Sunday Photo Fiction:The Devoted One

The Embrace

@c.e. ayr

She did not need to read the tattered letter in her hand. She knew the words by heart:

My dearest Daisy;

How I have missed you! Time away from you has been torture. All I want is to hear your voice and feel you in my arms. You will be glad to know that I have permission to come home. I arrive at the bus station at 4:00 pm on Friday. Counting the days until we meet again, I am faithfully yours….”

Daisy sits on the wooden bench nearest the doors, intently watching as passengers hurry to find those who wait for them. She notices a young couple eagerly embrace, holding on to the moment for as long as they can. Smiling, they walk away, hand in hand.

The old clock tower chimes four times It won’t be long now, she thinks. Any minute and I will see his face.

As shadows began to fall, Daisy realizes that her lover will not arrive today. As she has done hundreds of times before, Daisy picks up the small suitcase that holds all she owns and walks toward the homeless shelter, three blocks away. There is always next Friday.

 

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a short 200-word story inspired by a photograph. This week’s photo is provided by c.e. ayr

Sunday Photo Fiction: Memory Unleashed

A little late for last week but the story has been floating in my head so might as well give it a home.  A little dark and disturbing, so consider yourself warned.

photo credit @Mixed Bag

“Make yourself comfortable,” the doctor says.

I lie down on the overstuffed couch, listening to her soothing voice and the tick-tock of the pendulum clock on the wall. As she speaks, the years of my life pass like a film in reverse.

“How old are you?” the doctor asks?

“Five.”

“And, where are you?”

“At the carnival. Mommy took me and Charlotte because Daddy was mad.”

“What do you see?”

I smile. “The merry-go-round. I climb into the Viking ship and wave at mommy. The music starts and I am going around and around and up and down. Mommy is laughing and waving.

“Where’s Charlotte?”

I frown. “She is in the carriage.”

“What happens next.”

“I yell ‘Mommy, watch me!’ But she is looking at Charlotte, laughing.

“Continue Michael, what happens next?”

“I don’t want to.”

“But you must.”

“Mommy is screaming, Charlotte is not moving; her face is blue and I am crying.”

“Why are you crying Michael?”

“Because mommy loves Charlotte more than me. “

“Michael, what happened to Charlotte?”

I killed her you bitch, what do you think happened.

“Michael?”

I open my eyes and smile.

“Michael is gone. It’s just me now.”

 

Sunday Photo Fiction April 9, 2017

 

 

 

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Empty Space

06-jade-m-wong-16-april-2017Siggy sat on the arm of the chair, mesmerized by empty space between the old steeple clock on the mantel and the ceiling above. Her tail switched fiercely and a guttural growl erupted from deep inside her throat.

“What are you looking at Siggy-cat?” Tom and Charlotte loved their foster kitten and secretly hoped she would become a permanent fixture in their home. But at times, her strange behavior was hard to understand. Like seeing the most minuscule bug crawling on the wall and hearing noises no one else heard.

Charlotte sat on the sofa across from the fireplace, feeding her 6-month old daughter, Agnes. Siggy’s odd behavior gave Charlotte pause. A few weeks ago, a bee sting sent Agnes into anaphylactic shock and her pediatrician warned that another occurrence could be deadly. Noticing Tom, as usual, had his nose in a book, Charlotte placed Agnes at her shoulder and walked across the room to look for herself.

Siggy continued to growl but a quick glance at the wall proved nothing was there. Relieved, Charlotte turned her back to the clock. “Siggy, you silly cat. There is nothing….”

Her words were cut short by Agnes’ screams of terror.


Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a short story (200 word max) inspired by a photograph. This week’s photo is provided by Jade M Wong  and was inspired by my real-life cat, Siggy, who really does seem to see things no one else sees. Maybe those empty spaces are not so empty after all.  

Enjoy!

Sunday Photo Fiction: Pier Runner

Long Pier

Photo credit © Jules Paige

“Shouldn’t we be getting back to the ship?” 

Tony and I sat at the bar, finishing off the last of our frozen margaritas. I couldn’t remember how many I had today. We spent our day in Cozumel at one of those all-inclusive resorts with free-flowing booze and warm sea air. I was feeling fine, but the sound of the ship horn brought me back to reality. Glancing at my iPhone, I noticed it was 4:55 pm. Five minutes before sailing.

Tony flashed his sweet smile and said don’t worry. Ships don’t leave passengers behind. He guzzled the last sip and left a 50 on the table. “Let’s go.”

The port was eerily empty. We picked up the pace, hoping the pedicabs were still shuttling passengers. By the time we walked outside I could see we were on our own, and the pier leading to the ship went on forever.

A second blast.

“Run for it!” Tony yelled and together we took off. I heard the music from Lido deck. I heard the cheers and jeers of passengers smarter than us, already on board. I could see walkway. We might make it. Then a third blast.

“How about another margarita?”

This story was inspired by   Sunday  Photo Fiction March 26, 2017

Sunday Photo Fiction – Three Choices

spacesuit

photo by A Mixed Bag

Sephtis stared at the space suit hanging next to the escape hatch. It was a NASA circa 1970 model. All space stations carried one on board for luck, so he thought. Sephtis now knew otherwise. The suit served an unimaginable purpose.

“You have three choices.” The recorded voice was soft, sensual, and female. An attempt to lessen the impact of the words. Sephtis thought she was a cold-hearted bitch.

Did he misunderstand? Sephtis replayed the message.

“… spacecraft malfunction…. living in a dream state…. technology to return you to your own time is imminent…. three choices”

Sephtis’s heart pounded in his chest as reality set in. His world was a thousand-year nightmare, interrupted for one purpose only: to make a choice. He could go back to sleep for another 100 years and hope someone figures out how to get him home. Or, Sephtis could remain awake and help the scientists solve the problem, hopefully before he dies of old age. The final choice: put on the spacesuit, open the hatch, and step out. The suit would release a toxic gas, killing him as he floated into space. The humane choice.

Three choices, thought Sephtis. But really only one.

This story was inspired by Sunday Photo Fiction and the idea of writing a story prompted by the weekly photo using 200 words.