Fear

Friday Fictioneers for March 3rd, 2023

To christen March, twenty-twenty-three, and to mark this Rosh Chodesh, our own Friday Fictioneer’s fabulous femme de mystère, Rochelle (aka, the lapping lady on the pool deck), drew upon a Miles Rost a photo to motivate our 100 (or fewer)-word story.

If you want to join us in this clean weekly fun cycle, tumble over to Rochelle’s blog and dry your eyes with the bright colors (esp. purple) and get rinsed and dried for a cleverly pressed story of your own. Just touch the start button on Miles’s photo below. We can iron things out later as we fold in our finest fibs.

PHOTO PROMPT © Miles Rost

Genre: Clean Gonzo Fiction
Title: Loaded Laundry
Word Count: 100
***

I was doing laundry and writing when I heard a door slam.

A lady stormed in carrying a full laundry basket. I tried not to stare. She tossed clothes into a dryer and put something else in with them. Then she stormed out, never looking at me or speaking.

Again, a door slammed. I heard several louder noises, like gun shots.

I smelled something. The dryer she used was billowing smoke. Then it exploded.

I woke up with a firefighter leaning over me asking me what happened. There was more to the story, but I only told what I saw.

Look both ways, even doing normal household chores.
Mind the gaps in silent storming ladies.

Click on the firefighters to link-up with more micro-fiction (or non-) stories.

Friday Fictioneers for January 6th, 2023

I first posted a story on Friday Fictioneers on 8/14/2020. That was less than three years ago.

So, when Mistress Rochelle slips in an old photo prompt (four years ago, in this case) [Correction. Roger’s pic is new. Rochelle’s story is a rerun.] as she did today with a Roger Bultot photo redux, it’s new to me. Since our maven of end of week mystery has pressed go for 2023, I’ve carved my new story into the blogosphere granite.

If you’re interested, just click on Roger’s pic to take the trip on over to Rochelle’s blog page where we all begin this challenge each week.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Genre: Fiction
Title: Deadly Staircase
Word Count: 100

The stairs down to the underground apartment were blocked by a locked gate. It was a trash bin for whatever was blowing. Daily, people walked past the infamous flat, still haunted by ghosts of the many women who were tortured, raped, and murdered inside.

She said, “Babe, we’ve got to go down there. We need pictures for literary inspiration.”

I replied, “How can you consider breaking in? It’s morbid. Sick. You’re out of your mind.”

She jimmied the lock, walked down to the door, and disappeared inside.

“Honestly officer. That was the last time I saw Rochelle—five hours ago.”

Look both ways to solve mysteries and puzzles.
Mind the gaps. They’re traps for fear to some but inspiration to others.

Click on the police tape to read more great stories.

Monday’s Rune: Another New Year

When Once is Enough

Waking up in the drunk tank
is like no other experience.
There are worse things,
but it never seems so at the time.

Confusion, wonder and worry—
where am I?
And, how did I get here?
What are these bruises?
Is that blood? My blood?
I know this headache but at a lower volume.

Who is talking to me?
Fuck! I’m in jail.
I only know what they tell me
and everybody lies.
Another blackout. No memory.
And nobody ever forgives a drunk.
Not even, especially not, this one.

Look both ways, but every action has consequences regardless of the human condition.
Mind the gaps caused by lost memories.

Friday Fictioneers for December 2nd, 2022

Kicking off the twelfth month of twenty-twenty-two, artist, businesswoman, swimmer, writer, mother, wife, sister, (I could go on), and our friend and fictioneer leader, Rochelle, has provided us with a peek out from Roger Bultot’s window with his inspiring photo as a bridge to creativity.

It goes like this. We look at the picture and write whatever story (beginning, middle, & end) we want. Easy, right? It’s doesn’t even have to be pure fiction. But we must prove our micro (or flash) – (non-)fiction bone fides by trimming our stories to any number of words under 101. Try it!

The directions are simple and available on Rochelle’s blog page, reachable with a simple tap, click, or press on Roger’s picture, like it was a detonator.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Genre: Espionage Fiction
Title: Truncated Bridge
Word Count: 100
***

Looking out the window, I felt stress. Ignorance fed by fear. After this job, I’d comfortably retire. To what? Sad.

The morning sunrise lacked hope. It was threatening. A foreboding bloody sky in a randomly meaningless universe. I didn’t care. It was time.

I lit what I promised myself was my last cigarette and sat by the window as I’d done hundreds of times before. When I saw the target on the bridge, I pressed the detonator button and watched the explosion. I always hated all the collateral damage. The news would blame the old bridge. Everyone lies. Everyone dies.

***

Look both ways to find happy endings.
Mind the gaps because that’s where the bridges collapse.

 

Click on Tom Hanks in the Bridge of Spies movie to read more stories based on Roger’s photo.

And for the music lovers among us, I present the Eagles singing “Seven Bridges Road.” If it works. I suppose I took the bridges thing a bit too far.

Monday’s Rune: fear

 

Solicitude—

I fear my last day
but not my death

I fear loneliness
but not being alone

I fear pain
but not its causes

I fear love
but I love loving and being loved

I fear the strike
more than the pitch

I fear my own anger
more than I fear that of others

I fear decline of all kinds
but not being old or slow

I fear the worst
but I try to do my best

I fear the sudden stop
but not the long fall

I fear within me
feeling fear itself

But most of all, I fear
anger born out of my own fear.

