BURN! BURN!

Friday Fictioneers – Rachel Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT © Anshu Bhojnagarwala

Burn! Burn!

I got the book, ‘How to Declutter’.
My memories too precious for the charity shops, I prayed and heaped them on my bonfire.
Good riddance I thought, there is no turning back now.
I felt elated and mentally free from all those things. You know all the stuff which you said we really, really need, but never did.
Victoria’s secrets still in their packaging. Celebrity Cook books. Tons of clothes, once worn gowns. Shoes. Photographs from the wedding. Files and files of solicitors’ letters.
Burn! Burn!
I cleansed and purified my home, mind and soul.
Hell! I still miss you.

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I Knew You’d Wait

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

I Knew You’d Wait

It was all or nothing Irene, that’s what you meant to me.
Ted left with you, driving down the boulevard speeding, they said.
Years later, I’m told he died in a shoot-out in a Las Vegas bar.
Served my time; ten years for robbery.
I heard, Ted dumped you out in the woods.
Damn, you’ve aged, lost your mojo by the looks of it.
I’ve dreamt of this day, my heart weeps, I want to scream at the sight of you.
You’re beautiful, I love you. Is our secret safe?
Under those panels, I stashed ten million dollars.

 

 

Cracks

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Dale’s Broken Door.

Cracks.

‘You expect me to walk the dog and wash up – again!’
She slammed the door on the way out.
What did I say?
‘Weight watchers?’ I shouted after her.
It’s true, always another class.
Jogging or swimming, gossiping. I’ve married a fat ghost.
I expect she’ll stay with friends tonight. Moody!
Sorry dear, the meeting ran late, the boss insisted on a couple of drinks.
‘There is always next month you know.’
She didn’t like that.
“Look – tonight,” she pointed at the calendar.
We’ve been trying, but this organised sex is so stressful.
Honestly, I’m not ready for children.

 

Shell Shock

Friday Fictioneers.

Photo courtesy of Priya Bajpal

Shell Shock.

Each morning I walk along the beach and find a shell, just one, like you did. I wash off the sand and place it with the others, counting the days, I miss you.
I write a message on different coloured paper for every day of the week.
When I lie in my bed, I can hear you unfolding the notes and reading. Yes, I need you to understand how much I miss you, love you and care.
No one knows where you are, or what happened. We do.
Sorry.
When I am ready, I’ll walk along the beach and join you.

If the Boots Don’t Fit.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers.

If the Boots Don’t Fit

A warm still day; they were a gift.
They hurt his feet, he had said, amazingly his hat fell into the lake.
He swam after it and from the other side he waved, not even goodbye.
How long should she wait? She had said yes; then he wasn’t sure.
She should have said no.
She heard he had a job in Kentucky, drifting with cattle.
Mary-Anne was two today, she needs a father.
How long could they wait? If only she had said no.
Tomorrow she’ll wed a loving man, one who fills the boots with honesty.
She can’t wait.

Murder on the Express

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn M. Miller

Murder on the Express

He saw her alone in the compartment and went in.
She was exquisitely beautiful, young and naïve. Her diamond necklace, those earrings and that fur coat would sell for ten year’s rent. He’ll take them in the tunnel.

He was handsome with a charming smile and looking for company on a long journey, she thought. Something was wrong, a premonition and itch in her new Louboutin stilettos.
The train rattled into the darkness.

At her stop, she wiped the blood from her shoe. Kissed his forehead above the blooded hole. “Goodbye,” she laughed, “what a shame.”

Abstinence.

 

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Nick Allen

Abstinence.

Charlie’s allotment shed stored his tools and was shelter from the rain and cold weather. After planting and weeding he played bridge with his friends and the fun and laughter could be heard late into the afternoon.

Gran would laugh and say; “Hey, I am just off down Charlie’s.” She’d take her knitting basket. Everyone admired his collection of oil cans, particularly the little blue one with Gordons Gin and tonic. Martha liked the Martini from the green one or sometimes they drunk corn whiskey from the brown one.

Let’s go down Charlie’s. He, he. Life is really too short!

Inside a Tardis

Copyright Roger Bultot

Inside a Tardis

Impossible.
Holmes’ face lit up with joy, I wished he would calm down.
We had followed the hooded woman into a rusted police box, its door slammed and locked itself. We were trapped.
I was terrified and couldn’t make sense of the scale or the magnitude. Overawed with the illusion, I trembled as an overwhelming spiritual awakening struck me; had we stumbled into a secret dimension of our universe?
‘We have her’, said Holmes and he lit his pipe. He strode around, incoherent as he puffed. ‘The end of beginning has no end.’
Madness, the reason he needs a Doctor.

Friday Fictioneers.

 

Guided Tour

PHOTO PROMPT © Jilly Funell

 

Guided Tour

Gather here, look at the view – on a clear day you can see the Isle of Wight and through your vision amplifiers you will see the beach-cleaners in Franconia. Every morning, they collect the dead.

THOSE WHO DARE TO ESCAPE OUR BELOVED REPUBLIC!

Since the year 2050 the Tower has served as a triangulation beacon for our killer drones protecting our Channel and executing traitors. Those disillusioned citizens determined to reach the Euro-Zone. A place full of milk and honey – you may laugh.

Enough . . . silence!
The curfew starts soon.  Now go directly to your assigned homes.

Lonely Planet

Lonely Planet

Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © Priorhouse

Where is everyone! Such diplomatic bad manners.
The Ehevan envoy, Sil Chasack, switched to transmit, she strode around
the table.
No sign of the humanoids, she reported. Typical arrogance.
She was sent by the Galactic Federation to instruct ‘Earth’ on environmental sustainability for their survival.
Where were they, don’t they care about trading coffee?
Measurements showed the Blue Planet was deteriorating in a self-consuming infestation, the Mollaks are considering a cleansing cull; as a warning.
Sil wiped the window and looked out, there were no signs of biological life in the dark poisonous atmosphere.
Pity, this Mocha Djimmah tastes superb.