Friday Fictioneers: Tunnel Vision

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who provides us with a photo prompt. Each week’s challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the photo.


PHOTO PROMPT © Dawn Miller

Tunnel Vision

Tunnel vision was one of the side effects of time travel.

Metaphorically, it was good to focus on my task.

Literally, it could be dangerous.

My target was Dr. Leonard Strauss, a disgruntled biochemist who would soon unleash history’s most deadly chemical attack.

I found him as he was exiting his car in front of a restaurant. I drew my gun. He lunged to the left. I fired twice.

I ducked into an alley and activated my return.

I immediately searched Dr. Leonard Strauss, author of multiple terrorist attacks, which were inspired by the murder of his wife and daughter.

Friday Fictioneers: Tasted The Wine

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who provides us with a photo prompt. Each week’s challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the photo.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Tasted The Wine

Her tears fogged up her glasses as she stormed out of the house. She stumbled down the stairs and nearly tripped over the stone frog in the yard.

Stupid frog. She hated that fucking frog.

Life as she knew it was over. Life was over.

She was alone, alone for the first time in… her life.

She gave him the best years of her life. She couldn’t reverse those years or remove their tarnish.

She can’t see it now, but maybe the tears will dry, the fog will lift, and the best years of her life are yet to come.

Friday Fictioneers: Donnie

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who provides us with a photo prompt. Each week’s challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the photo.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

I got to use flash fiction in a practical situation the other night. I’ve been working on a web series. Writing as a team sport is an adjustment. (“What are you Dollar Store bitches doing in V.I.P.?” is a good line.) The other night we had an improv competition as an exercise. I was the only non-actor in the competition. I was paired with a beautiful, talented actress. She was nervous, at least in part, because her partner was not an actor. Before it was over, she said we were a good team, multiple times. By the time it was our turn, I took the prompt and had a sketch ready in my head. It was flash fiction in action. We won the competition. I impressed the actual actors. It was a lot of fun, and now, I want to act.

Donnie

“Donnie was charismatic and wise…”

“Donnie didn’t believe in last names.”

“He wanted us to let the past go and embrace the future.”

“He was all about freedom.”

“… at first. Then, things got weird.”

“Donnie said last names were labels our parents put on us to show they owned us.”

“It was about freedom but his way.”

“The mall bombing scared people.”

“We were there for peace, love, and freedom, not to hurt people.”

“Cruel. He was jovial until you disagreed with him. Then he was cruel.”

“He preached freedom, but he was all about power.”

“Power through fear.”

Flash Fiction: Be The Change

This was written for Carrot Ranch’s Flash Fiction Challenge. Each week’s challenge is to write to a prompt in exactly 99 words. This week’s prompt is to write a protest story.

“I’m against picketing, but I don’t know how to show it.” – Mitch Hedberg

Be The Change

“Here’s another depressing news story. We should do something.”

“Like what?”

“Protest.”

“Protest what?”

“I don’t know. Pollution. Corporate tax cuts. Guns. Puppy mills.”

“Car washes.”

“What? You’re mocking me.”

“I am. What about actors who play roles inconsistent with their ethnicity? Innocuous lyrics to Christmas songs from the 1940s?”

“I’m serious. We live in a world where a xenophobic, rapist, megalomaniac, demagogue was elected president over a qualified woman amid cries of ‘Lock her up’ because she sent emails from the wrong account.”

“That’s why I’m protesting elections. You’re not gonna change anything.”

“Maybe we should protest apathy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m all for protesting puppy mills but not Charli Mills, Supreme Leader of the Carrot Ranch. My friend and I have an inside joke that people standing out on the street with signs for their fund-raising car washes are protesting car washes. Once, she even leaned out the window and yelled, “Why are you protesting (Looooong Awkward Pause) car washes?” It’s one of those you-had-to-be-there, but that’s the joke. I know jokes are never funny when they have to be explained, but it’s funny to me, so it’s staying in.

Friday Fictioneers: Domed

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who provides us with a photo prompt. Each week’s challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the photo.

