Naïve Card

Thank you Rochelle for the prompt and thank you Liz Young for sharing a picture of your collection of Joker Cards.

Like everything in life, you learn the rules of the game. In poker you take calculated risks and you learn the psychology of bluff and counter bluff. However, there are no rules when the emotions of love are humiliated.

More stories from Friday-Fictioneers here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young

Naïve Card

By my bedside, I keep our framed picture. We hold hands and Carol is smiling.
Not now, she said, when I asked. She let me down gently; I was her special card.
Carol couldn’t settle until she won every poker tournament, her paramount ambition.
She promised, soon.

The games were in Chicago, Berlin, Monte Carlo, Macau, and Las Vegas.
She never wrote or called, but occasionally the jokers from card packs arrived.

I read the news from Rome; a multi-million-dollar winner married his croupier.
Carol looked treacherously stunning in white.

I telephoned Alfonso in Naples to return an outstanding favour.

The Attack of Black Holes

Friday-Fictioneers 10^th March

Time warps, fourth dimensions, and paranormal premonitions are subjects of Sci-Fi and fantasy fiction, but are the ideas based on fact?

Thank you to Rochelle (find her site here) for this week’s selected photo-prompt from Jennifer. A surreal picture that has me flummoxed. How was it done?

More story contributions HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

The Attack of the Black Hole

“Please, your table.” The waitress indicated.

I frosted like the bonsai as a premonition exploded across my vision.
Did no one else see the future flash its warning?
Yesterday, at the bus stop, I saw a motorbike disintegrate around a streetlight.
I walked home that evening and said nothing.

“Sit next to me, birthday boy.” Samantha took my elbow guiding me.
Angela and Jenny followed. “Birthday presents later.” They giggled towards Samantha.
“Wasn’t it awful,” said Jenny. “That bus imploded killing …”

“Everyone, quick,” I grabbed and pushed them out.

 A swirling black hole opened, consuming everything in the room.

Who Lives There Now

Thank you, to Lisa Fox for the Photo–prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. 

Our host Rochelle encourages us to write a 100-word flash fiction to illuminate what is behind the pictures. More story contributions are found HERE. 

Who Lives There Now?

We appear now and again and look up to the windows where we all once lived.

We see a young lady occasionally staring out.

Marleen and her boy Sam were the occupants before Agatha, who had five cats.
I remember the smell, and it needed a deep clean before I moved in.

We are friends now, Marleen, Sam, Agatha, and me.

Often, we discuss how people never know the history of their home.
Too late for us now. 

We shimmer as we look up, knowing that the woman will join us soon.

No one survives the torment of FLAT 13.

Besotted Love—Awkward

Thank you, Roger for the Photo–prompt for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. I can imagine people from busy offices having a lunch break sitting on the benches by the river to enjoy some sun and fresh air.

Our host Rochelle encourages us to write a 100-word flash fiction to illuminate what is behind the pictures. More story contributions are found HERE. 

Besotted Love—Awkward

During lunch breaks, she would come and sit by me on the bench.
She said I was lovely and shared her fruit salad.
It was her first job in the city, and over enthusiastic around the office with her boyish, charming smile for everyone.
She said my hair danced in the wind and she gave me strawberries with cream.

I stopped her touching my knee, after she said I like your firm racing-horse legs.

She brought me a rose and said I love you.

No! I have a husband and three children.

We don’t have to tell them; she said.

Their Souls Haunt the Forest

Today, 27 January, is Holocaust Memorial Day, and a reminder of the words, ’never again.’

Rochelle has posted a sad picture for this week’s prompt, and I have gone with a Holocaust theme. I have taken a moment to reflect on the horror that took place and the complicit guilt of those who carried out murderous atrocities. Where neighbours in village after village marched men, women and children into the forests and mass burial pits.

Perhaps you can come with something more cheerful, see Rochelle’s page and read other stories HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Caroll

Their Souls Haunt the Forest

My mama told stories of her wonderful childhood, the happy times she called them.
My Grandpa Jacob manufactured tallit and suits which sold in the Kiev markets.

When she passed, I went to the old country and found Grandpa’s home derelict.
My mother’s magical garden had died from neglect.

Some old men remembered Jacob, and they gripped their Ekstra as the wind howled and wept through the rafters.
Their faces withered on guilty heads in response to my questions.

“We were only boys,” they said. “Jacob had smiled; God forgives.”
“Let us show you where we buried them in the forest.”

