Category Archives: Only 100 Words

Every Child Deserves a Mother

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers

This week’s picture reminds me of Ernest Hemingway’s six-word story;

“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Every Child Deserves a Mother

Damn, how Malcolm preferred the office than coming home. He kicked a box out of his way. The City garbage strike was a health hazard.
Then he saw it. Hell! Mary has flipped. Another of her tantrums since the IVF failed, and for the last time. Dr Nolan said it was pointless.
Malcolm suggested adopting a baby girl. No, she wouldn’t listen to him.
In the flat, the aroma of baking eased his tension as Mary pecked his cheek in a gregarious mood.
‘Oh, Malcolm. I’ve decided to adopt.’
‘Then, why throw out the chair?’
‘Because Charlie is three already.’

Sherlock Holmes and the Time Lord

 

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

More 100 Word Stories from Friday Fictioneers, here.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Sherlock Holmes and the Time Lord

‘So, it’s true.’ Watson wiped the condensation from the window. ‘The last cough of winter comes in May.’
‘The feasts of the Ice Saints.’ Holmes removed the needle from his arm.
‘One day,’ said Watson, ‘that opium will kill you, and I can’t save you.’
‘Ah Watson, I’m already dead.’ Holmes laughed. ‘Life is relative. Now, where is she?’ He closed his eyes. ‘Where! damn you woman, where?’
Watson sipped his Earl Grey and stared at the pale face of Holmes. He was delirious and mumbling on about a “Tardis” and “The Doctor” hidden beneath the Athabasca Glacier in Canada.

Born Free

Friday Fictioneers

Read more stories here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Born Free

After the virus, only the state sponsored selected elite could procreate, and placed under medical supervision to produce fully formed immune humans.
For us it was a crime.
I collapsed to my knees. Grace was in tears, her body shaking.
‘You’re pregnant?’ I whispered into her ear. She nodded.
‘My cousin said . . .’
‘Yes!’ I held her shoulders. ‘We must go.’
We knew about the family escapees hiding around the north lakes; hunters exterminated those captured on the spot.
That night we navigated our balloon in a northward storm and prayed for our future and unborn baby in the wilderness.

Meet Me by the Amaryllis

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisof-Fields

More Stories Found Here

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Meet me by the Amaryllis

Julie called and told me to meet in the Biosphere by the amaryllis flowers.
Don’t be late, her excitement was infectious. I suspected, she had great news from the fertility clinic.
I booked a table at Antonio’s for later.
Emergency vehicles blocked 5th Avenue and because of the long detour I was late.
Where was she?
The flowers were beautiful – I wondered if they would miss one for Julie’s hair.
I could say it had fallen onto the floor.
It’s not like Julie to be late, I checked my iPhone.
I read the news; three dead on 5th Avenue.

Picture Massacre

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Picture Massacre

The whole family together; that’s what I’ll do. Put all these pictures into a leather-bound album. I need to sort them; uncles, aunts and the great-great somebodies or another? My brother’s family pictures have survived as has one of Uncle Bert in uniform.  I am not sure how old my mother was then, but the boy on the tractor, well that’s me with Baxter my collie. Oh, here’s Auntie Rose with a Derringer tucked into her fishnets. Was that real?
‘Why us?’
‘Family memories?’ said the nurse.
‘Yea, that’s all I have left.’
‘Okay, we need to change those bandages.’

Sherlock Holmes escapes Corfe Castle

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Escape from Corfe Castle.

Holmes is missing, and the last train waits.
We came to investigate the torture and murder of three French spies, but found them unperturbed drinking real ale in the Purbeck Arms.
A trick and heinous treachery by Professor Moriarty to lure us to death in the dungeons of the castle.
What is taking Holmes so long?
The scarlet sky; not a good sign. Its dying rays dripping like blood over the castle ruins. Is it the end of Holmes?
What next; a screeching Pterodactyl swooping downwards.
‘Quick, Watson!’ Holmes shouts from the beast. ‘Jump on before the magic wears off.’

Corfe Castle

Ayla – Moon Glow Girl

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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PHOTO PROMPT © Gah Learner

Ayla – Moon Glow Girl

Mary Anne wrote up her diary notes, on the corner of the page was a little face. She smiled watching the full moon rise over the hill, an omen that sent tingling down her spine. The thermometer, from under her tongue, was one degree higher, a perfect BBT.
She would call her baby Ayla, a ‘moon glow’ girl. She must get David in the mood with a warm meal and soft music, lately he was stressed by the street riots and police murders.
Make him forget and relax.
The moon rose higher, he was late; please David return home safe.

Holiday Trek

100 Word Wednesday: Week 66

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Photo by Bikurgurl

Holiday Trek

A holiday of our lifetime, she said.

Those words ring in my mind and at night the howler monkeys join in.

This trek, to meet the Sapanahua tribe deep in the Amazon forest, has become a nightmare.

Janet left a note; “I need time to myself to follow a different path in my career. Sorry, but it’s goodbye George.” She took the canoe and supplies.

What a headache I had after the ayahuasca tea she made and I slept like a log. It’s been twelve days and the Sapanahua are tracking me. Are they friendly or like me, very hungry?

 

Marcel Loves Christine

Friday Fictioneers

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Warning, sinister tone.

Marcel Loves Christine.

Marcel watched Christine from his vantage point. He slammed his binoculars into his backpack. Tears welled, he pinched his nose to check his anger as revenge rattled down his spine.

Forgiveness for Christine, but the man must be eliminated. He means nothing and like the others will die.

Previous girls squirmed and bled, because they wouldn’t love him.

Marcel craved Christine.

He watches and stalks, close, behind her in the bus, in the supermarket aisle. He smells her and urges to stroke her body, to drink in her aura. Marcel is convinced she loves him, but she doesn’t know; YET!. 

My Darling Morag

My Darling Morag – Only 100 Words

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photo by Jacco Rienks via Unsplash

My Darling Morag

In a fit of magical rage, an act of indignant revenge, I cursed my darling Morag for her infidelity. I transformed my wife, whom I still love, into this docile bovine creature. She was once a beautiful red head, wild and feisty in her youth, see how she has matured to a tough and horny beast.
Each morning I stroke her head and I cringe at my rash decision – I kiss her sloppy nose and I promise, I will return to Hogwarts and complete my wizardly training.
First, I must deal with Angus. I’m thinking, perhaps a slimy fire-bellied toad.