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:
She hasn’t been called. What to do about that? Fifteen times a day she should be called, have you called once today?
The hell with calling, here’s a better idea. Go see her. That’s one way to put an end to this calling B.S. Thinking, that’s what gets one ahead. Show some initiative.
Put in gear, the car moves slowly out to the drive. Turn left… you are there soon.
Spooky, that’s what you think. Not what was expected at all. Not so sure now, the handle is turning, just a slight push.
Oh no! Wasn’t a good idea.
This week’s challenging photo was taken by Rich Voza (if you see Rich, he looks amazingly like a famous musician), and used by noted humorist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for this week’s Friday Fictioneers Photo Prompt. To see other’s stories…
Better Yet!!! Write your own story… just click here.
The tinsel is hung and the lights are now lit. He is out of a job again.
He used to get to take it all down, the guy living under the Jibboom Street Bridge gets to do that now. Maybe if he moved. Such a hassle though, and he really favored the underpass near Cal Expo.
He would miss the Mall, especially the nice people working in the food court. He had hoped to catch a fast-food job, but it was not to be.
The job had its perks though, for at camp, he’d been popular with the leftovers.
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for taking time from her 41st Wedding Anniversary Celebration, to lead the Friday Fictioneers and offer one of her own photos for our prompt.
If you would like to contribute a story… go see Rochelle
She knew he loved her, when she no longer woke to the sound of the stream hitting the water. His aim for the porcelain told her so.
His sun rose and set on her.
It’s been forty-one years since he stomped on the glass… he’s still hitting the porcelain.
The post is a Special Friday Fictioneers Photo Prompt… Unauthorized I might add… Total fiction… any resemblance to real people may just be intentional… Happy Anniversary!
It had been years since he touched a wheel.
Nothing said ‘vacation’ like daytime drinking, and he had been on vacation a long time. No creative spark in sight.
It bothered him, and in clear moments would go to museums, hoping a muse would find him.
Now, kneading the clay, the familiar slap on the plaster bat bringing it all back, he couldn’t wait till the first kick. He felt this might save him, for as in times almost forgot, he had no doubts it would be good.
Funny what pointed the way, another artist’s work, a jeering face saying … “Loser.”
Friday Fictioneers 100 Word Flash Fiction… This week’s photo prompt is by Joyce Johnson… Go see Rochelle… ADDICTED TO PURPLE … for info on how to join us.
They broke the window and slipped in the back door.
“Darker than a son of a bitch! Can’t see a God Damn thing.”
“Shhh… don’t talk like that in here. Take my phone.”
By the light of the silvery cell, they made their way forward.
“Kind of spooky, all these eyes watching us. They said the cross with the man was solid gold, I sure hope so.”
“Shut the fuck up, and follow me.”
Sudden bright lights through stained glass turn the apse into a kaleidoscope.
The Man on the Cross is shimmering to the sound of sirens.
Friday Fictioneers 100 Word Flash Fiction… This week’s photo prompt is by Chairwoman Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields… go to… ADDICTED TO PURPLE … for info.