Duplicity

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PHOTO PROMPT© CEAyr

There are so many holes in her story.  There always are.  I look into her eyes, sparkling with excitement and know she is lying.  She looks away fidgeting uneasily.

The cracks in her explanation are bigger than usual, gaping in fact.  I love her dearly, but wonder why I stay.  Bizarrely, I know she loves me too.  Sadness washes over me like surf rolling onto the beach.  Why does she need to do it?  Why am I not enough?

I know she wasn’t with Sophie all evening.  I know this with absolute conviction, because Sophie was in bed with me.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Long, Hot Walk

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PHOTO PROMPT © Kent Bonham

Rachel had been walking for hours, energy sapped by the heat.  As she rounded the bend, she saw a battered VW under a tree.  If it weren’t there, I’d be able to rest in the shade.  She traipsed on exhausted, wondering idly about the lack of occupants in the car.  Silence, save for a slight rustling of leaves.  Suddenly, the car doors opened.  Rachel stopped, startled.  Black, eyes stared coldly at her.  They were quick, no time to react.  A cloth covered her face; strong hands lifted her and thrust her roughly into the car.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Betrayal, Anger, Determination

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Andreas sat outside in the sunshine, head in hands, frappe melting in the heat.  He ran over it in his mind several times, but instead of providing answers, his anger intensified.  How could they?  He clenched his fists and kicked a table leg, causing his drink to spill.  Scowling, he got up and marched resolutely to the police station.  With lips pursed and a vein pulsating in his neck he reported his fiancé and business partner cleaning out his business account.  If they wanted to be together fine, but they weren’t going to get away with taking his livelihood too.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Ferry Frightening

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PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Suddenly the ferry lurched.  Passengers fell from seats; drinks flew through the air slopping their contents.  The boat levelled, everyone resumed positions amid nervous chatter.  The journey continued, equilibrium seemingly recovered, but a sharp tilt to starboard sent people reeling again.  Screams, panic, confusion!  Anxiety crawled up inside like an intrusion of cockroaches.  Seeing water flooding into the bar, her fear intensified.  The ugliest side of humanity exposed itself.  Drunken men shoved children aside to reach lifeboats.  She dragged heavy legs in rising water.  Another sway, a surge of seawater.  Her head was submerged, leg trapped, fighting to break free.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Trapped

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Paul glanced over his shoulder, following the path of the older man into the hotel.  He waited, listening to the crickets and feeling the evening warmth on his face.

Abruptly, he gulped down his iced water, stood, walked purposefully into the building and took the lift to the third floor.  He tapped a pattern on door 370.

The look of surprise on the man’s face turned to horror as Paul thrust the gun in his chest and flashed his badge.  There was nowhere to run, no way to escape or hide the evidence.

Paul watched him wilt with cold dispassion.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

The Disc, The Witch and The Desk

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter

A wet summer’s day, Phoebe was bored.  In the conservatory, a shiny disc on the floor attracted her.  She wriggled into the gap between the two sets of drawers to retrieve it.  A startled spider retreated rapidly.  Her fingertips scrabbled at the disc.  As she started to pull it towards her, a cold, warty hand clamped hers.  She tried to scream, but no sound came out.  Phoebe struggled to break free.  A dragging sensation pulled her towards complete blackness.

“At last, a child.  Now with the amulet and the girl, I can complete the spell.”  Phoebe gulped, fighting back tears.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

 

The Floor is Lava

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PHOTO PROMPT © Karuna

“The Floor is Lava.” Abigail’s dad said.

Abi grabbed her toys and clambered onto her bed, struggling with the height of it and the bulk of her beloved teddies in her arms, but giggling with determination.

A repetitive high-pitched beep made Abi cover her ears.

Dad rushed downstairs to investigate.

He called urgently to Abi to come down, but she shouted back “I can’t the floor is lava!”

He climbed the stairs three at a time and grabbed Abi.  She screamed for her toys, dropped in the urgency.

Abi made it.  The toys burned.

She never played that game again.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Why?

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PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

A dust-covered beetle scuttled across the floor.  Cold air blew in from the broken window and a fallen timber creaked as it strained under the weight of the debris on top.

Outside bulldozers approached, music blaring, wheels bouncing over bumpy ground and men shouting instructions.

Mary watched, smearing a tear across her cheek.

