Archive for January, 2013

The Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, is a group of writers that come together to share weekly stories based on a photo prompt. Go HERE to read or submit or your own story; or click on the little blue guy under my story.

copyright-claire-fuller Kira didn’t have an artistic bone in her body, yet each night she  found herself in a strange world where her hands skillfully coaxed marble into art.  Each morning she tried to convince herself it was a dream,  but she couldn’t deny the blisters or the marble dust under her nails and the unknown faces that clung to her day. Disturbed at first, she used caffeine to avoid sleep and the dreams, but now she welcomed them, knowing something wonderful was waiting for her when she finished, Nestling into the pillow, she smiled, eager to finish.

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Join us on Monday’s to spin a yarn based on a picture prompt. Submissions welcome all week.  Submit a short story or poem, of five-hundred words or less. Poetry and all genres welcome, but we do ask that you preface your post with a disclaimer if it contains graphic sex or vulgar language to avoid offending anyone.

A new photo will be presented each Monday so you can spin a new yarn.

All rights to the photo remain with the photographer. Photo submissions are welcome.

To enter your story leave your URL  in the comments section. A link management tool will be added at a later time.

Now, on to the fun!

Feet

He was blackness, leather clad, pierced and loved by hordes of angst ridden teens. She was soft jeans, frilly tops, sundresses and bare feet. His mind concocted disturbing song lyrics and she grew vegetables, enticed him with alluring dishes and led him through forests and over grown fields, pointing out the beauty. When he was with her he felt a glimmer of hope, excitement and even love. She gave him so much, but he hadn’t a clue what she saw in him, he just knew he was lucky to have her in his life.

Making his way over the marble floor he descended to the back yard, where he found her lounging under a tree with a book. Moving carefully he hoped to surprise her. She squealed as he planted a kiss on the top of her head, jumping to her feet.

“You scared me!”

“Hey love, it’s what I do!”

“Well, save it for the kiddies from now on,” she scowled.

“I have good news. All the tracks are down and the studio cut me a check for five mil today! They think “Dismember Dad” will be the first single.”

“I’m so happy for you, but you know I don’t want to hear it, ok? All that talk of death is disturbing.”

“Hey, it’s our bread and butter Babe,” he said, grabbing a beer from the cooler. “Oh, Arnie put the money in your name so the new tax laws don’t take all our profits. You won’t have to do anything, promise, he said he would take care of it so you could sit back and enjoy the spoils.”

“Great baby,” she said, lowering her eyes, “there is one thing that bothers me.”

“What’s that?”

“I had to call 911 again, that crazy woman with a knife broke  on to the grounds  again, the same one I have called about for the past few weeks. Only this time, I was too late. I found you in the back yard with a knife in your chest. ” She crooned as the blade slid between his ribs. His confused face didn’t look like it was embracing death at all!

The Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, is a group of writers that come together to share weekly stories based on a photo prompt. Go HERE to read or submit or your own story; or click on the little blue guy under my story.

copyright-renee-homan-heath

Copyright-Renee Homan Heath

“Paradise my ass!” She growled, the jerk had already ruined the trip by booking coach, losing her shoes and reserving a crappy room. If that wasn’t bad enough, the climate was too damn humid with too many bugs. He was worse than useless.

He urged her to meet at the end of the pier to see the greatest gift ever, knowing she couldn’t resist. Stepping off the boardwalk she found him smiling in the sand.

“Hi baby, where’s my gift?”

“I never said it was for you,” He grinned, raising the gun to her head.

Join us on Monday’s to spin a yarn based on a picture prompt. Submissions welcome all week.  Submit a short story or poem, of five-hundred words or less. Poetry and all genres welcome, but we do ask that you preface your post with a disclaimer if it contains graphic sex or extremely vulgar language to avoid offending anyone. If you desire critique and technical advice say so, if not, let us know in your introduction.

A new photo will be presented each Monday so you can spin a new yarn.

All rights to the photo remain with the photographer. Photo submissions are welcome.

To enter your story leave your URL  in the comments section. A link management tool will be added at a later time.

Now, on to the fun!

F                                                                                                               Copyright 2013 Jane Kohler

“Freakin’ perfect!” she shouted when the car stalled,  “I guess John is incapable of pumping gas, well, that and being faithful!” she shouted, jumping from the car. Unable to erase the image of his naked body on her equally naked neighbor, she set her jaw and started walking.

She would deal with him later, right now she had to find gas. Shouldering her bag she checked for a cell signal as she tried to remember how she ended up here.  She had no recollection of leaving the freeway, but here she was, all alone on an unpaved road in the middle of nowhere. She headed north, willing to settle for an old-fashioned pay phone.

A mile in, her feet reminded her she had fled the scene in the red stiletto’s she wore to work. At mile two,  the sun began to set as she broke the heels off on a rock. Wincing, she returned the heel-less shoes to her feet, freezing when a trace of music reached her ears. Music meant people and people meant help! Following her ears, she left the road, ignoring the branches tearing at her clothes as she pushed forward. She was about to turn back when she fell into a clearing.

