Mistress Rochelle shuffled her photo deck and dealt us a Roger Bultot metro scene to provoke our creative juices with a New York state of mind. This one mused up too many stories for one day, in this case a pair of Ragin’ Cajuns in the Empire State. If you can gin up a microburst of fewer than 101 words, click on Roger’s pic to sky over to Rochelle’s blog and get the lay of the land. Come play with us. This is fun.
Genre: Fan Fiction
Title: Look Both Ways Word Count: 100
Philippe say, “Look. Two one-way signs pointing opposite ways. That says STOP ALL WAY. We ain’t in N’Orlins no-more, bro. Nothin’ make no sense.”
I replied, “It’s New York, Bubba. See dat church fence, windows barred, that shop covers windows—tagged.”
The lady across the street walked toward us. There was a loud screech of tires—then a scream. Everyone ran.
“Call 911. Dat lady got run over.”
He called. “Shit man. WTF?”
I sez, “She was reading my blog. Walked into the street before she read my postscript.”
“How you know dat, mista Bill?”
“She didn’t look both ways.”
Look both ways, even on one-way streets.
Mind the gaps on sidewalks
and don’t read my blog crossing streets
if you’re in a New York State of Mind.
For the first time in 2022, our dear and lovely lady, the queen of Friday Fictionalism, Mistress Rochelle has joined forces with Brenda Cox to masterfully tempt me into yet another maddening moment of muse-some, mendacious micro-storytelling.
Click on the next photo for a free taxi ride over to Rochelle’s place where you may want to get smart about writing fibs to a photographer’s photo. My sad story follows the prompt pic.
Genre: Gonzo Journalism
Title: Don’t Be Misunderstood
Word Count: 100
Cold and drunk as I might be, I stumbled into the artists den, desperately needing to pee.
Of a painting man I asked, “Where’s the restroom?” my slurred Texas accent sounded like I asked, boom-boom?
With a mean look he yelled at me, “Number ten. Boocoo dinky-dau drunk, american. Take money!”
Through a white curtain, I entered where several young ladies were sitting around laughing and pointing. One demanded money.
I got out my wallet. Then, I heard a loud crack.
Next thing I woke up, dead as you see me now, with wet pants and an empty wallet.
Look both ways in the house of the rising sun.
Mind the gaps, speak clearly, and reconsider the nearest bush.