A disturbing murder case was weighing heavily on Jim Delaney’s mind as he walked up his sidewalk. A sound came from the storage shed. Jim unholstered his pistol, not willing to take any chances after a day like today. He saw movement and instincts took over.
Jim unmasked the bloody body and nearly threw up. Stumbling into the house, he opened a bottle of whiskey. As he drank, he spotted a note:
I finally got you! Meet me at Finnegan’s and we’ll get drunk.
Jim’s pistol fired one last shot, leaving the wall stained with the blood of remorse.
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The above story is my submission to Friday Fictioneers. For those of you that don’t know, Friday Fictioneers is a group of bloggers from around the world who respond to a photo prompt of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields choosing with a story of approximately 100 words. Find more fictioneers here.
Copyright – Adam Ickes
A year ago, twenty-five four year olds started Maestro’s guitar program, now six are alive. Kim Lu pinned a G# instead of a G as she played through the new piece Maestro had given them. Maestro’s right hand was heavier this time. Unconscious, Kim experienced a love that has been absent since her mother was executed. She saw a bridge that appeared to go to infinity. Excitement came over her as she started to move across, feeling free. Terror took control when reality began to tug her back. She awoke with tears in her eyes and Maestro’s voice ordering one-week starvation.
This story represents my entry into Friday Fictioneers. Thanks for reading!
Copyright – Danny Bowman
A trip to the hills left him with a rash that seemed to be climbing his leg. Terrified it would continue he turned to the most reliable medical advice in the world. After thorough examination, he was nervous. Symptoms were adding up and he was afraid of what was coming.
The sound of frantic typing filled the room, then he stared, mouth open, in disbelief.
“Cyndi, wake up! I have all the symptoms.”
“What Larry, what do you have this time?”
“I’m pregnant, it says so on the Internet!”
“Right… I hope it’s a boy this time. Go to sleep.”
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The above story represents my entry into this weeks Friday Fictioneers. I hope you all enjoy!
If this made you laugh, try more of my funny stories!
Copyright- Al Forbes
Below you will find my entry into Sunday Photo Fiction. The challenge is to write a fiction piece of around 100-200 words about whatever comes to mind when you see the above photo. I hope you enjoy…
She stood on the other side of the drive through window clenching my diet coke, stubbornly waiting for me to hand over the money before she made a move. I sat petrified as the images from her past bombarded my mind.
A gift, that’s what they call it. Apparently many others that have this “gift” sat in meditation for most of their life to get it. I never asked to be psychic and I would give it back if I could. I’ve had other psychic’s tell me to focus it on love or I will drive myself mad but I think it’s too late.
“You gana pay for this?” she shouted out the window, but the images of her as a young child chained to a chair would not leave. I could see her in chains sleeping as her mother went into a drug induced coma… I regained focus and managed to pass her some cash. I grabbed the food and tried to speak, “god bless you,” was all I could get out as I drove away. Tears welled up in my eyes and my hands were shaking. I had to get out of the city; I couldn’t take another tragic story like that.
Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
She stood admiring her handiwork. Each time she finished a piece, or found just the right artifact to honor her last conquest, a celebration followed with a bottle of Champagne. The shelf was finally full; she was bursting with excitement… and grief. Now what? This was her life’s work, nothing else will fill the void, nothing else could be as exciting, and she didn’t have the energy to start again.
Besides, the trinkets were in no way her true art. The lost souls that inspired each trinket were the prize and now she didn’t have anyone left for inspiration.
This story represents my entry into Friday Fictioneers