Thanks to Rochelle @Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for providing another Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. Her weekly challenge is for us to write a story of 100 words or less based on a photo prompt (thanks to Roger Bultot).
Genre: Narrative poetry
Title: Joe’s Plan
Word count: 96
Joe was okay for 96;
a walker, a bag, and caths.
not bad. no cancer.
she was long gone.
he felt guilty and missed her.
Joe had a plan.
one night, after the poker game,
the pain was too much.
at the hospital er, shingles, they said,
was not deadly.
that night in his bathtub
he used his .38 Special
to join with her,
just past the veil.
Joe’s girlfriend found him, cops came,
hazmet cleaned up. some family members
dealt with his stuff. all they ever wanted
was joe’s money. now it’s finished.
Look both ways and wonder why, but death awaits all.
Mind the gaps and keep your powder dry.
Thanks to Rochelle @Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for another midweek, Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. Her weekly challenge is for us to write a story of 100 words or less based on a photo prompt (this week, hers).
Title: When I Met Sparky
Word Count: 100
Old Sparky was its name. A useless device, except for taking out life 695 times.
I could have been seeing any old gallows, a chopping block, a guillotine, but it was an ugly wooden chair with dried up leather straps and old wires. It was a creative invention to kill in a kinder, gentler way.
I felt a willfulness choke me.
I kept my emotions hidden. When the warden asked if I would like to sit in the chair (against the rules), without moving my eye from what must have been a sight for thousands, I mumbled a muffled, “Nope.”
Look both ways when you kill.
Mind the gaps death cannot be undone.
Thanks to Rochelle @Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for another Friday Fictioneers inspiring Wednesday photo. Her weekly challenge is to write a story of 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. This week’s inspiration is provided by C.E. Ayr.
Genre: (Autobiographical) Fiction
Title: Some Friends
Word Count: 100
I was to meet Clair, Jack’s wife, on the movie set. We met for coffee during her break. Clair introduced me to Astrid, who left us alone to talk. She got to the point.
“Bill, I’m leaving Jack.”
I said I was not surprised.
She said, “You’re his best friend. How can you say that?”
“Yes, I am. But I have no idea why anyone would want to be married to him.”
“Bill, you don’t understand. I am leaving him for another woman. You just met her.”
“Oh shit, Clair. I wish I could be there when you tell him.”
Look both ways in life and love.
Mind the gaps in close friendships.
Many thanks to Rochelle @Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for pointing me to another photo-inspired Friday Fictioneers. The weekly challenge she presents is to write a story based on the photo prompt, provided today by Ted Strutz.
My task is to write a complete story in 100 words or less.
Title: One Last Time
Genre: Fiction (Southern Gothic)
Word count: 100
Abject fear hit me when I saw his house, familiar feelings founded on my childhood nightmares with an abusive father and an enabling mother.
I love South Carolina’s low country but have few good memories, a good place with fine people. But not him.
I walked the three steps to front door. A gunshot stunned me. I ducked, looked around, then carefully opened the door.
He put the WWII .45 on the table and said, “Safety’s broke. I ain’t goin’ to no death house.”
“Well, Dad, you cannot live here. And you damn sure ain’t livin’ with me. Now pack!”
Look both ways for the life you’ve lived.
Mind the gap like a bad dream.
Thanks to Merril (from New Jersey) for hosting this dVerse bar challenge: Prosery Monday: A Time, to which I am responding on Tuesday. Merril says to write prose of less then 145 words in response to this line from the poem “A Time” by Allison Adelle Hodge Coke.
“when it is over said and done
it was a time
and there was never enough of it.”
Genre: flash memoir
Word count: 143
Title: L’esprit de l’escalier
Last Fall, I wrote a poem about watching my father drink coffee and smoke when I was a young child. Our father-son relationship improved slightly later in life.
I’d received good reaction to the piece, so I considered its potential for submission. I requested further feedback from a critique group (mostly fiction writers). I was aware of the potential risks, but I wanted to know their thoughts.
One person asked, “I did not understand the last few lines where you said, ‘I figured it out. He did too. In the end, it was just the end.’ Can you explain what you meant?”
Stumped for a good answer, I copped-out with, “He died”—a true but poor response on my part.
Now I could simply say, “When it is over, said, and done, it was a time. And there was never enough of it.”
Look both ways for answers.
Mind the gaps in the poetry of others,
it’s where we may find answers.