The Edge of Forever

PHOTO PROMPT ©The Reclining Gentleman

PROMPT
©The Reclining Gentleman

I saw him sitting there blankly staring into the calmness of the river far below. I stopped my bus and called out to him.

Hey, come down from there!
There’s only one way down. This is how it ends.
No. There’s always two sides. Good and evil. Heaven and Hell. Living and dying.
Not for me. I’m done. I’m just a small step away from ending my suffering.
No. You’re one small step away from beginning again.

I climbed on to the rail with him. It was a long way down. Come get on my bus. I’ll take you home.


This is a story in 100 words or fewer for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields based on the photo above. Click the blue frog to read more stories inspired by this photo!

Walls

rusty wall

PHOTO PROMPT
©David Stewart

Here I am on the outside looking in. These walls built to keep people in, now they keep me out. I can see the camp from here, through the rust and iron. They know I’m out here hiding, waiting for the right moment. I can hear them walking around. They’re expecting to find me, but I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this before. They shout for me to come out, but I know better. If they find my hiding spot it’ll be my turn to be the seeker.


This is a story in 100 words or fewer for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields based on the photo above. Click the blue frog to read more stories inspired by this photo!

The King’s Assassin

dijonSwords flashed in the noon day sun as three men in blue gave chase to one in black. “All for one and one for all!” The black clad figure darted through columns with unmatched agility and swiftness. The assassin was lost from sight around a corner. The three skidded to a stop. The assassin was cautiously stepping backward, sword raised defensively. A fourth man carefully pursued the assassin, each waiting for the other to lunge. Suddenly, swords clanged, dust rose. The assassin, cornered by four swords, stood sweaty and breathless and nervous. One  removed the assassin’s hood and all stood speechless. “Your Majesty?” “Yes,” she replied. “And if your brains work half as well as your swords, you’ll let me go.”


This is a story in 100 words or fewer for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields based on the photo above. Click the blue frog to read more stories inspired by this photo!

Meet Me By the Food Court

kent

Mall rats. These kids were so ungrateful. Their parents were just as bad. This job is cake walk when they update their status to “Out with friends” complete with location. All I have to do is dress the part. She was sweet and attractive with a few friends at Hudson Outfitters. I made a few small comments to break the ice. That turned to conversation and it was just my luck that she wanted to go TRAK with me.

“Meet me at the food court, guys. I’ll be right back,” she told her friends.

Like hell she would.


This is a story in 100 words or fewer for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields based on the photo above. It was also inspired by A Momma’s View and her warnings of child abduction. Please take heed and protect your children.

Click the blue frog to read more stories inspired by this photo!

The First Fight

kitche-picture-prompt“I just cleaned the kitchen. Put your glass in the dishwasher.” I stood at the sink prepared to leave it and deal with it later.
“Either place, it’s where it needs to be.”
“We’ve been married a week and you’re going to get lazy?”
“Lazy? Who works their tail off so we can afford a nice place like this?”
“Who works to keep it this nice?”
Blood boiled. I threw that dirty glass. It smashed on the wall. She stormed out. Crying.

I didn’t want our first fight to be over a dirty glass. In the dishwasher it went.


This is a story in 100 words or fewer for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields based on the photo above. Click the blue frog to read more stories inspired by this photo!

Out the Moon Door

moon door

It was a party to end all parties. Loud music. Bodies writhing to the beat, lurching to and fro and they called it dancing. Someone barely heard the pounding on the door at 2am. The music stopped, the lurchers froze and the door was opened.

“Officer. Came to party?”

“Excuse me, sir. We’ve had a few calls complaining about the noise. I’m going to have to ask you to keep it down.”

“Okay. But while you’re here, I need to show you what’s happened in the bathroom.”

Tentatively, the officer followed. At the bathroom door he was asked, “Can pigs fly?”


This is a story in 100 words or fewer (this one happens to be exactly 100) for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields based on the photo above. Click the blue frog to read more stories inspired by this photo!

Beach, Mountains, or Forest?

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Places.”

My blogging brother over at Gramblings wrote about getting away. He wrote about not having to leave to relax. We don’t need a cabin in the woods or the beach house or a summer home in order to get away and recharge. Simply being with friends and family is enough. Enjoying the quiet (or boisterous if that’s your style) moments is all it takes to get away. It’s work we are usually attempting to escape from. Therefore, once you’re not at work, once you’re at home and changed into comfy clothes, surrounded by family, then it’s unwind and getaway time. But, what if you have the opportunity to actually get away and go somewhere for a day or two. Daily Post’s Prompt asked if we’d get away to the beach, the mountains or a forest…

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Block

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Call Me Ishmael.”

I am in all truthfullness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations.

That’s the opening line of “The Book Thief” by Markus Zusak. I love the point of view he chose to write through. It’s amazingly appropriate for the setting of the story.

Though Zusak personifies death, I like to personify writer’s block. Block. It would be a he. Definitely. He would knock on your door, perhaps. Or maybe he’d walk right in, sit himself down next to you and start reading over your shoulder. You’d hear him breathing, feel his presence, and suddenly your pen, your pencil, your cursor, or your ribbon stops. Not a single letter persuaded to be produced. He over stays his welcome and drinks all your tea. But what can you do? he’s already here, might as well join him. Maybe he’ll leave sooner than you think. Or not.

The Block. Like that dream you wake from that felt so real, but you can’t remember a single, lonesome detail. Like Zusak’s Death, Block is invisible to all but those he comes visit. So you sit there staring, lost in thought. Daydream much? No, I was just trying hustle Block out the door.

I loved this idea of using the first line of my favorite book as the first line of my post. Then I felt his presence behind me and all I could write were the words of Zusak. Here it is a full eight hours later and I’m just getting Block out the door so I can continue. The Book Thief is my favorite book. I even made notes in the margins so when I read a second and third time I would find things I didn’t see the first time. I love books like this. They don’t happen often. Thank you Mr. Zusak.


P.S. Another of his books “I am the Messenger” is on my list of top 3 favorite, though it has my favorite ending of all.