Category Archives: Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers – We Were Just Children

FFbenches

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

 

Sitting behind me, as fate would have it, as you drag your finger across my back, I know it’s you.  The faintest touch of a dizzily dragging finger that makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck like you knew it would.  But we were just children.

 

And you were still just a child when you passed to the other side; when you knocked on my door and asked to come back.  It was too late.  I felt a guilt it my heart I didn’t know was there, like you knew I would.  But we were just children.

 


Friday Fictioneers – Rainy Nights

It’s been a while….

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

I tagged you first as the rain fell.  You chased me through the umbrella-d drones: scared of shorting their circuitry.  The rain fell on us.

I looked back at you when you stopped smiling to blow the wet hair off your face.  I didn’t notice wet socks in new shoes while I stopped you in your tracks with a puddle splash.  We circled around lampposts and street signs, cutting through drizzled grass back to the car.  I jumped in to lock the door from you, but you were too close behind.  You tagged me in the passenger seat the night the rain washed away our age.


Friday Fictioneers – Lies Forevermore

© C.E.Ayr
© C.E.Ayr

Am I to believe all these circumstances?  Have I been bred to be so naïve?

Sometimes it feels like platforms are falling into the path of my steps, and I get to where I’m supposed to be.  This calculated fate designed for destiny; premeditated not by me.  Do they think that I don’t see just because I’ve always been here- that my sheltering would leave me transfixed?

To hear all my life the beauty of the painted skies, but when I finally reached out for them, my knuckles resounded a knock!

I beseech you the truth.  Lies forevermore, nevermore.


Friday Fictioneers – Light at the End

© Stephen Baum
© Stephen Baum

Every time you feel that tenseness in your chest.

Every time you feel that sudden dizziness.

Every time you pass a semi.

Every time you cross a bridge.

Every time you take the stairs.

Every time you take the elevator.

Every time you look out the fifth floor window.

It could break.  It could snap.  It could be cancer.  It could be a stroke.  It could be a heart attack.  It could hit you.  It could drop you.

We are balanced on the tiniest head of a needle on a floating orb next to a giant fire star.

The End.

Friday Fictioneers – Hand Shake

© Jean L. Hays
© Jean L. Hays

A hand outstretched, in hopes of partnership to rebuild the lost: from a dissed utopia to a dystopia.  Annexation of their civilization was just conservation.  No one can make it alone anymore.  Not him.  Not them.  But together, their survivability increased exponentially.

But his hand shook.

He was nervous.  No, he was thirsty.  He was hungry.  They had run out of food that wasn’t radiated, outdated, or emaciated.  They needed to be satiated.

Dirt rested in the creases of his palm.  A thin layer of sweat coated his hand.  Blisters were at the base of each finger.

And his hand shook.


Friday Fictioneers – Sign of Success

Before my story, I just wanted to apologize for not being around as much (writing, reading others, commenting, etc).  Just got a new job and started summer classes!  Things have been a little hectic!  I’ll be around more when things settle down.  Thanks for everyone who keeps coming by anyway!

© Kent Bonham
© Kent Bonham

It wasn’t luck.

He had spent too many years needled to a hospital bed in debilitating pain; he had spewed too many piles of puke; he had swallowed too many pain pills for it to be luck.

He had spent too many years fighting; he had spent too much time honing his craft; he had spent too many resources in blind hope for it to be luck.

It wasn’t definitive.

It wasn’t complimentary.

It wasn’t devised.

It was a sign.  A sign that didn’t tell him he’d be rich, or appreciated, or loved, but a sign that he would be successful in what mattered.


Friday Ficitoneers – Excusez-moi

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“Your business acumen must be quite splendid,” he spoke with a veracious vernacular that was apropos for such a well-heeled man.

“Quite,” I responded with a nod from my outstretched pinky, holding a glass of Chateau Margaux.

“And, if you would be so kind as to remind me of what it is that you do.”  The prodigious curiosity was unbecoming from a man of his stature.  He looked at me inquisitively, eyebrow raised.

I contentiously raised my eyebrow commendably higher than his, lowered my polite pinky, and said, “Secret.”

He tried, and spectacularly failed at raising his eyebrow as high as mine, and when knowingly defeated, responded, “Excusez-moi.”