PHOTO PROMPT © J. Hardy Carroll

I used to be confident in my word count. 100 words every time. I recently started using ProWritingAid, since Grammarly won’t work with my VPN and was no help in fixing that issue. ProWritingAid is amazing but inconsistent in its word count. Different places give different counts. I think this is 100 words, but I won’t swear before a monkey with a wig who’s pretending to be a judge in exchange for bananas.

Domed

“Pauline said there was a time people didn’t live in domes. They could roam freely without suits.”

“Look out there. It’s a barren wasteland. The climate is too hostile.”

“Pauline said outside used to look like inside the domes.”

“Pauline’s full of piffle. If that were true, what happened?”

“Our ancestors, the before people, polluted the planet with vehicles and factories and waste to the point that the climate changed and became desolate.”

“They polluted the whole planet to where it was uninhabitable? Come on. They would have stopped before it got this bad. No one could be that dumb.”

Flash Fiction: Rabbit Hutch

This was written for Carrot Ranch’s Flash Fiction Challenge. Each week’s challenge is to write to a prompt in exactly 99 words. This week’s prompt is to write about a hutch.

Rabbit Hutch

Jen’s dad made the rabbit hutch for her when she was 8. She cherished it. He wasn’t around much when she was a kid.

When she was 12, he left on a business trip and never came home. He left no word, and the police found no clues.

When she got her own house, she decided to set up the hutch in her yard. Maybe someday her kids would breed and show rabbits.

When she and her friends were disassembling the hutch, she found a secret compartment. She forced open the rusty hinges revealing a large bag of diamonds.

Friday Fictioneers: Escape Room

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who provides us with a photo prompt. Each week’s challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the photo.

Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Happy New Decade!

Escape Room

“A menorah, a phone from before the dawn of time, an old picture, and some crayons.”

“Photograph.”

“What?”

“Pictures are new. Photographs are old.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Seriously, guys? Maybe we’re supposed to color the picture, then use the crayons as candles in the menorah…”

“Then call the Ghostbusters.”

“Will you be serious? We have less than 15 minutes left.”

“Eh. These things are impossible. The clues are ridiculous.”

Fifteen bicker-filled minutes later…

“Brrrring,” said the phone.

“Hello?”

“Your time has expired.”

Gas hissed into the room.

“Where’d you find this escape room?”

“Craig’s List. It was a great deal.”

Friday Fictioneers: Absolutely Nothing

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who provides us with a photo prompt. Each week’s challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the photo.


PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Absolutely Nothing

It was a dark, overcast, drizzly day. The dedication of a new war memorial is, by its nature, a somber event, and the weather was accommodating to the inherent mood. Widows, widowers, friends, and family members of the people reduced to names engraved on the plaques that adorned the stone monument filled the seats provided.

Umbrellas kept heads dry. Handkerchiefs kept faces dry. Politicians spoke of sacrifice, duty, and devotion to one’s country. Survivors spoke of the horrors of war. Family members spoke of loss.

The ceremony ended abruptly when word came down that another war had just broken out.

Flash Fiction: Late Again

This was written for Carrot Ranch’s Flash Fiction Challenge. Each week’s challenge is to write to a prompt in exactly 99 words. This week’s prompt is to write about gnomes. I had some help from FantasyNameGenerators.Com. I had no idea how to name a gnome. I would have called them both Larry.

Late Again

Eldysa watched the clock as the seconds turned to minutes. The minutes stayed minutes, but there were a lot of them. Dinner was on the table cooling with each passing second.

The door slowly creaked open. Salrick entered, whistling.

“You’re late again. That’s three times this week.”

“I was talking with Sheila.”

“The human?”

“My boss, yes.”

“About what?”

“Work stuff.”

“You’re a lawn gnome. How much work talk could you have?”

“The weather for one. Rain’s coming.”

“Is something going on between you two?”

“Seriously? Human women are not attractive. They don’t even have beards.”

“They don’t? Yuck.”

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