Flash Fiction

Friday Fictioneers for March 11, 2022

Star aquatic endurance athlete and mistress of the micro-fiction, flash-splash, Friday on Wednesday, the magnifico Rochelle has paired with Lisa Fox to push a prompt for our creative muses to produce 100 words or fewer, from a genre of our choosing, and to write a story for the world to read.

Click on Lisa’s photo to fly over to Rochelle’s Purple Maze and get read-in on the top-secret life of global fictioneers. My story follows the prompt pic.

PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox (click for Rochelle’s blog page)

Genre: Spy Fiction
Title: It’s a Living
Word Count: 100

***

“That’s it, Ted. The ad said five hundred a month.”

Bill pointed toward the house, “Interesting antennas. The owners are either aliens or spies. Nice metal roof though. The wooden one burned when the old lab exploded. They’ve added electrical and plumbing.”

“It needs to look like the lab’s back. We’ll piggyback with the comm towers on the house. Nobody suspects a counter intel op in an old garage slash meth kitchen.”

“I’ll go sign the lease. You call in and arrange equipment delivery for tomorrow night. Forecast thunderstorms will provide cover. Spies spying on spies. Hell, it’s a living.”

Look both ways with skeptical eyes.
Mind the gaps in all intelligence.

Click on the CIA floor logo to link up with more fun stories.

***

I need to watch this movie, don’t cha think?

Friday Fictioneers for March 4th, 2022

Mistress Rochelle is on a twisted tantrum with tilted photos and pictures of leaning towers in the swamplands of Italy. If this photo, supplied by Anne Higa, inspires you to write a story on the straight and vertical, click on the Pisa Plaza picture to gondola over to the Maven of Purple (Rochelle) for the rules and regulations and how to post your square right over there.

My unholy semi-fib follows the photo.

Click the PHOTO PROMPT © Anne Higa to open Rochelle’s blog page.

 

Genre: Historical Fiction
Title: Holy Land for Pisa
Word Count: 100

***

“Drudo, tomorrow we sail for the Holy Land.”

“Good, Gotto. I’m sick of this damn tower. The world isn’t impressed. Every tower in town leans. Merda!”

“We’ll return with holy cargo from Calvary in Jerusalem for this Square of Miracles. Pisa will be famous. The excursion is funded with riches we took from Sicily.”

“We’ll never be known for our towers, Gotto. What bounty shall make us heroes?”

Gotto grinned. “Fifty-three shiploads of dirt.”

Drudo whines, “We battle for riches. We spend blood-won bounty on shiploads of dirt for a cemetery in a swamp. The tower is a better idea.”

Look both ways.
Historical truth need not make sense.
Mind the gaps in the foundations of towers.
Fame comes as much from failure as from success.
(It could have happened like that.)

Click on Superman straightening the tower to read other creative stories.

About one year after his birth, Galileo was baptized in the Pisa Baptistry of the Square of Miracles in 1565. And yes, it is historical fact. 53 shiploads of dirt from the Hill at Calvary in Jerusalem for the cemetery.

Friday Fictioneers for February 25th, 2022

Our own Wednesday morning moonbeam, Rochelle, in conjunction with Roger Bulot has set the street carnival stage for the final February Friday Fictioneers frolic with ethnic food, fun, and dancing in the street. Click on Roger’s contributed picture for a magic carpet ride over to play where growing older does not require growing up and purple is plentiful.

My mundane mindless myth meanders about the crowd in the 100 worried words below the prompt photo.

Click on the PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot for a taxi over to Rochelle’s page.

 

Genre: Bazaar Fiction
Title: American Men
Word Count: 100

***

“There. Blue baseball cap, Ray-Bans, running shoes. Passing the Greek Jewish food. Go!”

She approached. “Hello, mark. Remember me?”

He lowered his shades and made eye contact, then noticing her cleavage, “Ah, I’m afraid I, um, ah…”

She touched his bare arm. “I’m, Chloé. Last June in Paris?”

Embarrassed, he felt blood and sense drop from his brain to his groin. He felt a nudge from behind. He turned to look. When he turned back, she was gone, as was his wallet, watch, and even his sunglasses.

He thought, I should have known at the lower-case mark. My name’s Bill.

Look both ways on crowded streets.
Mind the gaps of décolletage and keep your eye on the ball.

Click anywhere you like to find the other wonderful worldly contributions to read and comment.

