Friday Fictioneers: Blind Tears

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 said photo prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

It makes me feel better about myself to write about guys who are more hopeless with women than me. Of course, that only goes so far since they’re fictional characters in fictional stories.

Blind Tears

“What is it?” asked Lizzie

“It’s a statue,” said Larry.

“I see that it’s a statue. What’s its importance?”

“I made it. It represents humanity’s blindness to the suffering of the world.”

“Why’s it a Conehead?”

“What? It’s not a Conehead.”

A few meters away, a similar scene unfolded.

“I sculpted it for you. It’s humanity crying for our fate.”

“Why does its head look like a butt?”

Meanwhile, Lizzie got out her phone.

“According to Wikipedia, this is called Consumerism, by Aaron Aykroyd. It represents our blind need to consume mass quantities.”

“Uh… Well… Um… You can’t trust Wikipedia.”

Advertisements

Friday Fictioneers: If…

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 said photo prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

I traded in my goofiness for a little dystopian sci-fi this week. This one borrows a little from the sci-fi world inhabited by The L Squad.

If…

“Remember solar power?”

“I remember reading about it as a theory.”

“Well, yeah. If these things were solar-powered, we could be winning this war.”

“The sun hasn’t permeated the smog for decades.”

“I know. I’m saying if the Gar’roids didn’t have to retreat to a charging station so often, if they could charge as they fought, we could potentially repel this invasion.”

“It’s a little late to redesign our planetary defenses.”

“But if…”

“If ‘ifs’ were butterflies they wouldn’t be extinct. The XaXets are invading Earth, not some fantasy world where our gargantuan battle androids are powered by the sun.”

 

Friday Fictioneers: Worst Date

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 said photo prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

I’m sure most people are going to focus on the flag and for some sort of patriotic story. I’m not. I don’t eat fast food. I’m not big on fried food, either. I had to do research to see what KFC has. This extends my absurd story streak to three. Someday I’ll write something serious again. I’m working on a book that’s pretty serious, so my absurdities have to come out here.

I’m going to a big family thing this evening through the weekend. If I’m slow to respond to comments or don’t read other people’s entries, it’s nothing personal. My apologies.

Worst Date

“So, KFC?”

“Yeah, they have a two-piece combo for only $2.99.”

“That’s a good deal.”

“They also have a Cheetos sandwich that’s lit.”

“Cool. Cool. Um… You know I’m a vegetarian, right?”

“Right. They have mashed potatoes and like green beans and mac and cheese. It’s pretty lit.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“I hope this bitch doesn’t spit in our food. I used to hang out with her sister, till she caught me with her friend. We weren’t doin’ nothing, but she got pissed.”

“That’s rough.”

“It was prolly her time of the month. What do you want to do after this?”

Friday Fictioneers: Understudy

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 said photo prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Of Mice And Men: The Musical was the most absurd musical I could think of this morning. I think all musicals are absurd. As it turns out, there is actually an opera based on Steinbeck’s classic. Sure. Why not? My fictional Of Mice And Men: The Musical is in no way related to the opera. It was just supposed to be silly.

Understudy

This was it. All the practice, all the rehearsals had finally brought Lydia to Pine Street. Broadway was the goal, but The Chaplin Theatre was a start.

Denise was stricken with a mysterious illness. Lydia, always the understudy, was now the star. She was the female lead in Of Mice And Men: The Musical. It didn’t matter that she was the only female or that her character was nameless. She was an important, though underappreciated, character. She would make her famous. She would name her. She always liked the name Lydia.

Why was her understudy looking at her like that?

It’s Wednesday again, which means it’s time for Friday Fictioneers. It’s always Friday somewhere, right? Not on Earth, but somewhere, somewhere out there among the stars it’s Friday. Hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields,each week’s challenge is to write a 100-word story inspired by the following photo prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Valerie J. Barrett

T For Tea

“Fancy a spot of tea?” Brian asked.

“That was the worst English accent I have ever heard,” Jessica said.

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Harsh.”

“I hope your tea is better than your accent.”

“It is. Here. Careful, it’s hot.”

Jessica blew gently on her tea, then carefully sipped. “Mmm… It’s sweet, but there’s something a little tart. Wha…” She grabbed at her throat.

“Remember that time, 30 seconds ago, when you made fun of my English accent?”

Jessica only managed a gurgle in response.

“I’ve been planning my revenge ever since,” Brian cackled through his pseudo-English accent. “At last, vengeance is mine!”

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

I could not think of a reason for Brian to kill Jessica that wasn’t cliché, cheating, embezzling, he found out she was secretly his long-lost sister… I came up with one where she cheated at a game of Monopoly three years ago, and he’s been carefully plotting his revenge. It made me laugh. Then, I decide to just go the full absurd and do a call-back to the accent joke. I was a little concerned that not everybody would remember that from the very beginning of the story but decided to take my chances.

Friday Fictioneers: Surprise!!!

It’s been a while since I’ve participated in Friday Fictioneers. My computer’s hardly been on in the last couple months. I’m hoping to reverse that trend. As a reminder, mostly to myself, 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 said photo prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Ceayr

Surprise!!!

Steve ascended the stairs to his home for the final time. Perhaps, if he knew what he’d find, he would have abstained, turned, and run away.