Look both ways when feeling trapped or controlled by fear. Paranoia runs deep.
Mind the gaps where you might find the reasons why.

 

Monday’s Rune: Code Red?

Patience Grasshopper

I don’t give a damn what
you think about what
I think I thought
that am entitled to,
or what is my business.
Motive matters. How are ya
means I fucking care
about you and your problems,
no matter how ya got ‘em.

When you shut me out,
when you will not talk,
when anyone close
informs me just
exactly what the fuck
is and is not my business,

Blood boils, tongues twist,
ears backen, and eyes redden.
Sir, the witness has rights!

Code fucking red. RED!
Read it right. No matter
WHAT! I’m on your side.
Hell, high water, thunder,
fucking flashes of lightning
or the end of my damn sidewalk.

Look both ways and see it as you must,
but I’ve been minding the gaps in this wall for more than 50 years.

 

I suppose it depends upon what it is applied to and how.

 

Monday’s Rune: Pride Month Poetry

Looking Both Ways

There’s tragedy in America
and over the world today.
One that has always been there
brewing trouble bubbling,
either hidden or ignored.

Without love, honor, and respect
inside and out,
sans pity and pride, compassion, and sacrifice,
we are doomed
to be less than
the best of humanity’s history.

Let nature and nurture battle on,
let knowledge
and wisdom wrestle
with feeling and emotion.

Nature’s questions asked without fear,
safe for all, with courage
to face battles between
sweet dreams of hope
and nightmares of reality.

Ally with truth, with
compassion, without weakness or fear,
with hope to continue
standing with universal rightness.

Look both ways and try, try, try to understand, it’s not magic, man.
Mind the gaps in the human condition as you embrace its diversity.

Note: I will be reading this poem (and others) at the Lark & Owl Booksellers in Georgetown, TX, 30 June 2022 @ 7:30 PM.

Sammi’s Weekender #257 (luminous)

Click the graphic for Sammi’s page and more 30-word wonders.

 

Ominous luminosity

Nearby outside, a dark
electricity filled night
jarred us with
thunderous raging lightning.

Saint Elmo’s fire
danced and filled our cockpit
with ominous luminosity
from Palpatine,
to our fearless distress.

Look both ways for distress travels any direction.
Mind the gaps as you let the force be with you.

Note: Palpatine (Darth Sidious) was the name of the Emperor in the Star Wars movies.

NaPoWriMo April 2022 (Day 19)

Click the graphic for the prompt page and more poems by other participants.

Today’s challenge is to write a poem that starts with a command.

I wrote my poem as a more respectful, loving plea rather than a command, but the words suit the prompt’s intent well, as far as I’m concerned. My inspiration was the Peter, Paul, and Mary song, Day Is Done.

Our Day Undone

Tell me why you are sad, my son.
Let me hold your hand and listen
as you speak of woe. Call me
to your side as we talk, and we walk.
Stay near me. Tell me your regrets,
intone unknowns we both fear.

Is it wise for us to ask why, sadness
so deep we must cry? Tell me,
my son. I’ll be right here
until my last day is done. Burden my
purpose of commitment. I ask no easement,
but for your silence to clear.

Allow me to share this distress and bother
just as I’ve carried you before. I rejoiced
in your life, now let me suffer with you
the worst of your troubles. Let us be
like some small support
as we lean upon each other
and lift this load
until the healing is done
and sadness has passed.

Look both ways mindful of love’s burden.
Let compassion fill the gaps,
allow time and love to ease the pain until the day is done.

If you’re not familiar with the tune:

Friday Fictioneers for March 18th, 2022

Throughout history, Anonymous has produced some of the best known and loved poetry, art, crime, and mystery. Also, cadavers (aka, John Doe) and AA members.

I’ve considered publishing my next book (also my first) under the Anonymous nom de plume to benefit from his/her/their great success and notoriety. Sometimes, events in my life made me want to be that person: Anonymous.

Today, Her Royal Craftiness, The Princess of Prevarication, Mistress of History, and Duchess of the Storied Squares, Madame Rochelle Wisoff-Fields has teamed with the formerly unknown, but now revealed, Brenda Cox, photo contributor to tempt us into the gated domain of Friday Fictioneers story telling.

Click the pic for a fantasy ride to Rochelle’s castle to learn how to play by her rules. Can you tell your story in one hundred words or fewer? Try it if you dare.

Prompt photo by Brenda Cox. One click away from the Rochelle’s purple world.

Genre: Dark Fiction
Title: My New Home
Word Count: 100

***

Vlad was my goth-looking guide into the witness protection program. As we approached the old ramshackle house I asked, “What is that horrible smell?”

“That’s cadaverine. We spray the perimeter with the ptomaine to keep people away. Only harpies and vampire groupies like it. The death odor attracts buzzards but keeps cartel soldiers, nosey lawmen, and reporters away. You’ll get used to it.”

When I opened the gate, I was struck by the sweet odors of hyacinth and incense. I saw the casket and glared at Vlad.

“Appearances. Protecting people like you is dangerous. Living quarters are underground. Welcome home.”

Look both ways.
Be alert doing good or evil.
Mind the gaps for major life changes.

***

The vampire mansion is a hotlink to inlinkz and more mico-fiction stories.