Friday Fictioneers for February 18th, 2022

Yet again, two of our favorite jolies femmes have teamed up to conspire with a cat, to inspire me to find fewer than 101 words of micro-fiction for Friday Fictioneers. Dale delights us with her cute and clever bookshelf cat photo. Rochelle, Madame cat herder extraordinaire, challenges us and guides our stories. I thank them both.

Click on Dale’s cat-that-reads photo to prance on over to Rochelle’s page for all the latest ‘nip.

Genre: Feline Fiction
Title: The Prints of Paws
Word Count: 100

I’m telling you, Francesco, we’re the greatest predators, evah. We can kill them. Everything becomes ours. Look around. Cameras, computers, food, catnip galore. All ours.

Gabriella, stop. If she finds out you’ve been peeing on her books, she’ll blame me. What if she tosses us outside? I know how you love the cold. And that’s not ‘nip. It’s pot. Let’s hold off until Spring.

I can pee wherever, my chicken-feline-friend. How many cat books do you see? None. Let’s get into her account and order cat books.

Here she comes. Look cute. She’s got her camera. Stardom beckons.

Look both ways if you love animals, especially cats.
No shelf is too high, no corner too dark.

Inspired by I could Pee on This: And Other Poems by Cats by Francesco Marciuliano (and other cat books soon to be showing up on Dale’s account and TBRs).

Click on the sweet le félin to read more stories inspired by the cat on a shelf.

Friday Fictioneers for February 11, 2022

Lover of all things purple (except maybe prose); historian and keeper of dark truths; maven of watercolor and drawings of life; sultry mistress with dominion over her tribe of scribes and Friday littérateurs of fantastic fiction; Madam Rochelle Wisoff-Fields has honored her humble servant by promotion to the elite order of photo contributors.

To wit, I must now contrive some presentable intrigue in fewer than 101 words, discounting this introduction, the preface (title, wordcount, and genre), and my additional postscript.

Click on “old blue” (or green) for a smooth ride on over to Rochelle’s place to glean other rules of literary engagement.

Photo by Bill Reynolds. Click on the truck for a ride on over to Rochelle’s place.

Genre: Texas Gothic
Title: Organic Disposal
Word Count: 100

***

I met her on the front porch. “Hi Furie, where’s Fenix?”

“She’s inside reading. I’m going to sit on that old rusty truck and write some Texas Gothic. It inspires me.”

“I noticed they moved it and put in a hog pen.”

I could see her wheels turning. “Right, Opa. You know, pigs and hogs are a great way to get rid of physical crime evidence. They’ll eat anything organic, including flesh and bone. And they can be trained to make life difficult for the Sheriff or some dingbat country cop.”

She smiled and waved as the Sheriff pulled up.

Look both ways for fact or fiction.
Mind the gaps and plot twists of creative teenage minds.

***

Click on “the girls” to discover more Friday Fictioneer stories.

Friday Fictioneers for February 4th, 2022

The lovelies, Rochelle and Na’ama, teamed up to tempt my darker, speculative, micro-fiction side. It’s 100 words. Fewer is fine, but more is too many. My story follows Na’ama’s enticing photo. Click on it to bat fly over to Rochelle’s place for rest of the tantalizing story.

Click on the PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda to see what Rochelle is up to today.

 

Genre: Erotic Spec-Fic
Title: Leave the Light On
Word Count: 100

***

Drunk at midnight. The doorbell. Instant love.

She said, “I saw your light. Would you like to donate blood? Invite me in. Vodka Collins, please.”

“Yes. Come in. I’ll get your drink.”

Her phone. “Party at David’s. Sunrise. I’m getting bloody marys now. Maybe a sperm bank donation too. Cute guy, but older.”

I handed her the Collins. “I thought y’all bit us on the neck.”

“Too messy. We’re high tech now. Like Red Cross. Instant disease tests and all. Join our frequent donor, blood-bag club.”

“Really? No more biting?”

“Nope. But I give a hell of a hickey.”

***

Look both ways for erotic vampires.
Mind the gaps and floss daily.

***

Click on your “Interview With The Vampire” soul mate to sky on over to the squares and read more exciting stories. It’s fun. Trust me.

Friday Fictioneers: January 28, 2022

Rockin’ Rochelle tempted me with another of her personal pics to inspire this Friday Fictioneer micro-fantasy. In keeping with my bad boy image, I decided to make it a deal.

Click on her foodie (prompt) photo to buzz on over to her place for the good stuff.

Click the PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for a trip to Rochelle’s blog.

Genre: Micro-Fiction
Title: Family Business
Word Count: 100

I’d had a good day at the restaurant. I met some sweet ice and tips were awesome. I decided to visit Cowboy on the way home.