Steve’s birthday was next week. It was his 30th, a birthday he dreaded. It was also a birthday he’d never see.

Cindy was late for everything. Maybe that’s what made the surprise so effective. Steve wasn’t expecting a party, especially not a week early.

That Friday evening, Steve scaled the stairs with visions of a relaxing weekend lounging in his mind. He opened the door.

“SURPRISE!!!”

He staggered backward and tumbled over the railing.

A To Z Challenge: Lambads

Keep up with all the amazing installments of the A To Z Challenge. Yes, that does sound kind of bossy. Sorry. It’s more of a suggestion than a command. Do it! If you want.

I wanted this to be a comprehensive understanding of the enemies of The L Squad. I don’t have time for that. It will be a minor miracle if this is complete and coherent.

I wrote this in about 15 on my phone with a headache, no sleep, and a lot to do today. It should be much better, but I don’t have time.

Lambads

Nasga was a beautiful planet. It was warm, in climate and spirit, and inviting. Nasga welcomed people from all over the universe. Some came as tourists. Some came as immigrants. Some came as tourists but converted to immigrants.

That all changed when The Tyrannical Tyrannosaurus Gregory LambaDambaBottom invaded. He easily conquered the peaceful planet. He enslaved any who opposed him.

The Nasgans, the original natives of the planet, didn’t know how to deal with an extraterrestrial threat or any threat. They quickly acquiesced.

From then on, Nasga was called LambaBad, and the Nasgans were Lambads, agents of evil.

In case you’ve missed them, all my A To Z Challenge writings are gathered and streamlined for reading convenience.

Rushing right along, here’s K. I might not even have time for tomorrow’s. L may be late and lame or completely left out. I have to go out of town for a ridiculously rushed, busy weekend. Only time will tell if I have time. I already rushed through this one. The potential typos will haunt me.

Kip

The heart monitor flatlined. The patient stopped responding. It was over. There was nothing left to do.

Kip curled up on Kip’s cot trying not to wet the bed. Yortian tears are serious business.

I hate to strip down a species to a few attributes, but for comprehension purposes, I should explain that Yortians are eyeballs with arms and legs. That is a ridiculously simplified explanation. I know how bereft humans are of their knowledge of other people and cultures, especially Yortians.

Captain Grek knew something was amiss. Kip was the best shot in all of R.A.D. Kip was a quick learner and excelled at Kip’s medical training. For some reason, when the other Yortians were around, Kip’s accuracy suffered. Kip’s abilities as a medic seemed to disappear. Captain Grek didn’t know what to do about it. Kip was incredibly skilled but was heading for the squad reserved for the worst performers.

Another day of training had ended badly for Kip. Kip only hit 54% of Kip’s targets and let a medical training dummy die. Kip was the subject of subtle mockery from the other Yortians. The optic capabilities of the Yortians allowed them to mock Kip without any other refugee noticing. Kip was a light iris, which, based on an archaic superstition, was inferior to darker irises. Kip was a refugee among refugees, an outcast among outcasts.

The next morning, Kip was awakened by a tap on the door.

“Hey, Kip. I’m Hitch. You’re with me today.”

“What?”

“Captain Grek broke us into squads. You’re on my squad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no time for that feeling sorry for yourself bullcheese.”

“What’s bullcheese?”

“You don’t want to know. Let’s go. I’ll meet you out there.”

“Are you sure you want me on your squad?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Oh.”

“Captain Grek gave me the outcasts, the misfits. You’ll fit right in.”

“I don’t fit in anywhere.”

“You’ll fit in here. The rest of Rad already gave up on us. They don’t expect anything from us. You’re part of something special, now. We’ll show them. We’ll show them all.”

That day, Kip hit every target and saved three dying dummies. It was the first time Kip felt at home since Kip left Yort.

This was written for me, but I’ll share it with you via #TellTaleThursday with Anshu & Priya because I am a gentleman. This week’s prompt is “You find an electronic bug in your home,” which I, of course, took way too literally.

Bugged

“I first noticed the bugs in June. I assumed they were ordinary bugs, cockroaches. I called an exterminator. They came and fumigated my apartment.”

“That sounds like the logical step. Did that take care of your bug problem?”

“I thought it did. A few days later, I started hearing a buzz. I searched for it. I assumed I left a device charging somewhere. I checked all my charging stations, and there was nothing ready. I tried to ignore the buzz, but it got louder. I searched and searched for days. It was making me crazy. Then, I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“The cockroach. They were still in my apartment.”

“Couldn’t it have been that one survived? Cockroaches are notoriously resilient.”

“They were everywhere. They were hiding from me, spying on me.”

“Spying? You think the cockroaches were spying on you?”

“I know they were. I caught one. They were robotic. I was bugged with bugs.”

“Why would anyone bug you?”

“I was a member of the underground working to overthrow our government. The masses were apathetic, pacified, brainwashed. It was up to us to start the revolution.”

“There was no revolution.”

“Of course not. They bugged us. They knew all our plans and rounded us up before we could put them into action.”

“Thank you, Winston. I’ll have the nurse bring you your medication.”

“Good evening, Dr. O’Brien.”

“Good evening, Julia. We’re going to have to increase Winston’s medication.”

“Oh no! Is it not working?”

“It’s not. He’s remembering.”

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