident, worry not!  Go and visit Rochelle and all will be revealed. Or explained. Or something. Basically we’re talking 100 words or thereabouts of fiction based on a photo prompt.

(c) Claire Fuller

Claire’s Bookcase

With a deft flick of Macbeth, Claire stood back to let the heavy bookcase swing open  revealing a hidden door. Made of steel, with a single combination lock and small round peephole, it looked something like a large safe.

She checked on her treasure. A man, head slumped on his chest, was bound to a metal chair.

It was his own fault, he never should have come knocking. So far nobody had missed him: no alarm had been raised.

Stepping back, she slid her fingers along spines of books until she found the closing trigger. Appropriately enough, Death of a Salesman.