The Office Laundry

The challenge this week from Rochelle for Friday-Fictioneers is a lovely picture from Na’ama Yehuda. My first impression to this prompt was to think of Thumbelina and where she would do her laundry? Instead, I have gone for piece about an office party.

More stories form the group can be found HERE. Visit Rochelle for an insight to her world.

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

The Office Laundry

The office secret Santa presents are useless items given to generate moments of tasteful laughter at the party.
They gave Mrs Welsh a pair of woollen knickers as she constantly complained about the cold air beneath her skirt.

Occasionally, the joke was incomprehensible and generated both unease and fodder for speculative gossip.
Why did Julie spill her drink and blush when George Carson received a pink toy washing machine?

Doris had seen them holding hands, and Angela thought Julie looked radiant.
Should they buy new hats? 

Tom, the Devil’s advocate, bought a black tie, in case Mrs Carson found out. 

The Future is Bright

Friday Fictioneers photo from Fleur shows one of my irritations when driving at night; bright headlights from oncoming traffic. However, the rustic-red coloured sky is the lovely.

Thank you to Rochelle for the prompt and many other stories can be found HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Fleur Lind

The Future is Bright

Don’t be angry John!
Forgiveness is humble, trust me.

Debbie, trust me! If only I can reach eighty-eight mph and drive into the white.
Then we will live a future of eternal happiness.

John, please slow down!

He pushed hard on the accelerator and drove into the oncoming light.

A horrendous roar of a foghorn exploded towards them.

Debbie grabbed the steering wheel and turned the car on to the verge.
The DeLorean rattled over the rough gravel and ground to a stop.

Oh, Debbie… I’m really sorry.

Please John, I forgot to feed Baxter.
And, he needs his walk.

Music is Universal

Header picture courtesy of Cotton-bro Studio.

I was not sure what to make of Roger’s picture of steps with litter and graffiti, so I decided on an upbeat theme.

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle, find out all about the group by clicking on her name.

More entertaining stories from the group can be accessed HERE.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

Music is Universal

We were about ten when we made the old factory our den for years. Then he caught us playing music.

“Get out’a here you scumbags,” he shouted, and threw an iron bar that missed.

“We ain’t causing no harm.”

“You’re looking for a smack, wise-boy.”

“We only want to practice; brilliant acoustics.”

“Brilliant! Tell them without work.” He snorted; pointing, “That a sax?”

“Do you want to listen?”

“Used to play; do you know ‘Baker Street’?”

We played for an hour and tears roll down his face.

This old building is a now a rejuvenated soul called Upbeat Music Club.

To Hell and Back

 This week’s photo prompt is a peaceful street scene, and as we head into the New Year of 2023, I am sure our world is praying for peace.

Thank you, Rochelle (click on her name for the page), for our last Friday Fictioneers of the year 2022.

More stories here.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

To Hell and Back

Uri, do you remember the first time we came here?
It was a rotten day, a dirty place.

No, no. I think it was a happy day.
Bubbe! It was raining, cold and miserable.

Uri, my heart was singing and burning with hope.
Sara, we schlepped through the mud as humiliated donkeys.

Elation in freedom.
Oy vey ist mir, wearing our schmatte.
Mensch! Now you make me feel sad.

Sorry, my Sara, please don’t cry.
Cry! I never cried. Okay, maybe for forgiveness when we reached the kibbutz.

Look, Sara. What a wonderful place.
We built this, you adorable klutz.

Time Thaws the Torment

I became immersed in silent peace with Dale’s photograph, along with its seasonal touch of the inviting Christmas tree lights. The picture shows a thaw in the weather and a respite from the hard frost; but for how long? Winter can be mild or hard, and in the Spring, we forgive the past harsh weather as the appearance of flowers lighten our mood.

This week, I have taken my inspiration from Franz Kafka.

The German novelist Franz Kafka writes about his father in “Letter to My Father.”

“What was always incomprehensible to me was your total lack of feeling for the suffering and shame you could inflict on me with your words and judgments.” 

Thank you, Rochelle for this week’s prompt for Friday Fictioneers, other stories can be read HERE.

Time Thaws the Torment

I took the shortcut from the railway station along the path I used twenty years ago.
It was then I vowed never to return, but here I was.

Sat on my heavy rucksack, I looked across at the place, my childhood home once full of boyhood adventures.
I loved this country and our family’s farming life.

Come home, my mother said. It’s Christmas. He’s gone, bless his soul.

Was it him who drove me away, or my stubborn pride? A lifetime of agony and tormented pains.

Forgiveness lightened my backpack as I strode with definitive certainty.
I had returned home.