Friday Fictioneers: Blood Pact

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Photo by Sarah Potter

It started as a childish prank. Go to the old Miller house and enter through the sunroom. The wooden desk stood in the corner. Nick your finger with a knife, just enough for a few drops of blood, and trace your initials on the desktop. The blood pack guaranteed a carefree adolescence, or minimally, a date to the prom.

What they don’t tell you, however, is the pact binds you forever to an insatiable spirit. With each passing year, the demands grow greater. Breaking the pact was not an option.

He thought of this as he stalked his next victim.

 

This story was inspired by a photo prompt posted on Friday Fictioneers, a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less. Check out other great stories or submit your own at Friday Fictioneer’s June 9 2017

 

 

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Last Move

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photo credit: A Mixed Bag

The Director held the phone in his hand and considered his next move. The events of the past few days unnerved him in ways he never thought possible. During his 25-year tenure with the agency, he had learned the secrets of the rich and powerful. He knew what men, and women, were capable of when push came to shove. But this man; he was ruthless. He would stop at nothing to salvage his legacy.

Do you really want to do this, Jimbo?

In the corner of his office was a chess board. As a boy, the Director mastered the game and in return learned one of life’s most valuable lessons: always look beyond the next move. He out-maneuvered his opponent so far. With this phone call, the game would be over.

His contact answered promptly and agreed to the Director’s request. He called his wife and told her the car would be there in 10 minutes, taking her to safety. Before he left, he looked at his office for the last time.

This is the right thing to do.

They arrested him as soon as he stepped through the door. He would go quietly.

Smiling, he thought to himself, check-mate.

 

Sunday Photo Fiction: Reminder

Red Cell Phone

@Al Forbes

I can’t believe I didn’t notice.

For eight days, I’ve tried to forget. The emotions are just too raw.

But everywhere I look, I see you.

Not you physically, but your presence.

Your memory.

The clothes you wore, still in the closet.

The food you ate, rotting in the fridge.

Small reminders that once you were part of my life.

And now you are gone.

Which is why this is so funny.

Honestly, being the jokester you are… I mean were… you would find this hilarious.

Last night I was out with our old friends, just beer and hot wings at the local pub.

No doubt they wanted to cheer me up.

I got a text on my cell phone and my face must have looked like I had seen a ghost.

Everyone noticed.

What’s wrong?” the asked. Worried that I had received more unwelcome news.

It was not the text, however.

I never got that far.

For eight days, I avoided your photo only to realize that a picture of your smiling face unlocked my cell phone.

I missed the most obvious reminder of all.

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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 Al Forbes.