It should have been a happy evening.  It had been… until, abruptly, it wasn’t.

She remembered her daughter’s excited face when she had given her the tickets, her anticipation at the unexpected treat, her enthusiastic chatter with her friend.

Her beautiful, innocent daughter gone forever, for what?

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Monday Morning Blues

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PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

“Double espresso, please,” Anna exhaled heavily.

She’d arrived at work earlier and parked her car.  As she got out, something caught her eye on the river next to the office, or more accurately, in the foliage covering the bridge.  She’d gone to investigate and called to the man climbing up the shrubbery.

“What are you doing?  Are you stuck?”  He didn’t answer.  She frowned, annoyed.

His arms hung by his side, belly exposed where his T-Shirt had ridden up.

It took a minute for her to realise he wasn’t climbing.  He wasn’t going to be doing anything anymore… ever.

Word Count: 99

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Sadist

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Broken, abused, defeated!

That’s how I felt when we split.  He wasn’t content with being unfaithful like most husbands.  That wasn’t enough; he tried to destroy me.  He almost succeeded.

We shouldn’t have married.  I never loved him and he obviously reciprocated that absence of emotion.  I’d ricocheted from a failed relationship into his merciless life. How I wish I’d listened to those who dispensed warnings.  Instead I suffered years of cruelty bestowed by him.

How different my life could have been.

Thankfully, broken things can repair and my strength has returned.  I’m contented now.

Happiness is a gratifying revenge.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

The Gendarme’s Lot Is Not A Happy One

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Hugo dragged on his Gauloise.  He’d left the hotel room swiftly and was looking at the beautiful facade.

How could such a monstrous act have been committed in such a picturesque building?

Years working for the police had hardened him to acts of depravity, but what he’d witnessed sickened him.

The activities in that room had been evil; blood saturated the sheets and the girl’s hair was a dishevelled, congealed mess.

How could anyone view children as sexual beings?

He threw the dog-end into the gutter and strode back inside.

For the first time ever Hugo considered not following procedure.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Jenny’s Sister

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PHOTO PROMPT © Magaly Guerrero

Sitting at her bedside, it didn’t seem possible the figure before me was the same person I used to squabble with over space on the dressing table.

When Granddad died of cancer, he was skeletal; barely making a dent in the sheets, but Jenny was bloated beyond recognition.

At her funeral, one of her friends said in her broad Essex accent “Oh my Gawd. You must be Jenny’s sister.” I’d heard that often before and deeply resented it.

“No, I’m Chloe!” I’d always wanted to scream.

Somehow knowing it would be the last time was unsettling and profoundly sad.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Unexpected Date Night

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PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

“Let’s have a date night,” my husband said.  “I’ll arrange everything; you come home and get ready for a treat.  Wear something sexy.”

I hid my surprise.  Things hadn’t been great for a while and he’d never organised anything special.

I spent time preparing, anticipating a romantic meal somewhere classy.  A squirt of expensive perfume and I was ready.  Excitedly, I went downstairs.

***

I surveyed the bedroom the morning after; the takeaway pizza stinking its greasy fumes and the dregs of the bargain booze in the bottom of the glass.

I fastened the suitcase and headed out.  I deserved so much more.

Word Count: 102

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

There’s a Shadow Hanging Over Me

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jellico’s Stationhouse

I’ll never be able to compete with his lost love.

She died.

She’s still here in everything we do, everywhere we go.  Whenever we socialise, the air is weighty with her presence and memories of a former life.

I know he loves me.

The home we share still bears her mark; the things they bought together in happy times.  It’d be easier if they’d divorced, despising each other.

Knowing they didn’t want to part, that he would still be with her now if he could, is difficult to live with.

I know he loves me, but he loved her more.

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.

Lottery Win… or Loss?

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PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

When we won the lottery, we bought a grand, new house in Cheshire and furnished it expensively.

We splashed out on a yacht and journeyed to exclusive and affluent resorts, spending giddily.

We were living the dream; no money worries, doing things we’d always fantasised about, laughing like newly in-love teenagers.

He doesn’t know I saw them together.  Beautiful, vacuous, calculating bitch!

Silly old goat really believes she fancies him.

She can’t give you what we’ve had all these years.  How can you be so gullible, so conceited, so insensitive?  

Oh, how I wish I’d never bought that damned ticket.

 

Word Count: 100

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.