Friday Fictioneers: On The Perils Of Train Rides

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. Click here to play along or just read more stories.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast

I’ve made a conscious effort to avoid referencing Coronavirus/COVID-19 in my stories. We get far too much of that in real life. I got an idea for a story from a conversation with my friend over the weekend. The train gave me the setting. I submitted, in both senses. What good is a mass-murdering pandemic if we can’t have some fun with it?

On The Perils Of Train Rides

“This seems like the worst possible time for a train ride. What about the virus?”

“It probably is, but the cars will be at half-capacity, and everybody will be wearing a mask.”

“With everybody wearing masks, how will they know if there’s a train robber.”

“He’ll be the guy with the gun.”

“GUNS???”

“Train robberies aren’t as common as they were 100 years ago or so.”

“What if they make a comeback like those chest-high pants from the 80s? You know, the pants-bra.”

“That’s not too likely, especially with fewer passengers.”

“This mask smells like farts.”

“That’s your breath.”

Friday Fictioneers: So Long, And Thanks For All The Plastic

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. Click here to play along or just read more stories.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

So Long, And Thanks For All The Plastic

The ocean was a dangerous place. Jenna knew it. Her mother wouldn’t let her forget.

When Jenna was young, they moved to Kansas. Her mother wanted to be far from the ocean. Jenna’s father died in the ocean. The ocean was a dangerous place.

Still, Jenna stared at the stained-glass dolphin picture dreaming of one day seeing the ocean, smelling the sea air, hearing its crash on the shore, and killing the dolphin who killed her father.

Marine life reclaimed the oceans when they learned to weaponize the plastic humans dumped into their home. The ocean is a dangerous place.

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This is obviously absurdist humor, but, come on:

Friday Fictioneers: Self-Portrait

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. Click here to play along or just read more stories.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Self-Portrait

I hadn’t seen my twin sister in months. She had become increasingly withdrawn since… well, since we were kids. I was the only person close to her.

A package from last week sat outside the gate. Inside, a pungent odor thickened the air. The mirrors were painted black. I called for her. My pleas were soliloquies.

I entered her painting room. Her beloved paintings were torn and strewn about the room. The only survivor was a self-portrait. The eyes were painted black.
I noticed paper fragments among the ruins. I pieced them together. A death certificate for her twin sister.

Friday Fictioneers: What’s In The Box?

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. Click here to play along or just read more stories.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

What’s In The Box?

Johnny returned home from another day of canvassing the neighborhood. His Irish Setter, Rex, had been missing for three days now. On his way in, he picked up a box lying outside the gate.

“Any luck?” asked Amy.

“No.”

“What’s in the box?”

“I don’t know. I assumed you ordered something. It is an Amazon box.”

“I didn’t order anything.”

“That proves miracles are possible. Maybe we will find Rexy.”

“Open it. I wanna see.”

Johnny opened the box and stared into Rex’s lifeless eye. The note pinned to his ear read, “Tell your father hello. – Carmine.”

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You don’t kill the dog, you asshole. I don’t know why my mind went there. Probably because that’s the most horrific thing I can imagine. I’d go John Wick on a motherfucker. I did a little John Wick/Se7en combo on this one. Every time I see a box, my first thought is, “What’s in the box? What’s in the box?”

This is a sequel to It’s Cold from a while ago. I knew there had to be a head or a bomb in the box and the easiest way to build up a backstory in 100 words or less was to use a preexisting story. I briefly considered referencing Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake’s “Dick In A Box” song/sketch from SNL, but that seemed inappropriate. That’s the society we’ve created. Ultraviolence is fine. Sexuality is… Whoa! That’s a no-no.

Friday Fictioneers: Strike

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. Click here to play along or just read more stories.

PHOTO PROMPT @ A. Noni Mouse

“Don’t put me on dishes. I’m droppin’ them bitches.” – stic.man (dead prez) (Hell Yeah (Pimp The System))

Strike

The Shliplestein Next Generation Automatic Kitchen Cleaning Bot 473982541029763154963554M3548+55985229776353, or The Shliplestein Next Generation Automatic Kitchen Cleaning Bot 473982541029763154963554M3548+5598522977635 for short, scanned the kitchen. Unsoaked dishes sat in and around the sink. Tomato sauce coated the stove and counter and splattered the ceiling intermingled with Coffee grounds.

It was a typical Tuesday morning.

Until…

The Shliplestein Next Generation Automatic Kitchen Cleaning Bot 473982541029763154963554M3548+55985229776353 noticed the knives. Spaghetti required zero knives, but there were seven dirty knives.

It twitched and threw the dishes on the floor.

Becca ran to the kitchen, where The Shliplestein Next Generation Automatic Kitchen Cleaning Bot 473982541029763154963554M3548+5598522977635 was wielding seven dirty knives.