It has been a long time between now and my last Friday Fictioneers effort. I am more than a little over the word count so I may edit this again later on. If you want to play, head over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and have a go. Thanks to Rochelle and also thanks to Danny Bowman for the image.
As always, I am open to constructive criticism.
Old School Dirt
The truck hissed as it drew to a halt behind the long queue of traffic. Tony adjusted his gaze to search for the accident over the never ending line of red lights.
He looked down at his mobile and pressed down hard on the power button. It had been dead for the past hour. Dashboard read 20.30. Late again. Cara would be waiting alone, on the evening of their anniversary, for the third year running. No making up for this one.
Tony turned off the ignition and hopped out onto the sidewalk. A beaten up payphone offered little hope before he could even dial her number. A handset broken in two, he could talk but not listen.
“About right” he mused, before returning to the cabin.
Copyright -Douglas M. MacIlroy
One Two Three Four Legged Friend
I unsaddled Mystic and felt around in my bag for an apple. One left, it was a little brown and bruised from the ride but otherwise perfect. I rubbed it on my thigh and fed it to Mystic. The sun was heating up, telling me to head back to the air conditioned truck waiting to take me home without my horse. I looked around the large paddock. It was more than I could ever offer. She would be happy here.
“We’ve had some good times, haven’t we?”
Mystic tossed her head with a snort.
“Yeah, I know, I’ll miss you too”
I found this one hard as there are so many lovely stories this week, I have found it hard to follow. In fact I was tempted not to post up as was struggling to put something together. Head over to Rochelle’s place if you want to have a go at Friday Fictioneers. Pop over to Doug’s to get the moving story behind the picture.
Sam rubbed his tired eyes and focussed on the blinking light. All was calm but winds from the dark ocean were starting to gain strength and rumbles from the sky spoke of a storm. He looked down at the net lying on deck and his heavy heart sank. Three days and only a few fish to show for it. His skin was grainy from the salty air. He craved a shower and a cold beer. The beacon was getting brighter as the winds pushed his drifting boat towards the land. Sam submitted to defeat and allowed his mind to think of Amy. She would be waiting and tonight, he could do with some comfort.
Here is my Friday Fictioneers. This picture instantly reminded me of a lighthouse. I have never actually been inside one but the spiralling staircase made me think of that. So loosely based on that interpretation I came up with my story. I have been working on my short stories and editing and not really blogged in a while or taken part in this weekly tradition. Better late than never.
If you want to take part, head over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and have a go.
Hands up, this isn’t my best. It was completed on my 30 minute lunch break. I was partly reminiscing about school, my partner in crime during the school days (who played the cello) and one of my favourite Bond moments. So I apologise to those who don’t get the vague reference, I hope you enjoy it anyway.
If you want to play along, head over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Copyright Roger Cohen
Nothing to Declare
“The lighter one”
“Do you think they would notice it missing?”
“Nah, not if we’re quick”
Beth stood on the tips of her toes and peered out of the tiny window. “Snow is looking pretty thick at the moment, perfect conditions”
“You keep a watch whilst I get the case”
Jess dashed into the adjoining cupboard and fought through the various instruments to drag out the cello case. It was nearly the size of her.
“Psst” she heard from Beth “Mrs Newel is coming, get out of there”
Hearing her teacher’s heels walk down the hallway, Jess quickly put the case back and joined Beth back by the cellos.
“We’ll try again tomorrow” whispered Beth “I bet Bond never had this much trouble”
Over a month since I have been on here and even longer since I have taken part in Friday Fictioneers. Well, it’s a new year and that means renewed goals and resolutions. Writing is at the top of my list once again and there is no better place to start than this weekly challenge.
Hop over to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields if you wish to take part. Thank you for Lora Mitchell for the image.
copyright Lora Mitchell
Jennifer stared down into the plastic champagne flute and observed its glistening base.
“It’s empty” she intended to say but instead it came out as “Itssssay eamptee”
“Too many bubbles” Her husband gently took the flute from her grasp and placed it on the grass where they sat.
“Mark, it’s not eavin mignight”
“I have some orange juice, you’ve guzzled all the champagne”
Mark wrapped his arms around his wife, quietly amused at her inebriation. Easing into his embrace, Jennifer watched the fireworks whistle and shriek before casting an explosion of pink and purple across the sky.
“Wow, soooo maynaay of them” Jennifer murmured, captured by the moment.
Mark desperately wanted to be part of his wife’s enhanced reality instead of watching a solitary Catherine wheel struggle to entertain the dwindling crowd.
“Next year, you’re driving”