NO SHOE PRINTS?

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NO SHOE PRINTS?

“So what were they doing again?” asked the Sergeant.

“They were running around.”

“Running around. Naked, you say?”

“Yes, running around naked!”

“So, they didn’t have any clothes on then?”

“No, they didn’t have any fucking clothes on, they were naked!”

“Sergeant, we’ve finished checking the area and judging by the footprints in the garden there may be as many as six trespassers.”

“Based on the different shoe patterns?”

“No sir, no shoe prints, just bare feet prints.”

“So no shoes then?”

“Oh for fucking Christ! I told you they were naked!!!”

“Oh right, you did. We’ll look into it.”

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This is one I wrote based on the artwork above for another writing group I was in and have not been able to find who made the image.  I would love to know who did it so I could give proper credit, but as soon as I saw it the story seemed to write itself.

It is a take off on Salvador Dali’s famous work.

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“In Voluptas Mors”

FOLIAGE

 

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FOLIAGE… a Drabble for FriFic

A telephone rings in Wicker Park…

“I’m pissed, Cheryl.”

“Well helloooo to you too. What’s up now?”

“You know the pretty foliage I like to look at? They’re cutting it down!”

“You got me. Where?”

“Outside my kitchen window!!!”

“That ratty ivy next door? I wouldn’t call that ‘foliage’, Ethel. Why?”

“They’re going to paint the bricks!”

“Big improvement.”

“But, Cheryl, paint? I complained to the painters, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“For crying out loud, Ethel, that’s not who you talk too.”

“I was told ‘time marches on, lady’, so rude! It’ll be ugly.”

“How ’bout getting a window shade?”

“I should have called Betty! Good-bye!!!”

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friday-fictioneers

Loved this week’s photo prompt, by Roger Bulltot, of the Renwick Ruins on Roosevelt Island. Originally a smallpox hospital built in 1856 and claimed to be the most haunted spot in NYC. You can read such a story right here… Tour Guide at Roosevelt Island.

(I trimmed Roger’s photo a bit since brownstones in Chicago don’t have lawns that large)

Oh for God’s sake, Ethel!

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Oh for God’s sake, Ethel!… a drabble for Fri Fic

A telephone rings…

“No!”

“No???  I haven’t said anything yet, Cheryl!”

“I know exactly what you’re going to say today, Ethel. And, it’s a hairbrained idea.”

“Okay, Miss Marple, what?”

“You’ve been obsessed with American Ninja Warrior and your favorite is Meagan Martin, a rock climber. Right so far?”

“Well…”

“I thought so! REI just opened a new climbing wall and you want to do it.”

“I think it would be fun.”

” I think it would be crazy, and I don’t need to take you to the emergency room again. Ask Betty to go, she likes the Red Wings, now that’s crazy.”

 

 

Meagan… not Ethel                                     REI in Seattle

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Photo Prompt by CEAyr for Friday Fictioneers.  Check out the other writers to see what they did with this image.

Photo of Meagan Martin is by littlebangtheory at the Dark Horse Climbing Competition at Metrorock climbing gym in Everett, MA.

BOXES!

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BOXES! … a drabble for Fri Flic

The light is blinking on an answering machine in a Chicago third floor walk up.

Click… ‘It’s me Ethel, call me!’

“What’s up now, Ethel?”

“Get over here right away, Cheryl!”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, what’s the rush?”

“Boxes, Cheryl, boxes full of food.”

“Oh for crying out loud! I’ll be right over.”

It’s times like this that Cheryl wished they didn’t live so close. Ethel had recently gotten an iPhone and was going crazy ordering things on Amazon. ‘Boxes of food?’

“Thanks for coming, what am I going to do, they’ll spoil.”

“Better put your Blue Apron on, Ethel.”

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This week Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields chose a lovely photo belonging to Dale Rogerson for the Friday Fictioneers to find a story in. Dale can be found writing at A Dalectable Life.

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Here they are… 

Get Off The Pot!

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Get Off The Pot!  A drabble for Friday Fictioneers

‘What is taking her so damn long?’, thought Ethyl. She had to pee and was dying for a cigarette, having just taken up smoking recently. “Cheryl, hurry up!!!”

“Hold your horses, Ethel.”

Ethel was tired of holding her horses. And there it was again, those tones, very faint, so familiar. Just then it dawned on Ethel. “Dammit, Cheryl, I know what you’re doing. You are sitting there playing Trivia Crack on your phone with Frances while I have to pee!!!”

“I’m doing no such thing!”

“I can hear the frigging wheel go round”

“I’m… dammit!!! Now look what you’ve done!”

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The prompt photo by  J Hardy Carroll immediately told me what Ethyl and Cheryl were up to today.  Join Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and the gang to read more 100 word stories at:

CHUCK… R.I.P.

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We lost one of the biggest influences in all of Rock and Roll today… Chuck Berry.  His touch was everywhere… ask any rock and roller. He wrote about sex and cars and Sweet Little Sixteen.  I grew up when there were soda shops, jukeboxes, and drive-restaurants with car hops on roller skates.  We danced to his songs at the high school dances and blasted them from the radio when we went cruising in our cars.

No disrespect to Elvis… but Chuck… he was The King.

He wrote, without a doubt, one of the greatest Rock and Roll songs ever…

Wish he could have lived to see his new album released.

俳句… HAIKU BOMBERS #2… St. Paddy’s Tacos

Thought I’d bring this back for St. Pat’s Day this Friday…

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          Quill Shiv has a new Haiku writing prompt… A photo of Saint Patrick.  

My result:

                         You can make your own 
                         corned beef, cabbage and salsa
                         at the taco bar.