Feeling like she had fallen back in time, she marveled at the beauty and simplicity of the sun dancing over the glassy lake as it shrouded an ancient barn and house in shadows. She was so lost in though she never heard the man approach. When he touched her shoulder she screamed, spinning to face her attacker.

“Sorry Ma’am! ” he sputtered, holding up his hands, “You look like trouble found you, I wanted to help. ”

Trusting the large, dark-haired man immediately, she let him lead her to the house where he put her on the couch with her feet up and a cup of hot tea in her hand. Twenty-four hours passed before she realized she was probably imposing on the tall stranger, but it was like she had known him her entire life. She had tried to leave numerous times, but in the end, she stayed. It was now twenty-nine years and counting.

Picture it & Write is a weekly creative writing exercise.  Submit your own 250 word story based on the offered photo or read the entries Here.

Picture it & Write

Picture it & Write

Waking with a start, she clawed at the film, realizing her entire body was molded to a hard metal surface. Her screams reverberated in her ears as she struggled. This was wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong!

“Hello?” she called, “let me out!”

The film didn’t impede her breathing, but that didn’t make it any more enjoyable.

“This is wrong! She’s supposed to be here, not me!” She screamed.

Doctor Abraham promised her a perfect clone, a source of blood, tissue and organs if she ever needed them, but something had gone horribly wrong. Tears stung her eyes as she clawed at the film, a scream ripped from her throat when someone turned out the lights.

In the real world, the people in her life were heard commenting on the change, saying it was like she was a whole new person. Once cold and cruel, she was now warm and caring with a bright life ahead.

pictureitandwrite2copy-1

Friday Fictioneers – 1/18/13

Posted: January 17, 2013 in Uncategorized

The Friday Fictioneers, are a group of writers that come together, once a week, to share stories they have written based on a photo prompt. Go HERE to read or submit or your own story, or click on the little blue guy under my story.

006

Every night the dream appeared, revealing images but no clear message. A menorah, phone, photo and crayons. Her husband listened  but couldn’t offer any insight.

On Sunday they visited her grandma.

“You look pale dear, Are you O.K.?” She asked.

“I haven’t been sleeping very well, but I’ll be O.K.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Grandma asked.

“A dream of some sort,” she said, describing the scene.

“How wonderful!” Grandma yelped.

“Wonderful?”

“Yes dear, women in our family only have this dream for one reason. You are going to be a mother!”

Her husband yelped and pulled her close.

Join us on Monday’s to spin a yarn based on a picture prompt. Submissions welcome all week.  Submit a short story or poem, of five-hundred words or less. All genres welcome, but we do ask that you preface your post with a disclaimer if it contains graphic sex or extremely vulgar language to avoid offending anyone. If you desire critique and technical advice say so, if not, let us know in your introduction.

A new photo will be presented each Monday so you can spin a new yarn.

All rights to the photo remain with the photographer. Photo submissions are welcome.

To enter your story leave your URL  in the comments section. A link management tool will be added at a later time.

Now, on to the fun!

Copyright J. Kohler 2012

Copyright J. Kohler 2012

Proud of the beauty she created,  she dragged her reluctant mate from his recliner to share the joy. Leading him to the chairs she carefully placed around her new pond she beamed with anticipation, knowing that even her grumpy mate would find something good to say about this slice of heaven on earth.

The big reveal couldn’t have been better. Dappled sunlight danced over the water, highlighting the carefully placed plants and rocks. A lazy frog perched on a log, stalking an unwary spider nearing its doom. Opening a can of beer she thoughtfully carried with her, she placed it on the small stone table near her mates chair.

“Jesus Margaret, couldn’t you have put some cushions on these damn chairs?” he grumbled, shifting  his bottom, “You know I need a cushion for my back. Where’s the cushion?”

“Sorry, I’m not done yet, I’ll make sure your chair is comfortable, I promise,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “I did make sure you had a table for your beer Jim, I try to make you happy.”

“Make me happy? I’m not sure you will EVER be capable of that,” he laughed, tipping most of the beer down his throat.

“Look at the frog Jim, see it there? He is the first one, but I’m sure that the pond will be full of frogs and turtles soon. Won’t that be nice?”

“Nice? Girl, nice is when you stop spending time, and MY money on these stupid ideas of yours. NICE would be if you were smart enough to bring more than one beer. Smart would be…well, anything but you!” He laughed, pulling out his tablet to check the race. A scowl clouded his face as he held the tablet over his head to find a signal.

Shrinking into her chair, she waited for the tirade.

“Jesus H Christ Margaret! Leave it to you to put this hole so far from the house I can’t even connect to the goddamn router! I’ll never know why I married someone too dumb to live. Why do I keep you around? If you ever did anything right I would be the most shocked person on earth! You can sit here and play with your frogs, numb your ass on those hard chairs or drown yourself for all I care, I’m going in to watch the race!”

Watching as he crushed the empty can in his meaty hands she smiled, then bent for her shovel.  Moments later, she sat, fascinated at the sight of his lifeless hand floating among the plants.

“Well, it looks like I have another hole to dig,” she grinned.