Tag Archives: Short Stories

BURN! BURN!

Friday Fictioneers – Rachel Wisoff-Fields

bonfire-anshu.jpg

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.

Advertisements

I Knew You’d Wait

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

teds-car-in-the-woods

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.

 

 

If the Boots Don’t Fit.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers.

adamickes-childsboots

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

rr-tracks-at-harpers-ferryc

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

nick-allen-from-sandra-c

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!

Underground Opera by Catherine

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

under-bridge

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Underground Opera by Catherine

A free spirit and gentle voice, her echoes of joy
reverberated beneath the rumble of the motorway.
Its pillars tremble holding the stress of life’s loads.
Too much for her to bear, she had lost her way,
and in destitution she discovered our desolation row.
‘Catherine the Homeless’ sang opera to us; sewers of life.
We listened to her music of the night, by our flickering fire light,
and prayed as we cremated her body and earthly remains.
We scattered her ashes around the headstone on her swan song stage,
tearfully enchanted as her soul sang, through the midnight breeze.

For Them

poppy-50590_1280
For Them.

My Grandfather served from 1914 -17 and suffered lung damage from a gas attack. He survived the War but died later, a relatively young man in his thirties, as a consequence of frequent pulmonary illnesses.
I never met my Grandfather and my questions were pushed away with the reply;

‘We don’t talk about the War.’

Sometime ago, I wrote a short piece of fiction of one grandfather’s war experience as told to his grandchildren at Christmas. You may like to read it here.

The Lady in the Bauble

Guided Tour

jill-f

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

dinner-table-prior

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.

110817-MOCHA_DJIMMAH_125G-1

Malcolm

Friday Fictioneers

cafc3a9-terrasse-dale-r

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Malcolm

It’s okay Malcolm, if you want to cry.
I’m so scared.
Tell me, Malcolm, what makes you feel so afraid?
I see colours, following me.
Now Malcolm, I am here to help, tell me what things?
I can’t, you’ll think I am . . .
Here’s a tissue, Malcolm. I understand. I am here to help.
Do you? I think you are one of THEM!
Don’t shout, Malcolm, we are all the same.
No, we’re not, you’re weird.
Malcolm, you are the one who is different.
SEE! am I the only one?
Please Malcolm, join us, be an umbrella person.


My new book cover – The Listener (0.99p)

Version 2