Corned Beef and Cabbage Tacos… In 1986, back in my Restaurant Days, I went to work for Jerry Franco.  Jerry was a bit of a culinary impresario on the Sacramento restaurant scene.  He had just reopened The Town House on 21st Street, down the block from The Sacramento Bee newspaper.  The Town House had been a Mexican Food tradition, and had been sitting empty for a few years after the owner retired.   Franco had opened in a blaze…

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ROCHELLE BORROWS ETHEL & CHERYL

Imagine my surprise when I checked FRIDAY FICTIONEERS today to see what photo prompt Rochelle chose for this week’s stories… Not only did she steal my photo and my characters, but she stole Me!  Be sure to read all the stories, by some pretty talented writers, about the chair in Egg Lake on San Juan Island.  Start with Rochelle’s… and maybe try writing at Fri Fic sometime.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

10 FEBRUARY 2017

PUBLISHED FEBRUARY 8, 2017 BY ROCHELLEWISOFF

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Our Mantra

Another HighwayThe next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

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Contrary to the familiar Thoreau quote, this week it’s what I’m looking at that matters in my story. 

Genre: Hysterical Fiction

World Count: 100

ETHEL AND CHERYL AND TED AND ALICE

    Ethel, Cheryl and Ted strolled along the banks of Egg Lake singing “Alice’s Restaurant” in three-part harmony.

            “Walk right in, it’s around the back…,” sang Ethel.

            Cheryl chimed in with, “…just a half a mile from the railroad track.”

            Ted stopped at the lake’s edge and raised his trusty Canon. “Whoa, what a great shot!”

            Ethel frowned. “With all this beautiful scenery why would you take a picture of an old chair in the water?”

            “To post on my blog.” Ted snapped another angle. “I never know when that purple-obsessed midget might snag one of my photos for Friday Fictioneers.”

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Here’s Rochelle with a familiar book… all her titles are available at Amazon

A JUKEBOX AT EVERY TABLE… Friday Fictioneers

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A JUKEBOX AT EVERY TABLE… a Drabble for FriFic

A telephone rings on the Northside of Chicago…

“Hi, Cheryl, it’s Ethel.”

“It’s December 21st, I assume you want me to help you with your Christmas decorations again. Why can’t you do them early like everybody else? I’ve still got shopping to do.”

“No, no, I’m done with them. I’ve got a hankering for a chili dog, and there’s a new place in Cicero I want to try.”

“For God’s sake, Ethel, just go to the Devil Dog on the corner. You know how far Cicero is, right?”

“Yes, but this place has a jukebox at every table. And, there’s a WalMart next door.”

“Oh… okay, I’ll go.”

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Roger Bultot’s photo reminded me of fun times and good eats in the past and prompted the girls to take a trip.  Thanks to Rochelle for prompting me to write a story.

Here are some 100-word stories by my friends:  

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THEY WRITE ON FRIDAYS… Friday Fictioneers

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THEY WRITE ON FRIDAYS… a Drabble x Four for FriFic

On the Northside of Chicago, a call button is pushed…

“Ethel, lemme in.”

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“Those stairs are going to kill me. What you want to show me?”
“Check this out, Cheryl; I’m writing a story!”
“What the hell is this photo?”
“It’s my writing prompt for Friday Fictioneers. I’m going to be an author!”
“Oh spare me. Is this before the oil painting, the pottery, or the garden?”
“No, I’m serious this time.”
“You are always serious, Ethel, you just find something new the next day. Okay, what’s with this Friday fiction thing?”
“A writing group that writes on Friday’s. A lady named Rochelle runs it, and she’s written a bunch of books. Look, here’s all the people and their stories this week.”
“Hmmm… if they write on Friday, how come there’s 56 stories, it’s Thursday? Besides, they look like a bunch of weirdos to me, look at that guy with the clown nose, number 53 looks cute, though. What do you want me to do?”
“Help me think of a story, Cheryl. I thought this would be easy, but I don’t see any story in this photo.”
“Quit whining, Ethel. I see a prison in this photo. Do you think Peter Abbey was in prison?”
“Who?”
“Peter Abbey, the guy Rochelle got the picture from. I swear you don’t pay attention to anything, Ethel. Write a story about a prison. How long does it have to be?”
“100 words, no more no less. I hear she’s pretty strict!”
“How in hell you supposed to write a story in 100 words? Maybe we better read a couple stories.”

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“I have to admit, Ethel, some of those are pretty good. Just steal an idea from one of them.”
“I can’t do that if I’m going to be a real writer, Cheryl, they have to be my words. Besides, they might catch on and then I’d get in trouble.”
“Oooooh, what kick you out of being a Friday Writer?”
“It’s Friday Fictioneers because we write fiction!”
“And you write on Friday; I get it. Okay, let’s write a prison story. One for women and there’s lots of cat fights.”
“Good, and mean guards! Someone gets a shiv in this walkway and there’s blood all over.”
“I like that, better start writing this down. I’ll help you.”
“I’m excited, Cheryl, maybe I’ll be a famous author someday.”
“Don’t you mean, We, Ethel?”

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friday-fictioneers

I have always written exactly 100-word stories… no more no less… and as Ethel says, ‘I hear she’s pretty strict!’ and I have never wanted to get on that little ball of fire’s bad side.  But, since this is Rochelle’s fourth year heading up Friday Fictioneers, I thought I’d write 400 words… a Drabble a Year.  I asked the girls to help; I wonder if they can figure out how to work the frog thing.  Thanks to Peter Abbey for the photo prompt.

Here’re some stories from other people who write on Fridays…

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