Friday Fictioneers for January 20th, 2023

As we slip into the final third of January in the year twenty twenty-three, the queen of Wednesdays’ Rhapsody and Friday Fictioneering, Rochelle, has joined forces with one of New York’s finest writers, Na’ama Yehuda, to challenge my (and your) muse’s imagination.

They say the average speaking pace is about one-hundred words per minute. So…

Therefore, you can do this today in a New York minute by composing your own story of no more than 100 words, but as few as you like. Hang out here, but then scoot on over to Rochelle’s place, just past the pink laundromat, to clean up on all the how’s and whatnots. Just click on Na’ama’s pic and BAM! You’re there.

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

Genre: Bohemian Fiction
Title: Sundown Ecstasy
Word Count: 100

***

There was a secret room hidden behind the clothes hanging in her closet. It’s where she went to do things she would never confess—her happy place, an escape from reality. She hid things there: old toys, memories, and sad things. Some day they would find more in her room.

One day, caught in a landslide, she’d had enough of his abuse.

She told them he had washed his clothes, packed, and then left with his gun and girlfriend in his old pick-up truck.

She was happy to know that he was now in a better place. So was she.

***


Look both ways for thunderbolts and lightning—very, very frightening.
Mind the gaps and ask, “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”

Click on Freddy’s pic to read more outstanding Friday Fiction.

 

And if you have not figure it out —- but this is a cute family (The Petersens) with a different vibe.

 

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.

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.

Friday Fictioneers for September 23rd, 2022

For the last full day of global top-half summer, our waving but unwavering maven of history’s mysteries, Rochelle, has boxed-up a deal with Alicia Jamtaas. That duet has flat-out challenged our fictioneer muses to contrive artful `songs or stories of fewer than 101 words. I don’t think titles or postscripts count, lest she DQ’s me.

Click any box, bike, or item in Alicia’s photo and UPS will pick you up and creatively deliver you to Rochelle’s post of purple passions to open the what-ifs and where-how’s of joining the fray.

PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas

Genre: Murderous Mystery
Title: Friends in Low Places
Word Count: 100

***

“You didn’t have to shoot him, Bill.”

“His last bad joke. My gun’s in the blue-handled box.”

“Nothing’s priced. What’s up behind the curtain?”

“Porno auditions. You should try out.”

“Focus, Bill. We need that damn gun. This shooting people over jokes needs to stop.”

“It wasn’t the joke. He was an asshole and an organ donor. I made the world a better place with one shot.”

“Oh? HE was now? Okay. We’ll pick up what’s left at the morgue tomorrow. She wants a grand for the box. She must know.”

“Well, crap! Ask her if she’s an organ donor.”


Look both ways to make your world better.
Mind the gaps, especially in murder plots.
“Remember what the dormouse said, feed your head.”

Click on the man with a gun to read more boxes of fun. Was that the punch line?

dVerse – Prosery:“How many more will it take?

This Prosery is written around a line/sentence from a Facebook poem called, Notes on Uvalde. The dVerse line chosen by Lisa was, “These are the things they don’t tell us.”

To read other prose responses, click HERE.


My First Experience

I was barely 20 years of age and newly married when on August 1st, 1966, Charles Whitman, after killing his mother and wife, packed three rifles, three pistols, a shotgun, 700 rounds of ammunition, food, coffee, vitamins, medicine, earplugs, water, matches, lighter fluid, rope, binoculars, a machete, three knives, a radio, toilet paper, a razor, and deodorant. He went to the observation deck of the Main Building Tower at the University of Texas at Austin.

Whitman killed 14 people and injured 31. He was shot dead. For 18 years, it was the deadliest mass lone gunman shooting in U.S. history. It was unthinkable.

Whitman had sought professional help for “overwhelming, violent impulses;” fantasies about shooting people from the tower. He told them what and where. These are the things they don’t tell us.

“I wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.”


Look both ways. To the beginning and to the end (if there is one).
Mind the gaps as you live in this moment of grave concern with sadness or anger. 

To see the Notes from Uvalde poem and Prosery rules, follow this link: https://dversepoets.com/2022/06/06/dverse-prosery-how-many-more-will-it-take/.

Friday Fictioneers for May 6th, 2022

Na’ama Yehuda’s lovely flower garden picture posted by the incomparable Rochelle, mistress of pools of water and writers was both inspirational and challenging. A rose by any other name is a tulip, even on Friday Fictioneers, right?

 

Click on the flowers to get more info from Rochelle’s. The PHOTO PROMPT by © Na’ama Yehuda.

Genre: Murderous Fiction
Title: I never promised you a
rose tulip garden
Words: 100

We were so much in love, hotly in lust, blindly infatuated—the perfect couple. I decided I could trust him with my biggest secrets. We just clicked.