When he opened the door, “Hey Cowboy. How’z it hangin’, Kemosabe?”

He looked both ways. “Don’t call me that. It means idiot. Get in here. Cash only until this virus shit is done. You got green?”

I smiled, waving two bills. “My green for yours, amigo. What you got fer me?”

Someone banged on the door. “Open up. Police.”

I said, “Well, fuck!”

Cowboy said, “Nah. It’s my cousin. The man don’t never knock.”

Look both ways and learn the ropes, cliché or not.
Mind the gaps and lock the door.

***

Click on Matthew McConaughey in “White Boy Rick” for transport to all the fantastic fiction you’ll ever want to read, in a flash.

Friday Fictioneers: January 21st, 2022

Endurance swimmer, Mistress Rochelle has placed me in the city library children’s section with a limit of one hundred of my own carefully crafted words with which I must contrive a suspenseful story of escape.

Click on the photo provided by Ted Strutz to buzz on over to Rochelle’s page where “Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.” I considered those options when I wrote the photo-inspired story that follows.

Photo provided by Ted Strutz

Genre: Micro-fiction
Title: The Latte Librarian
Word count: 100

***

Passing through the library’s deserted children’s section, I turned toward the noisy coffee shop.

I set my chai latte and backpack on the counter nearest the women’s table, drank half the latte, then slipped the smoke bomb into the cup. From the men’s room, I called in the bomb threat.

When evacuation was announced, I set off the smoke bomb.

I returned to transfer valuables from each handbag or backpack into mine, then left through the side door just as fire trucks and police cars arrived. I removed the disguise in the car, kissed my partner, and we drove off.

Look both ways to be aware of surroundings.
Notice people and their trappings.
Mind the gaps of their absence.

***

Click on Alec Baldwin’s badge (from 2018 movie, “The Public”) for your library card to read other fine stories.

Friday Fictioneers: January 14, 2022

Once again, the lovely Mistress of Fiction, Rochelle, has orchestrated the launch of a photo prompt to inspire my story telling muse into a frenzy of guns and guitars, of love recalled, of romantic tension.

Click on the Bradly Harris photo to jet on over to Rochelle’s place for the big picture. My one-hundred-word micro-story, inspired by an old Abba song, follows.

PHOTO PROMPT © Bradley Harris

 

Genre: Literary Fiction
Title: Better Worlds
Word Count: 100

Maria whispered, “Do you remember, Fernando, when we last stood here? That night, long ago; a night of guns and guitars, of dreams and distant drums, of freedom, love, and fear?”

“Oh, Maria. We were so young and full of life. Revolution held many promises for a better world. I deeply miss it all: the guns, cannons, and cries of our love for liberty; for our people. I miss us, then. I want to go back. To that night, to make those feelings forever.”

“No regrets, Fernando. Let’s return to that night.”

Holding hands, they took their final steps back.

 

Look both ways, back to that night.
Seek the love of hopeless romantics, the glamor of disco days,
and never let your memories die.
Mind the gaps while turning pages in the book of life.

***

Click on Che to read more stories from the same picture prompt.

***

 

Enjoy this rendition of ‘Fernando’ by Cher and Andy Garcia from the movie, Mama Mia.

Thursday’s Rune: Porter or Stout?

Old Man Sugarfoot

At FUBAR’s bar on the Redneck Riviera, I ordered up.

“I’ll have a sarsaparilla with a dash of cherry.”

The young redhead tending bar gave me a look, “Who are you?”

“I’m Sugarfoot, Ma’am.” (Removing my hat)

(I could’ve said, “Will Rogers, Jr., Slim Pickens, or Sheb Wooley.”
She’d a remained clueless.)

I responded to her saucy look by asking,
“What’s your darkest beer?”

She said, “Shiner Bock. But try this instead.”
I agreed.

She put a glass of white-capped, watery, light-gold liquid on the bar.

I looked at Yolonda, then at the drink, at the bar tender, and back at the drink.
“Is this beer?” I asked.

With a catty smile and in a demanding tone, “Drink up old man.”

I downed the grog and slammed my glass back on the bar.

(I don’t know why men do such foolish things.)

She gave me a minute, then, “Well? What do you think, Mr. Foot?”

With my most honest, I been trick-fucked again look, I replied,
“Ma’am, I think your horse is diabetic.”

She cut me off, so we left.

Giggling as we walked out, Yolonda said, “You’re such a funny old fool. I’ll drive.”

Look both ways and across the bar. Mind the gaps and opinions of bartenders.

(Note: FUBAR is acronym for fucked up beyond all reason.)