Category Archives: Story

Unintended Consequences

PHOTO PROMPT © Peter Abbey

Shadows interrupted St.Michael as he was working. He tried to brush the interruption away without looking up, “Can it wait? G needs this report ..like yesterday.”

“I have waited long enough in the dark”

St.Michael looked up. He knew Shadows could not be brushed aside easily or locked up in a cell. Shadows crept closer and invaded his personal space.

“What is it now?”, he barked , his tone not befitting a Saint.

Everyone around pretended not to hear and buried themselves in their work. St. Michael sighed. No one had seen the writing on the wall when G announced, “Fiat Lux“.

— end —

Note: Fiat Lux means ‘Let there be light’.

This 100 word story  was written for the 100 word photo challenge. More details about this challenge can be found at:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/10/26/28-october-2016/

Click on the Froggy below for other amazing takes on the same prompt by fellow “Friday Fictioneers.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Peter Abbey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A speck…

PHOTO PROMPT - © Adam Ickes

“Write to me everyday”, he said.

I nodded-  Words stuck like a broken down car on a lonely highway.

I stood near the ‘Ticketed passengers only’ sign watching him walk the long corridor  to his flight until he was a speck…in my eye.

I went back to our empty apartment. Each day  a penance until his return.

19 years later:

“Text me everyday”, he says.

I nod.

I watch him  walking the long corridor to his flight until he’s a speck…and break into a jig.

Each day is going to be a party!

—end —-

This 100 word story may or may not be a true ,depending on who’s asking 🙂

More details about this 100 word challenge at:

https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/08/10/12-august-2016/

For more stories with the same picture prompt click on the froggy below.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Adam Ickes

 

 

 

The Ice age

She is singing, eyes closed. Singing-along, to be precise. The  ipod, her conductor,  whispers sweet commands through head-phones. The room  drowns from the symphony  of her vocal cords. I clear my throat as a precursor to my rehearsed speech when inspiration strikes.  There’s only one way to talk to a singer like her: with music.

I get her an in-ear-monitor-headphone-thingie that singers use to hear themselves. She excitedly tries it right-away. My husband is excited too seeing my gift as the end of the cold war between me and his mother.

As she sings her expression gets frostier and frostier.

—end —-

Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Also I  would never get my mother-in-law an in-ear-monitor-headphone-thingie in real life…that would be inhuman 😉

This exactly 100 word work of pure fiction was written in response to a 100 word photo-prompt based challenge conducted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Picture courtesy of Rochelle’s husband Jan W. Fields.

Click the froggy below for other amazing takes on the same prompt by fellow Friday Fictioneers.

What if?

 

Kitchen Window

What will happen if that cloud,

shaped like that woman there ,never speaking loud,

decides to just take it -all the pain?…

decides to never lash back on a windowpane?

 

What will happen if that cloud,

shaped like that woman there, well-endowed,

decides to turn into a nest for birds?..

decides to turn into a pup, whose gender is a curse word?

 

What will happen if that cloud,

shaped like that woman there ,head bowed,

decides to forgo all it’s power?…

decides to hold on to it’s laden darkness forever?

 

— end —

Author’s note: Sometimes when I stand over the kitchen sink for the millionth time, I wonder about ,” what will happen if the clouds….”

Other times I wonder:

What will happen if I

decide to not do the dishes?  🙂

The definition of well-endowed in this context is: having a lot of something that people admire or want like intelligence.

This less than 100 word poem  was written in response to a 100 word photo challenge  posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields each week. PHOTO PROMPT ©  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Click on the ‘blue frog’  below to read other amazing takes on the same photo prompt:

 

Basic needs

PHOTO PROMPT - © Connie Gayer (Mrs. Russell)

The leader waits for the restless crowd to quieten:

“We evolved, to look like twigs , to remain hidden from our  predators. Our cover was eventually exposed.

We evolved again , to look like leaves.  We thrived . But trees are now extinct.”

Dissenting voices rise- “so are our predators” .

“Are you forgetting the one predator left?”

The sobering truth sinks in. The leader has their attention. He pulls out a cable wire.

“If we evolved to look like this, we can thrive. Our predator would dig delicately around us, leave us alone,  because they live in mortal fear of losing …………. internet connection.”

—– End —-

This 100 word story  is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge  posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields each week.  This week’s photo was provided by Mrs. Connie Russell.

Click on the ‘blue frog’  below to read other amazing takes on the same photo prompt:

The Electric chair

PHOTO PROMPT - © Dale Rogerson

“Grass”.

Willowy, flexible, Spineless.

I mumble,  “Woman”.

“huh?”,eyebrows rise.

Grass. Stands back after being stepped on. Grows strong when mowed down. Woman.

“Woman”, I say loudly, adjusting  hand-cuffs, getting comfortable.

Wife kills husband  for no apparent reason– Newspaper headlines peeks over Dr.Ozster’s notes.

“Woman? Why?”

Dr.Ozster’s supposedly a TED-talking psychology expert, on evil and insanity. I’m his conundrum.

—-

I wait until footsteps recede. We have always been discreet. Except one time…he’s dead though. Killed.

I gloat, ” …stumped Dr.Ozster today…”. I lean on her, sinking into her softness, my head soon touches the cold walls of the solitary confinement cell.

— End —-

This is an exactly  100 word  story. In “bold pink” because I’m proud of editing it down to a 100 from 180. Although it may not be apparent readily , due to the editing, that the Main character is asked to play a word association game by an expert to understand her psyche and discern the motive of her violent crime.

This story  is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge  posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields each week.  This week’s photo was provided by Dale Rogerson.

Click on the ‘blue frog’  below to read other amazing takes on the same photo prompt:

Anything for Art!

PHOTO PROMPT - © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“I sketched a ceiling relief…of people..dancing exuberantly ..not the cherubic angels with the tiny..er…wings. When my bedroom was finished I only saw flowers ..everywhere. I cried . The artist consoled me. He said that I had extraordinary talent. But the Count, my late husband, had said : Flowers.  Seeing me cry he offered to loosen the chandelier …to let it dangle that it would surely fall around midnight. I took his offer”

The Prioress shook her head in displeasure at her young nun’s confession…. the girls nowadays … engaging in risky behaviour ..what happened to a good old dose of Belladonna?

——————————————end ———————————————————-

This story is set in Medieval Italy where rich widowed women were allowed to join a nunnery to pursue their love of art, although they had to keep it “religious”. I can almost imagine the heroine of my story “cherubize” her sensual painting to make it acceptable for her times and introduce one naughty-looking girl among the hordes of male cherubs, like the painting below:

Pic courtesy: http://www.abdn.ac.uk/jacobitevirtuosi/image7.php

Some info on Medieval women artists: http://www.medieval-life-and-times.info/medieval-art/medieval-women-artists.htm

Belladonna:  is a flower extract used for many purposes including poisoning to kill.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atropa_belladonna

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This  100 word story is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge  posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Field each week.

Click on the ‘blue frog’  below to read other amazing takes, that fellow Friday Fictioneers have, on the same photo prompt:

Practice makes Perfect

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. My first attempt at deception was a failure. Body language and shifty eyes had given me away instantly…. prompting nightmares, where  phantom strangers  screamed: ‘Liar…Liar…’  , filling me with shame.

To be caught in a lie…. To see the disappointment in the eyes of those you love… To be dismissed as untrustworthy….  I never wanted to be in that situation again. I resolved to get better…to reinvent myself.

Re-inventing meant radical change. I camped in the psychology,  ,self-help and philosophy sections of the library devouring knowledge. I sought religious leaders,  saints who could perform miracles ..when all said ” Life is an illusion”. ,everything clicked in place.

I became very good. But something was missing…. I felt like an artist drawing masterpieces in invisible ink.

I figured it out eventually. I’m a guru now. Followers aplenty. Got to go ..the crowd is impatient …eager to watch me levitate.

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The above 150 word story was in response to ‘Monday’s finish the story’ flash fiction challenge. This unique flash fiction challenge  provides  a new photo each week, and the first sentence of a story. The challenge is to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided. Details are available in this link:

https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/06/01/mondays-finish-the-story-june-1st-2015/comment-page-1/#comment-1015

Swell

PHOTO PROMPT - © Dee Lovering

The Aristocrat sat at the massive desk, in the power wing  of a historic building ,overlooking the watery square, pen poised over the Immigration directive. His  infertility had ensured dedication to his people.

He eyed the picture and yellowing letter. He had sown his seeds in African soil in his youth. Could she be his? Blue blood in a black body? Should he find her?

He watched a refugee boat being denied landing. Thanks to his signature the borders were safe.  His pride swelled , recalling his ancestor’s perilous, successful voyage to conquer the world.

Hours later, his only descendant drowned in the swell of the Mediterranean sea.

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The above 100 word story is written in response to the 100 word photo challenge posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Field each week. PHOTO PROMPT – © Dee Lovering

Click on the ‘blue frog’  below to read other amazing takes, that fellow Friday Fictioneers have, on the same photo prompt.

Loss – Part 3

This is a continuation from the first two posts on this series:

https://ansumani.wordpress.com/2015/04/09/loss-part-1/

https://ansumani.wordpress.com/2015/04/10/loss-part-2/

It all started, the slide down the path of loss, when the older girl next door asked,  “Can we all play together, You me and Babuji?”.

I said “Yes” when something in me , which I would later find out is instinct, screamed ‘No’.

We sat at the stairs and played with Babuji. Babuji let her do whatever she wanted with him. It was as if I didn’t exist. Did I say he was fickle already?

Next she declared, “Babuji has a tumor in his stomach. Let’s operate on him. Can I cut him open?” and brought out a blade. I shouldn’t have said ‘Yes’.  She took one deep cut in his abdomen. I watched transfixed, unable to move,caught up in her perversion. His skin was too tough for the blunt blade and it took several cuts to get through to his hollow centre. She wasn’t satisfied. She wanted a wider cut to be able to put fingers through the cut. I woke up from my apathy then and said I was done playing.

I walked away with the damaged Babuji , something stuck in my throat. A bundle of emotions that I didn’t know to name or spell. It took many years, several other losses and serious soul searching to recognize and untangle them: regret, shame, anger and pride.  Shame that I let someone’s perversion, consciously or unconsciously, destroy something beautiful.

Babuji and I  still were together most of the time, bound by that tangle of guilt and shame.  You see, guilt is one thing that’s not very easy to lose. You can turn it into resentment to protect your precious ego. You can turn it into blame and find faults like ‘Babuji was Fickle’ to justify your inadequacy. But it will always be there, if there is no proper atonement.  I shouldn’t have said ‘Yes’. Period.

“You are too old to be playing with dolls. Let a smaller child play with them. Can I send these toys to your cousin?”, mother said.  She bundled all , including the damaged Babuji and sent it over. I shouldn’t have said ‘Yes’. The last ‘Yes’ that I thought was the decision point….but by now you all know that it was those smaller ‘yes’s along the way.

That was the last time I saw him. I looked for him at my aunt’s place..a week later.”Where is Babuji?”, I asked. “It was damaged and we threw it away”, my cousin said.

Richard Bach is not right all the time. If you love something, hold on to it tight. Protect it. Not everyone will value it the same.

And don’t say ‘Yes’ when every bone in you screams ‘NO’.