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 Al Forbes
After months of secret negotiations, we reached an agreement. The information I held was so top-secret that the only logical place for exchange was in plain sight. Concerned for my own safety, I insisted on a place public and what’s more public than the London Eye. I arrived early, suspicious of a set-up. I may just be a reporter but I’ve read enough crime fiction to know that ‘come alone’ is just a suggestion. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, I entered the glass pod as it slowly inched its way above the London skyline. My contact stood next to the window railing. The pink flamingo tie gave him away. I moved next to him and we exchanged pleasantries, as tourists do. Then came the fun part. I reached inside my jacket for the envelop. Proof that could destroy democracy. My hands shook and the coolness on my brow came from sweat.
Crime novels don’t lie. I felt the sharp stab at my left side, producing a slight dampness near my ribcage. To my right, pink flamingo tie whispered, “You’re coming with us.”
I looked through the glass at London below, knowing it would be for the last time.
Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a short, 200-word story inspired by a photograph. Many thanks go to Al Forbes for supplying this week’s photo.
When Edison arrived, there was a glass sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. A small, clear glass filled with a clear liquid that looked like water. How very odd, thought Edison. The room had been vacant for over a year; yet there it was, a clean glass with water that looked like it had come from a Fiji bottle. Edison glanced around the room. Dust covered everything: the pine wood floor, the cheap coffee table. Dust even muted the colors of the floral couch and coated the window blinds. But no finger prints or foot prints. Wouldn’t you think that whoever left that glass of water would have left some sort of prints?
The glass bothered Edison. According to the landlord, the last tenants left just before Christmas. In a hurry. That’s when the City shut off the utilities, so where did the water come from?
Edison took inventory. A deserted, dusty room with no fingerprints or foot marks. A clean glass of water that came from nowhere. And a three-day old corpse laying on the bed.
Turning to the officers on the scene, Detective Edison asks, “Does anyone else find this strange?”
In response to Sunday Photo Fiction February-26th-2017
Image credit: A Mixed Bag