She was just a girl, but she had managed to break the magician's code. As she entered the cinderblock building, Pan almost choked on the bile produced, not only by the smell, but the fear that was beading the sweat on her forehead. She knew her job, now she just needed to find the container. They had said it was in the shape of a bucket, that she should not open it.
”Coffee, Tea or Me?”
Oh God, Renee’s in her stewardess mode again. She should know by now I don’t like to play “Fly Me to the Moon”.
“Come on, let’s get you undressed Mr. Grumpy-face”.
Ooh… watch it with the arm, bitch. Why can’t Jan do this? I hate Renee’s baths, she gets the water too cold, and leaves me sitting too long.
“Big day today, sweetheart. Do you want to wear the blue shirt or the tan one.”
Why does she always ask me? I don’t even remember what blue looks like.
“Okay then, the blue one.”
Big thanks to Rich Voza for taking this week’s Photo Prompt for the Friday Fictioneers 100 Word Flash Fiction.
If you want to join in with your some of own writing, see Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
The familiar faces adorning the entrance to the Globe Theatre emerged from the fog, reminding Mr. James Teach how much in demand his services were. With his lithe frame and lyric voice he always got the part. Problem was, he was tired of playing maidens.
The Drury Lane manager had put in a good word to the playwright of a new work about a prince in Denmark. James was confident of landing the part of Laertes, he had been practicing sword-fighting for days now.
There was the familiar bald pate.
“Ah, Mr. Teach, how would you like to play Ophelia?”
My 100 Word Flash Fiction based on the photo by sculptor and writer Claire Fuller of one of her works. Thanks once again to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. To read all the stories inspired by Claire’s piece, go here…
100 Word Flash Fiction
One last lingering kiss.
A union forbidden by centuries old taboo. But, will love conquer all? We think not. See those eyes watching through the fronds?
It had been a glorious few days, despite their constant worry. They had been careful though, and true love had blossomed from lust. They hoped to unite, not only themselves but their people. It was time to return, and as he headed to the outrigger, he took one last look at her lithe figure disappearing into the palms to her family home.
The eyes followed her… it was many months before he heard the news.
Rochelle sent all The Fictioneers a beautiful photo that Renee Heath, at Rendezvous With Renee, took at her daughter’s wedding. It is such a beautiful wedding aisle, I wonder who or what will be walking down it today, after the Friday Fictioneers get their hands on it. They can be a blood thirsty lot. If you want to know more about 100 Word Flash Fiction and The Friday Fictioneers go see Rochelle and join in with your story. To see Renee and other’s stories go here…
“Mr. Watson–come here–I want to see you.”
“Doug! Get off the damn line! I’m so sorry Parul, you can always tell when someone is eavesdropping.
“Operator… May I help you?”
“Is that you Janet? Can you hear me? It’s Rich!”
“The number you have reached has been disconnected, and there is no new number.”
“A gracious good morning to you… have I reached the party to whom I’m speaking?”
“If you would like to make a call, please hang up and dial again.”
“Hi this is Ted (very perky voice)… leave a message and I’ll call you back.”
I’ll just phone this one in to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers… To see other writer’s stories inspired by Rochelle’s photo…
Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light…
The constant sawing of the strings entering Madison’s head was going to make her brain burst.
She had loved doing her chores while listening to her daughter practice her clarinet. The lilting sounds were soothing and even energized her. But, Roxanne mastered that one, and moved on to a new instrument.
Madison could not understand why the girl had to try something new when she was so talented. Maybe she should limit her practice time. But, no, that wouldn’t be right… Ma knew the ya-ya would sound like yo-yo soon.
You know she is coming. The Mother of All Bitches.
You thought, if you hide in a dark place and lay very still she might miss you. It never seems to work that way. With the lights, she arrives.
Your skin is starting to tingle. It won’t be long now. She stays longer each visit. You hope for a different side this time.
Oh, your family has been very helpful, although you can detect a certain disbelief that she is not as bad as claimed.
You have heard acupuncture helps, but no time for that… the auras are getting worse.
The photo prompt comes from A Writer’s Perch this week. Lora Mitchell was good enough to send Rochelle a pic from her New Year’s Celebration. After reading Rochelle’s story, click on the Frog to see other Friday Fictioneer’s takes.
Chairs… or lack of.
It was down to ergonomics now. Douglas had his proven recipes, and even decided on the background music. But to lure people in to clack away on the next Great American Novel required comfort. And, Doug planned big. Soon maybe the next Canterbury Tales or something for Bollywood… as he was going global with his empire. Colors, fabrics and shapes danced in his head, as did slogans, jingles and logos.
The honking horn broke his reverie. Doug slid open the window and put out his tip jar. The silver mini-van pulled up with his first customer.
A beautiful photo prompt this week by Rochelle‘s friend, Jean Hays, who created the Ab Fab stained glass panel. When I was in Sacramento, I lived on Fulton Ave. I wonder what is at 708? Maybe this coffee shop.
Debra was a bundle of nerves. Her first party.
Janet and Rich had been over for Pinochle, but that wasn’t really a party. And strip poker one night, not a party… a disaster.
The ashtrays were out and the wine punch made. Scott had cut up the Velveeta and artfully stacked it on a tray. She was finally using the cut glass crystal they had collected, two plates at a time every Saturday night.
All the ladies had arrived, and her card table displayed the featured attraction. Time to get started.
“Hello, my name is Michelann… and this is Tupperware.”
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE…
You are bound and determined to leave the modern world and go back to basics on this one. She will be impressed.
You stop cleaning the BBQ long enough to check progress in the bucket. The clay has to be the right consistency.
‘Hell, a turkey is too big.’ You decide duck over chicken. Not so much to cover, sounds more exotic.
To pluck or not to pluck… that is the question. You decide to pluck, and cover with lettuce.
She is coming over at seven to a table with candles and flowers.
You serve up a steaming clay egg.
I have changed the last line of my story, from ‘black’ egg to ‘clay’ egg. The duck in question is cooked in clay and brought to the table and cracked open. I think people thought I meant a burnt duck egg.
This week, our FriFicMuse Rochelle, has tempted us with a photo taken by the Aloha Man himself… Doug MacIlroy . After seeing this photo, I now know where the Keck Observatory obtains the fantastic photos of the distant planets in the Universe. To read what other writers see in Doug’s garage, click here: