Photo Prompt: Ted Strutz
A full moon hung on the edge of the horizon. Only a few more hours of twilight; they should hurry. The fugitives boarded the boat already packed with supplies. They would be a million miles away before they needed more.
As Mark pushed the boat away from the docks, police sirens blared in the distance. Lisa’s heart pounded, not from fear but from the arousal that came from being with a dangerous man.
She was his Bonnie; he was her Clyde.
As the sirens passed, Lisa relaxed. It would be days before they found the bodies.
Friday Fictioneer’s is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Ted Strutz for this week’s prompt.
Photo Credit: Sarah Potter
The old gumshoe sat in the smoky bar drinking bourbon, when up walks his baffled friend, inquiring once more on how he solved his latest case.
“It was the shoes,” said the older gent. “A perfect match of the footprint found next to the victim.”
“Impossible,” said the friend. “The suspect’s shoes were covered with cobwebs and dust. They hadn’t been moved in years.”
The detective sipped his bourbon, then said, “The suspect placed the cobwebs on the shoes himself and the dust; nothing more than baking flour.”
“Your intellect amazes me,” the impressed man said.
word count = 98
Friday Fictioneer’s is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Sarah Potter for this week’s prompt.
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Tornados rarely formed during the hot Oklahoma summer, but the still, humid air signaled a coming storm. Joe stood on his porch, watching. Hearing footsteps, he turned and saw a man standing a few feet away, a baseball bat in hand.
“Jesus Boone, you scared the shit out of me. What’s up with the….”
The bat connected with Joe’s head before he could finish the sentence. Toppling off the porch, Joe landed in the dirt, blood pooling in the dead grass. As thunder clapped, Boone raced toward the road.
Standing in the shadows of the front door, a small figure watched everything.
This story was inspired by Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneer’s . Thanks to Rochelle for providing this week’s photo.
Photo Prompt by C.E. Ayr
Charlie got what Granddad called, ‘a wild hair.’
“Ever wonder about that rock?” The black boulder seemed out of place in the middle of the cow pasture.
“Granddad said stay about from it,” brother Jimmy replied.
“I bet that’s where he buried his gold from Alaska. Race you!”
Upon reaching the rock, Charlie noticed a large hollow. Instead of finding treasure, Charlie’s hand found a nest of copperheads. His screams filled the air. Then Jimmy felt a bite on his foot.
As deadly venom filled his veins, Jimmy turned to his dying brother.
“Granddad say stay away from the rock.”
This story was inspired by Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s . Friday Fictioneer’s. This week’s photo prompt is provided by C.E. Ayr
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
Pretty flowers for a pretty girl.
Every day, the old Chinese woman squatted on the same busy street corner, calling to all who walked by. Vases filled with tiger lilies surrounded her. Seattle overflowed with street people selling what they could, begging for the rest. Most people walked by without notice, as if she were part of the street lantern her back propped against. The old woman sold flowers to survive, but she waited on the corner for the young daughter she gave up for adoption 25 years before. She would know her Tiger Lily when she saw her.
This story was inspired by a photo prompt posted on Friday Fictioneer’s , a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less. Photo Prompt provided by Dale Rogerson
Photo Credit: Ken Bonham
This story takes place in the 1940’s and should not be judged through 2017 eyes. Back then women had few rights when it came to their children, marriage, and divorce.
Rose left her children before they formed memories of her. At 16, her step-dad arranged a marriage, a means of ridding himself of her. By 18, she was the mother of two healthy boys: a perfect baby-making machine. The marriage soured like the alcohol on his breath and at 21, Rose walked out the door, leaving her babies behind. Because this is what the women in her family did. They moved on. But before leaving for good, Rose sat in her car, across from the school yard, watching her boys play; hoping she did the right thing.
This story was inspired by a photo prompt posted on Friday Fictioneer’s, a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less. Photo Prompt provided by Ken Bonham.
Photo prompt by Janet Webb
Sandra stood at the front window, watching. Outside, the neighbor boy tossed a ball in the air and across the street, old Mrs. Hudson watered the roses that lined the front of her house.
Maybe I will go out today, she thought.
In an instant, Sandra’s heart began to pound as a wave of heat reddened her face. She felt dizzy and dreaded throwing up. Tears swelled in Sandra’s eyes. Once again, disappointment overshadowed her earlier good mood.
In time, the fear subsidies. But Sandra would not be leaving the house today.
This story was inspired by a photo prompt posted on Friday Fictioneer’s July 14, 2017 , a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less. Photo Prompt provided by Janet Webb.