“Hey Babe, I need to tell you one more thing.”

“Oh, Sweetheart, you can tell me anything. Without trust, there’s no us.”

“I worked as a hooker when I lived in Reno.”

“Okay, Love…that’s over now.”

“I also shot a man there just to watch him die.

“You did what? You’re a murderer? We need to get that mess cleaned up.”

“I’ll be packing tonight. Don’t worry about me leaving. I’m already gone.”


Look both ways to see that no one is perfect, everyone makes mistakes, we can only be who we are. Mind those gaps so you don’t forget that your truth may be none of my business.

***

My story was musically inspired by: (I Never Promised You A) Rose Garden by Lynn Anderson, Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash, and Already Gone (also maybe the line, And there’s some rumors going round, someone’s underground from Witchy Woman) by Eagles (sic).

Click on the flower gun to link up with more marvelous stories by the Friday Fibbers cast.

Friday Fictioneers 12/10/2021

Friday Fictioneers challenges us to write fewer than 101 words mused up by a photograph supplied by one of us and posted as our prompt by the ever-wonderful Rochelle. Click the prompt photo to see her blog page and get clued-in on all the fun.

Here is today’s picture and my story.

Click on the PHOTO PROMPT © by Claire Fullerby for Rochelle’s blog to get all the FF info.

Genre: Crime Fiction
Title: The Payoff
Word count: 100

I was out walking behind the old abandon Morrow Brothers service station, where I had my first job. Hearing voices, I climbed over the mess of old mufflers and tires to see.

I saw Clay Morrow arguing with some guy. Morrow pulled a gun from his toolbox and shot the man.

I saw youthful me—watching.

Then, I watched as Morrow walked over to me, said something, and handed me a paper.

Back home, I called Dr. Kupferberg.

“Doc, I wasn’t dreaming. I remember. I witnessed a murder and told no one. Morrow paid me off. I’m holding the check.”


Look both ways.
You won’t recall repressed memories, until you do.
Mind the gaps in criminal acts, especially if you’re involved.

Click on Clay Morrow’s (Ron Perlman) gun to read other renditions.

 

Friday Fictioneers 7 – 16 – 21

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Untitled flash fiction for Friday Fictioneers. 100 Words.


We were fifteen and looking for a place to shoot. I carried the pistol.

We walked railroad ties near idle coal mines.

Jimmy saw abandoned warehouses and ran ahead.

I heard him scream. I clicked off the safety and saw two men kicking Jimmy.

I yelled, “Stop!” One guy charged. I shot. I’d dropped the gun when it recoiled.

The other guy charged. I picked it up and shot two more times. He tried to run away. I shot again.

We pushed the bodies down an old coalmine shaft.

Jimmy is gone. I alone know where those assholes are buried.


Look both ways and keep your powder dry.
Mind the gaps between the ties.

Friday Fictioneers 10-2-2020

Thanks again to cat-herder extraordinaire, Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for providing another Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. Her weekly challenge is for us to write a story (beginning, middle, and end) of 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rowena Curtin for the photo.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin

 


Genre: Fiction
Title: Xin Loi Gonzo
Word Count: 100

***

The sun was behind him, half blinding me. Gonzo insisted on knowing why I asked to meet him so early.

He swore and moved aggressively toward me. I backed-up and said, “Some make the world a better place, some we would better off without, and some make no difference.

When he charged me, I drew the pistol, repeatedly squeezing the trigger before I could point it. He knocked me down but did not move after we were on the ground. I stood, shot him in the head, and said, “I just made the world a better place. Xin lỗi, Gonzo.”

***

Look both ways when making room and don’t bring a knife to gun fight.
Mind the gaps and keep the sun at your back.


Click for link.

Xin lỗi is Vietnamese for ‘sorry’ or in my case, ‘sorry about that.’

Poetry: Sammi’s Weekender #168 (peristeronic)


Hear pathetic, peristeronic sounds,
glorified pigeon’s monotonous cooing,
hunter’s prey, called white-winged Mexican Doves.

Sounds and shots signal long, hot, dry August days
in El Paso, Texas, at Walmart,
where hateful hearts sang out in murderous joy.

Supreme white-hot hate hammered home death
& destruction to familias con niños.
Pathetic politicians paraded past.


Look both ways into the hearts of men.
Mind the gaps. If you see only good, look again.

***

Explicación: Next Monday, 3 August 2020, marks one year since 21-year-old gunman and homegrown Texan terrorist, Patrick Crusius walked into a Walmart store in El Paso, Texas, with his legally purchased assault rifle and murdered thirteen Americans, eight Mexicans and one German, and randomly wounded 23 other innocents, including children.