Friday Fictioneers – Slip

Edna twisted the chains with her aged knotted hands. It was strange, she thought, how people attached memories to such seemingly insignificant things.

“When I was younger …”

Suddenly, she was falling away; slipping through time and space. Shanghai-La, she thought, always attached to these chains.

She scrunched her eyes closed and let the tide take her. It was like falling through water; warm, peaceful, silent.

Then it wasn’t.

Edna’s eyes burst open. There were storm clouds on the horizon beyond her father’s new truck. She turned the chains in her now youthful fingers, “So funny the memories we cling to.”

disc-golf-basket
PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who wrangles in Friday Fictioneers every week.

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Friday Fictioneers – Rays of Gold

Sometimes she sits on the gilded edge of the time before and the space after, watching people scurry below.

Ants unaware of their instinctual march, if they were to rip their eyes from the path would they see me?

Unaware of his mother’s harried calls a boy lets his toy train crash to the wooden floors. The glowing specter upon the golden spiral lights, reflecting and refracting shimmering beams, flickers then vanishes.

“Mommy did you see that?”

He points, though he’s suddenly unsure of the space where the dancing rays of gold once were.

His mother hurriedly leads him away.


dales-symphony-2PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Many thanks to Rochelle Wisoff Fields for wrangling Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers – The Fleeing of Juliet

“I will not marry him.”

Destiny did not prepare the gardener for the sight which greeted him in the morning sun. The noble daughter, sweetly sipping tea while admiring roses, and her gentleman courter writhing in dewy grass. Life did not prepare him to grab the unwitting belle and drag her to a horse.

“You have to go.”

“I will not.” Thin arms surrounded his neck.

Romeo ushered his Juliet onto the nearest mare with a promise he would not be far behind.

I wish I could say the story is only similar in name.

Alas, it ends the same.

fatima-fakier-deria-3PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

And thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for rounding Friday Fictioneers up.

 

Friday Fictioneers – Lips So Blue

I saw the sign. I heard her small voice say, “we should turn back.”

Jermaine, I chastised, always too sure of yourself.

The sky sure is blue from here. Small clouds, formed into puffs of slight dog fur, float by casting their shadows among the scattered glass.

If I could speak … a thousand things I know I should say.

An impromptu apology to my momma, for what I don’t know.

Maybe all the years of grief … maybe all the years to come.

Beside me her eyes stare like glass, reflecting rolling hills and jagged cliffs.

Her lips are so blue.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

Many thanks to the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for rounding up Friday Fictioneers

 

 

Friday Fiction

When I was a little girl I pressed my nose against the glass of my dad’s old Volkswagen as we passed under bridges in the city. I puffed great smokey blasts of fog to draw little hearts and “hellos” in as the sleeping men tossed in their bags.

“Dad, why don’t we help them?”
“They have to help themselves first.”

There was a woman beneath the bridge today snapping pictures of our homeless communities. Preserving our tents and bags in rough black and white photos for exhibit.

“Don’t you want to help yourself?”

I hear they feed you in jail.

camera-ted-strutz
PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

And Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


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