Tag Archives: Writing

Gateway to Adventure

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields – Friday Fictioneers

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I always admire the skill and patience it takes to handcraft art that produces aesthetic pleasure and brightens up our lives. Even more so when the item is an antique with a checkered history. This week’s picture reminds me of wandering through street flea markets and searching in curiosity shops for nothing in particular.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Gateway to Adventure

Carla, me and Joey loved Old Hickory’s shop. We spent Saturday afternoons enchanted by the curiosities. To us, every item oozed a magical secret.
Old Hickory frightened us with murderous tales of the polished pirate’s chest. Full of gold. He grinned. Inside is a world of dangerous dreams, and he laughed like Bluebeard himself.
One day, lifting the creaking lid, we took a peek, and heard Hickory cough and spit in the backroom.
No, we said, but Carla climbed inside looking for adventure. Don’t tell, she giggled.
For years now, Joey and me, we have stood outside praying for Carla.

When Two Make a Crowd – Ochlophobia

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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When Two Make a Crowd – Ochlophobia

Caroline shivered, and she pulled up her hood. She staggered and used the wall to steady herself. Was she the only one who saw it? The tower floated away up into the clouds.
So many people talking; the noise. She pulled her scarf over her face; no one will recognise her. At last, she dared to walk along the street and she felt proud.
She had quivered locking her apartment door, but she forced herself out to restore some self-confidence.
A child began screaming; was she the only one who heard it?
She fled with her chest gasping in agony.

Riding the Rails Home

Friday Fictioneers -Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Riding the Rails Home

Brad grabbed the ladder and jumped onto the rung. He pulled himself onto the wagon. He swung the rucksack off his back and sat.
Freight-hopping was not comfortable, but the airports and rail stations were under surveillance by Grego’s thugs.
He felt the USB stick in his jacket pocket as reassurance. His undercover duty was over and tomorrow he will resign from the FBI.
He thought of baby Rosanne who had not seen for two years. She will walk and talk now and likely not recognise him.
Carla wants a divorce. He said no.
Hell! They need the money.

Dolphins are Guardian Angels

A 100 word story for Friday Fictioneers.

Hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

You can read the stories from other contributors, here.

Dolphins are Guardian Angels

I admired the parrot fish shoal dashing past, then wham! The impact dislodged my facemask; my flippers were clamped in the teeth of a shark. I struggled my feet free, readjusted my mask and mouthpiece, and swam to a coral buttress. I watched John climb into the boat ten metres above.
The excited bull shark circled and raced towards me. I was trapped.
I heard a screech of whistles and clicks, and a dolphin struck the shark’s underbelly. The pod harassed and chased the menace away.
My saviours escorted me to the surface, and to the safety of the boat.

Young Ones Get Married

Friday Fictioneers 100 word story – Hosted by Rochelle.

Read more great 100 word stories – based on the photo prompt – enjoy.

Proclaimers – Let’s Get Married.

Young Ones Get Married

“Remember our nights in the Barrowland Ballroom. It was wild jigging and dancing. We went mad when Lulu sang ‘Shout’ and then there was ‘Let’s Twist Again.”.’
‘Oh Jack, you were lapping around me like a puppy.’
‘Ten times asking; are you dancing? You said not on your nelly.’
‘Bugger off, I said.’
‘We were wild, rocking around the floor, – everyone watching.’
‘What went wrong, Jack? Look at us.’
‘Fifty years, and they’re still watching.’
‘Aye, and I am still waiting. Are you asking?
‘Oh Maggie, enjoy the moment.’
‘Jack! It’s our tune “Let’s Get Married”.’
‘Yes, I know.’

Dangerous Dating Game

Friday Fictioneers

Dangerous Dating Game

‘Yes, the market.’ She giggled on the telephone. ‘We can meet for a coffee and Pani Popo.’
I hid behind the hats; she looked older than on eHarmony.
Why has she brought friends along or are they her daughters?
This is awkward as I look nothing like my Internet profile, and I don’t like groups.
We agreed on an afternoon alone.
People say I am shy and lack self-esteem around women – acting strange.
Once I was taunted on a date – you are a freak!
In anger, I released the padlocks and threw her off the boat; she drowned.
What a pity.

Fear in the Woods

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Fear in the Woods

‘Okay, you must stay together. Promise,’ said Maggie. ‘The pie’s in the oven.’
As a child, she loved playing in the woods, but Massie and Albert were little, at least they had Buster.
When the apple-pie was ready, she went to call for them.
‘Albert, Massie, come on in,’ she called walking into the woods. ‘Buster.’
She saw the dumped fridge and gave it a kick. Typical!
Massie shouted, ‘Hi Mum.’
Buster began barking on top of the fridge.
‘Where’s Albert?’ She pushed the dog aside and opened the door. ‘Albert!’
Massie’s lip trembled. ‘He stayed home on his computer.’

When I am Alone, I am Afraid

Post for Friday Fictioneers – go to the other stories using this link:

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

WHEN I AM ALONE, I AM AFRAID.

I can’t remember when I first noticed the little bird, a wheatear. When the telephone rang it appeared at the window and when I hung up the handset, I would drop some seeds or crumbs outside.
A bond developed between us and mutual expectation. The bird became my companion, and I was its source of titbits. We were creatures of habit, and the little bird became a great comfort to me in my moments of deep anxiety.
The bird will migrate soon, what will I do?
I wished the calls would stop, or at least whoever it was, would speak.

When the Grim Reaper Calls

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn Miller

When the Grim Reaper Calls.

I felt a headache and my vision blurred as blood dripped onto the desk.
My mind flew back in time and raced towards a barn, a place I don’t know.
Memories: mother, a dog, a swing, school, my navy days, Doreen, the children growing. A jumble of pictures, smiles and laughter, like a collage of fifty years flashing past.
Guilt crept up my spine with so much to repent and ask forgiveness for the way I treated my sick wife. Overindulgence with her insurance money.
What’s waiting in the barn? Is it Heaven or Hell?
Will Doreen be there?

 

 

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.